Broncerts, Brontmartre*, etc.

Sup everyone. Just ate an entire poulet fermier so I might pass out soon. But not before I incept this insane remembrance into your head. Last week me n' the gang went to the literal Moulin (C)Rouge to see a concert... as in, that place in the movie where Ewan McGregor gets on stage and sings a bunch of show tunes. Except, it was a face-kicking mix of techno/house/electro, so more like E-in' McDrugger! (Get it? ...sorry.) The lineup, partially, was BeatauCue, The Twelves, Is Tropical, and half of Hot Chip. Basically, imagine INOX (or relive it!)**. Now, subtract everyone you've heard of, put it in a little room, and add a bunch of dudes that look like Moby. Yeah. The night basically went like this:

10pm: Meet in front of the Moulin Rouge. Begin drinking.

10:30pm: Get more vodka.

11:30pm: Finish drinking. Get in line.

12am: Girl immediately rejected for being too drunk. Cries.

1:30am: Concert actually starts. No one knows who is playing. Lots of dancing. Girls make out. Nice!

2:00am: Turns out, it's Is Tropical! They're playing this song.

2:30am: The Twelves. Also, more drinking.

3:00am: Where's BeatauCue?

3:30am: No, seriously....

3:45am: Bathroom break. I see some guy pulling out his own tooth.

4:00am: Everyone leaves.

Pretty fun concert, actually. I busted out some dance moves, the ladies loved it, and even better, I managed not to expose myself, attempt to de-shirt a girl, and scream expletives get as crazy as I did the previous night (note: sorry again, everyone. Like, so sorry). The Twelves are really good, check out this track. Although I left with bite marks on my neck. Not all that sure what that's about.

*Montmartre, which is where the Moulin Rouge is located, is like the gathering spot for everyone in Paris who's just had too much pineau, to borrow terminology from A.I.. Also, hookers. Like thousands of them. It is literally possible, while walking, to accidentally have sex with a hooker. Thank Broseidon, I had my wits about me this night, and I did not succumb to temptation with any man/woman/whatever. Naturally, the 'hood is also full of wasted ass creepy dudes, which made for really fun pregaming on the sidewalk. Some guys literally walked by us, all of seven girls and two dudes, and said "how much?". Seriously uncool move, man, they were clearly with me. Montmartre is also home to a seriously malade amount of kebab places. Nowhere have I felt so surrounded by delicious, delicious whitesauce. Literally, I would do this, but with whitesauce. The combo of good bars, kebab joints, and dangerous liaisons with Paris' famed ladies of the night has me already anticipatin' the next night out in the 'martre. Except that last part. Seriously, fuck that.

**If you watched the video, yes we have the boat now. Pretty sure at 1:38 we're scampering away with it.

...Saw Drive yesterday afternoon. Who knew Ryan Gosling was a goon? Awesome, awesome flick. Not enough driving, though. Or of that blonde girl, if you know what I mean.

Alright, everyone. I'm gonna make my mouth do a gainer into a caraffe du vin before I say my prayers do my best Houdini impression in bed. A bientot.