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Amelie lied.

November 2, 2010

So I recovered from whatever it was I smoked with that French dude in his trailer. More on that later. Has anyone ever seen red marijuana before? What exactly does embalming fluid smell like? Hit me up.

People should tell you what you're smoking.

Flew out to the French cave referenced in his dirty papers. Around the time I stopped seeing bat people, I was boarding a train at Gare du Nord. Was trying to get to a little town called Ardeche, wound up in the Parisian version of Compton crossed with Mogadishu. Got jumped by what I’m pretty sure was a terrorist cell. Have no idea what al-Qaeda would want with my watch, but this wouldn’t be the first time I was mistaken for CIA.

Thanks for nothing, Jeunet.

Found the right train finally. You know that American myth about farmer’s daughter’s? Well maliciously propagated lies apparently know no global borders. Still haven’t seen a woman in months, and I’m pretty sure the entire town is plotting against me. They all stare with this eerie stoicism, or perhaps envy because I’m American. Or perhaps they’ve been recruited by a competitive online seller with an unsettled score. Civilians have no idea how cut throat the online seller business actually is.

The dairy farmer I’m renting a room from insisted I drink milk straight from a goat utter. I’m pretty there was a swastika on his overalls, there’s very little milk here, and he looks really similar to his wife. Or perhaps I’m just tired. I went to bed early but a goat wandered in my room and gave birth.

Caveman stories lack proper structure.

Got to Chauvet Cave by sunrise. A man yelled at me something that wasn’t Esperanto and pointed to a sign to purchase a tour. I scored a headset for only a couple more Euro. Talked him down from three. The French have an usual way of showing admiration. Anyhow, despite being the only tour member asking good questions, I stayed focused enough on my mission to find a flash drive in the dirt below yet another crappy Upper Paleolithic painting:

I do have some vague idea of what this is but I am not at liberty to share upon request of the “filmmakers”. I’m more worried about the bloody pentagram in the kitchen, the size of the boiling pots, and how upset these goats get around knives.

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