june 4 2013

Hello everyone,

For this last of the season, and as usual, our friend Michel honoured us with his presence.
An enormous amount of material, both in quantity and quality, was proposed by the Master.
The course almost did not take place, as described by the menu, and by the Master at the right part of this report
To begin with, a warm-up with the following position, originally intended for unfamiliar guests, but unfortunately none came.

1 - h#2

 
The traditional attempt to sabotage the lessons of St-Lazare by the hypercalamitous Parisian transporters has now seized a new twist. Only 4 minutes waiting for the RER B train at the Cité Universitaire station. Piece of cake in appearance. A warning sign all the same: several hundreds of pilgrims clustered on the platform.
 
All these beautiful people crowd into the train, hug each other like herrings in a caque, then wait. And then what? Nothing happens. Total immobility, which is hardly "Zen" in this case. Ten minutes go by, the damn train doesn't move. An illiterate man vomits borborygmas at the microphone, of which only the word "traffic" is understandable. This bunch of morons use, as we know, this word meaning "illicit trade" instead of the correct term "circulation". After another 5 minutes, I decide that the joke has gone on long enough. I get out and head for the tram, after 20 minutes of being lost.
 
After hesitation, I gave up the connection to the RER C, fearing a new confusion. So I return to my first... hates, the metro line n° 13. After the most rotten RER line, the most rotten metro line. The rest is a gigantic jostling among a sub-humanity that doesn't need to be detailed. In this magma are various images, ranging from the heroic gesture of Dominique Venner to the comic strip of the 70s, with Berck's "plunge into the rabble".
 
But rot does not disarm. On the way back (11:45 pm), I try to take the same line 13 again, hoping that the late hour will keep the said rabble away. In quantity perhaps, in quality (antiphrase), no. Two "nique-ta-mère" are waiting near the turnstile for a poor taxpayer jerk like me to pass by (paying) so that they can infiltrate (without paying). I refuse this game, advises an idiot who is hiding in his glass cage, wakes him up, asks him if he finds this situation normal, tells him that I risk being assaulted if I pass without covering the two parasites. He tells me that then he will (perhaps) consider intervening. I answer that with his kind of puppets, you feel really safe.
 
I decide to capture the bull by the horns, I run into the turnstile blocking the passage behind me. The most pressing mother-fucker shouts and insults me, I answer him "asshole", "underlarva", "human waste" shouting as loud as possible, hoping (naively) for reinforcements. Luckily, the oar just arrives and I rush in before the mother-fuckers have managed to get through. I hardly dare to imagine what would have happened if I had had to wait 5 minutes on the quay.
 
In the meantime, the fiscal gestapo is blocking my bank accounts and the property manager has just decided, with the help of the "majority" of the co-owners whose votes he bought, an extra 10,000 euros of useless expenses per person. The conclusion is obvious: long live France.
 
Let the master clerk cover the fairy tale (with the exception of the amusing help-stalemate attached) and present some problems for the summer.
 
A helpmate #3 with echo-cameleon.
 
A #2 with try, to be solved in less than 10 minutes. Two #3 with nice mats, the second with sacrifices. The third #3 is a little riddle: how the hell can you break the stalemate without giving too much freedom?  
A spectacular but easy #4. Another one more refined, less easy than it seems. Finally two rather simple multi-movers, by the same author.
 
Have a good holiday and come back in good condition in September. God bless you.