Rubiales' mother has suffered a nervous breakdown and the Stones release a new album. I go down to the bar downstairs and all the Russians who had breakfast there are now Ukrainians. I'm obsessed with Taylor Swift's music and I listen to it all the time. I also like Billie Eilish and she is 21 years old. I confess to you that this makes me feel a little strange. To make up for it, on trains and planes, I try to sit in the aisle and wait for the remaining Stones album to buy on vinyl.
I'm not very perceptive and I'm very naive: for hours I thought Rubiales' arm gripping his genitals was a montage. I'm one of those types of guys that AI will drive crazy. Beau Brummell's mother started a hunger strike and mine wants to sign up at the Horta nursing home. Every mother has her own projects.
However, I would like to console the good woman and tell her that at least her son was not the president of the Russian Football Federation and had to take a plane to Moscow. Maybe with the money he's won, his son can be happy and won't have to be forced to kiss young footballers. I had a girlfriend who played handball, but I guess I can't compare.
I had never thought that August had so many days. You enter August without holidays or family and you stay locked in as if it were the rest of your life. They tell me that it has been forty days of August and I believe it. In perspective, it hasn't been a good month for bald people. Especially for the mercenary Prigozhin and the passive-murderer Putin. To make up for it, the holiest of them all, Pope Francis, spoke highly of Great Russia and performed, before my incredulous eyes, in the bar below the house, the miracle of turning into Russians all the Ukrainians who they were having breakfast there, but let's not lose hope: today is September.
