She it nannas! A double win for France last night. They cheesed the All Blacks out of the World Cup by 2 points (correctly predicted by Thermo) but prior to that (and much more enjoyably) La France’s favourite son, one Quentin Dupieux aka Mr Oizo, fully fucking tore it up at the Prince.

It all started at a temporarily child free household (Martindale) in Northcote East over Leibe pizzas, tequilas and apple vodkas. In attendance were myself, Claire Brownsmith, Doctor Ransom, Cap’n Hinkley and Cockstrike. Our postprandial journey was executed with the precision of a ceramic tap with no grit in the line and we found ourselves deposited in St Kilda with nary le blink of un oeuil. Upon entering the Deep Southside we quickly assumed our roles for the evening as the five lost Dupieux siblings; Thierry, Pascal, Veronique, Monique et Alain.

Presenting ourselves early at the venue we were informed by the bouncer that folk such as ourselves (not wearing fluoro and being a little over 21) would be guaranteed a fast-tracked entrance due to our immaculate grooming and exceptional personal style. This was pleasing for our party so we trudged further south in search of our sixth French frere Gaston (also known as Coach Thermo). En route we availed ourselves of a large bottle of tequila which we promptly drank to counteract the debilitating effects of watching Miami Vice the Movie.