I was not invited, and I will not have gone anyway because it was a Sunday and I had to go shopping at Habitat to furnish the farmhouse bought for a bite of bread to a bankrupt pig farmer, but I would have liked to see what a birthday party looks like at Jean-Marie Le Pen.
For his 87 years, the old leader putted by his own fistonne had invited his closest friends, the comic Dieudonné and the philosopher Soral . The historian Faurisson had worn himself pale, but I suspect him of having also had errands to do at Habitat to fit out his watchtower.
The two valiant enemies of the Zionist octopus may have helped him blow out his candles (the cacochymia does not help to inflate his lungs enough to extinguish so many), accompanied on the accordion on “Maréchal here we are” (I believe that the Marion of the same name was there too), and stimulated in his electoral ambitions for the PACA region.
Ah, that must have been a very nice party. Happy birthday Jean-Marie, as we say on Facebook to friends who are not.
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