Reasons you will hate me

Night at the sexy museum.

A journey through Paris' Musee de l'Erotisme via the inner workings of my mind:





1. First Floor:

'PENISVAGINAPENISVAGINAPENISVAGINAPENISVAGINAPENISVAGINAPENISVAGINA etc. My goodness, they're rather insistent about the whole genital worship thing aren't they?'




2. Second Floor:

'Ye olde porn videos with Charlie Chaplin lookalikes are frankly unnerving. Yet I cannot look away.'




3. Third Floor:

'Everyone's so quiet. Why is everyone so quiet? Why will no-one look anyone else in the eye? This is still officially considered a museum, right? We're still essentially cruising art and stuff like highbrow citizens of the world.'




4. Fourth Floor:




'Is it hot in here? It's kind of hot in here.'




5. Fifth Floor:

'My god but some of those old Parisian prostitutes had rough heads on them. Still, mantelpiece/fire etc.'




6. Sixth Floor:

'We need to find a corner in which to kiss. Immediately.'




7. Seventh Floor:

'WHY DOES PARIS NOT HAVE SOME SORT OF NEARBY LOVE HOTEL INTO WHICH TWO RATHER PINK-CHEEKED AUSTRALIANS CAN RETIRE FOR ALL OF FIVE PRIVATE MINUTES.'




8. Street:

'Is it wrong to make sexual relations in an ancient tomb in the Cemetiére de Montmartre? Be honest.'




64 days til the next election.

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