The Thing That

Something tells me that at least one of them has ovaloid eyes slightly too high on an ovaloid head. Perhaps both do, but it's surely more likely that one does, while the other is locked in a codependent quasi-abusive relationship. The ovaloid one has a quiet charm, and no one is at all suspicious about getting an invite to Moissac, a laughably "normal," "average," small town in south west France, "where Francois grew up, and where his parents live" and that "has a compact centre, with shops, bars and restaurants," and where "on Saturdays and Sundays there is a large market in the town square where they sell a variety of local produce, including award winning melons and very smelly cheese." Smelly cheese, my arse: London to a brick that that rotting smell is the alien spawn that the good, average, normal folks of Moissac are, under guise of connubial celebrations, secreting into yet another corpus of earthling gulls. Sad, so sad.