When we walk in Quebec, or anywhere in general, we get the feeling that we're being watched sometimes, right? It's OK though, because I watch back. I have my fair share of akward "look up oh he/she saw me" furtive glances for all of us. Truly, I look at people, and I invent possible stories about their life. Because really, who else is going to do it? Their life probably is stagnant as a forgotten swamp in southern Labrador. Their stories might incorporate Alf as a Viet-Nam veteran recounting stories over a tall glass of lemonade, while petting a small persian rug (because he's afraid of cats, right?) or Conan the Barbarian, played by an ackward Woody Allen in his sporty days of youth. Really, I take pleasure in making up the most random story, and here is the pleasurable part (for those who are sane and aren't following me): try to incorporate all the elements into a logical story with most of the element having a logical place and order. Not too easy, but it's feasible.
It all started when I heard of a game that a friend of mine, a francais de France recounted. They would play a game in which they would write a list of random words on a sheet of lined paper. Why lined paper you ask? It adds a few words in my story. That's all. Tamom'shod. The person who said the most words in form of a question to the teacher would win. Win what? I'm not too sure, but it is to no avail. For the sheer pleasure involved in asking a question about the role of the salamander during the Second World War as a common fire-breathing apparatus that was grafted on the right shoulder of foot-soldiers was enough to set me on the path to create this sick, twisted and to some, confusing game.
Well, until I get a better lie to say, or a better say to lie about, lache pas la patate sagouine!
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