and tries to discreetly spit out the disgusting mouthful of after-dinner Muenster* that Benoit - you know, that waiter we had once at The Royal? - has just put on her plate . Man, she is so hilarious - I just love that girl. Should have married her when I had the chance."Yup.
Word of my Euro-trash Champillon exploits has finally reached Venice.
I knew we should have tipped better...
*International Curse Word of the Day: Muenster - some wretched French comestible, passed off as "gourmet" fromage, which is, in truth, rancid foot fungus scraped off of a marathoner's post-race sock, "smoked" over a Galois cigarette, then shaped into a misleadingly appetizing cheese wheel.
The sensory assault which ensues can only be expelled by either rubbing the side of one's tongue on a belt sander, or by a radical taste-bud-ectomy.
