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Edna Sweetlove Apr 2015


Le Grand Restaurant Gastronomique
de Monsieur Merde


Rue Ordure des Anges 69
Conville-le-*****
96969 France


**************

NOTRE­ MENU DU JOUR

~ €500 par personne tout compris ~



LE COCKTAIL DE LA MAISON
"Champagne aux vomissements de chat"
[A giant flute of the finest Cristal champagne with a spoonful of puréed pedigree cat's *****, served with our unique world-famous warm amuse-gueule of fricasséed feline *****]
~

PREMIÈRE ENTRÉE À VOTRE CHOIX
"Le potage aux asperges extra spécial"
[Cream of over-ripe asparagus soup with roasted toads' eyeballs, served chilled, accompanied by our unique home-made nostril pickings "petits chips"]
ou
"Couilles pissées plein d'amour"
[Raw bulls' testicles from organically bred animals, removed whilst the creatures are still alive, thus ensuring none of the precious ******* juice is wasted, lovingly marinated by the head chef, in triple-concentrated bovine ***** from our own Charentais herd of rare endangered species ****** cattle]
~

DEUXIÈME ENTRÉE DU CHEF
"Flegme des Dieux"
[A classic "Monsieur Merde" dish: bite-size deep-frozen gobbets of fatally-ill consumptives' phlegm deep-fried in ape ******-flavoured batter, served in a priceless 19th century silver spittoon, with a loganberry coulis on the side]
ou
"Ravioli al vermi semi-freddo alla Pectinale"
[A rare Sicilian dish re-imagined by Monsieur Merde: each "raviolo" of home-made egg pasta contains a living lukewarm baby earthworm, served with our secret "Sauce Mongol stupide", on a bed of wilted coriander leaves and crispy fried freshly-harvested Sicilian ****** nuns' ***** hairs]*
~

LE GRAND PLAT DU M. MERDE
"Girafe à naître, Sauce utérus"
[Roasted whole unborn baby giraffe, with spicy womb-lining sauce, served with pommes purées with a touch of female rhino ***** and Dijon mustard]
~

NOTRE PLÂTEAU DES FROMAGES MALODORANTS
"Assortiment révoltant"
[Selected personally by M. Merde, guaranteed to contain a wide selection of pure-bred, hand-reared, green Géant Normandy maggots]
~

LE GRAND CHARIOT DE DESSERTS
"L'Héraut de la pompe stomicale"
[Including our signature dish "Crap Suzette", wafer-thin slices of vintage dried elephant dung flamed in 1895 VSO *** Napoleon Cognac]
~
LE CAFÉ et LES PETITS FOURS
"Sélection dysenterie tropicale"
~

Les prix comprennent nos vins selectionés "de la Maison de Merde":

Avec vos "starters" et les entrées: Château Pisse de Cheval 1994
[a full Chardonnay flavour with a hint of rampant stallion's ****]

Avec Le Grand Plat du M. Merde: Beaujolais Villages Supérieur 2006
[a powerful and fruity wine with a refreshing bouquet not unlike unwashed Olympic wrestlers' sweat-drenched armpits]

Avec les fromages: Château Foûtre 1988
[one of the most potent wines in oenological history, with a kick like a hippo's ****]

Et avec le dessert: 1946 Greek Muscat from the island of Shittos
[matured in Turkish goats' bladders to enhance its sweetness]

Bon Appétit!

*If our respected clients would like to sit near to the door to the toilets, please ask the Maître d'Hôtel for assistance, but please note there is a €25 surcharge per person for this much sought-after privilege and advance booking is normally necessary, so please be prepared to ******* if these seats are not available.
Potage Parmentier, the smell of it everywhere and you just know that the summer is here,
cool ginger beer and a dip in the pond, though I'm fond of the beer and not so fond of the pond,
an ice cream cone, days away from the home and the smell of ozone by the sea.

All things that mean a summer to me.
Let me write of the unknown
of the things we don't know
and have never been shown.

Like the string theory
do you agree?
If this space was put in place by invisible hand
and stars made to shine
by something divine
Why tie them up in a potage of science?

Where the sea meets its earth and where rainbows give birth
makes no difference to me.
It's enough that I see that it's so.
Where do Angels tread and
where can the bread of heaven be found?
These questions I ask as I bask in reflections
of someone's midsections in the
operating rooms where I peer hard to see
and ask again
'Is this the makings of me'

A universe without an end
e-mails that we never send.
These pending posts play host to me.

In one of ten million galaxies
It seems quite odd to make a rod and beat ourself
with what we do not know.
Whether the plan is to grow so big and become the giants we never were
or to be so bright that we outstrip and outsource our own dying light
and gain.
Is all the same to me I do not care.
It is enough to know that I am here and out there
somewhere
a table is set
A game is played and I will get
what I deserve.
Soul Jun 29
The dangling leaf at the edge of a twig.
waiting to be caught by a gentle swig;
"Why not shall I, if you are awful dread,"
for he just slipped into the dreams ahead.

Swinging from side-to-side the leaf goes,
The blade; oh sweet, so smooth, tickles her toes.
His cunning eyes, glistening with mischief,
lets her slip away, the smile of relief.

The tender breeze tip-toeing at the edge,
waits until he searches her over the hedge.
Sweeping past the weightless sighs of the skies,
his heart races to the soft lullabies.

As his golden touch came into her sight,
She blushed and giggled; With a laugh so light.
The sly leaf crawled cozy on her lap.
With cheeks of caramel; there left no sap.

Up and down the hills, their happy feet rolled.
in the deep dark woods, hand-in-hand they strolled.
The great treows, all bowed with crowned heads, all low,
along they tracked their trails, each step so slow.

Red robins with voices beyond the lyre,
sang sweet songs that made them never feel tire.
Whispering secrets, hummed the swarm of bees;
as the shy sun melted into the seas.

Along the coastal strip, that's full of sand,
they built yellow sand castles, all so grand.
The leaf blade cut the black ebony doors.
The touch of the breeze smoothed all; sky loors.

Seeing the two hands being hold up tight,
the moon, into the sky, it took a flight.
Their irises bloomed like blue berry dyes,
when met upon their vulnerable eyes.

Over the glistening marine seas they flew,
as on their soft peach cheeks, the moonlight grew.
In the blue spotlight they began the dance,
as the stars shined out to take a good glance.

To borrow their small breaths the dolphins swam,
to light the scene the pearl glowed of Mr. Clam.
Their calm reflections followed as they go,
they held red roses in their merry slow row.

In the night skies they drew Andromeda,
racing a past the fastest comet-a.
Soon the days of sorrow began to rang,
seeing Venus, in the journey,—they sang.

The mighty seas who blessed, changed it's mind,
not gentle at all, he who was so kind.
Up roared the rough waves of anger and rage,
trying to force the leaf into a cage.

The entire scene of their story transforms,
from all directions, evoked thunder storms.
Their love never died, 'cause their hearts were strong,
for they wrapped themselves, to meet fate along.

Through the deathly grey-blue arcs the two rode,
holding each other not slipping the code.
Unexpectedly, her cheeks touched his nose,
The battles held on, to smile for a pose.

As the traitors left, the two of them knelt,
as inside them, tough heaviness they felt.
The shining edges of pure gold were all torn,
the sweet chuckles of the breeze, all were worn.

As they gently walked across the lawn,
bringing life back that came out at the dawn.
Bluish dew drops shone on green yards along,
as their hearts hummed, murmuring a soft song.

As they came to an old, forlorn cottage,
only dusted pots left with some potage.
A heap of ash lay in the frozen hearth,
No tender sprout grew in the near-by earth.

Flew the leaf with grey stones stitched to its bones,
holding shards of glass; the breeze runs and moans.
The two moved through the lonely dull walkway,
with fingers intertwined, no words to say.

They journeyed so far as long as they could,
for they didn't mind time, as if it's stood.
Their breaths smelled of a garland of daisies,
for they smelled pure joy like new born babies.

Underneath tall box-grey giants they roamed,
as thick black ***** swept past her hair—they combed.
The floor roared vibrations from everywhere,
folding the two into a dark nightmare.

As she let out a sneeze the leaf went low,
Into a white disc he crashed with a blow.
For they didn't know it's a busy road,
Into a cogged drain he fell like a toad.

Soaked in wet the leaf horribly howled,
she couldn't resist, the voice once crawled.
The worn breeze chased him ignoring each bent,
for she followed every echo that went.

The fragile curves of her lips all were snatched,
her white gown of silk, every part was scratched.
Her fingers reached out, but tears rolled down,
for they never touched his, in the harsh town.

Blocked her way the snow etched bars in the drain,
she burst up high in the midst of the rain.
Over the metals she ran on her way,
secretly listening to words he say.

Every inch went cold as winter arrives,
the leaf hid in the depths of frozen thrives.
The breeze lay her heart so low with blind eyes,
as the last ray faded into the ice.
A poem, about nature, and how it is polluted going through a scene of Romance...

— The End —