Traveling with Mr. Golden Underwear.
After unfolding my body from the overhead bin and having circulation return to my feet, I reunited with a well rested, Mr. Golden Underwear. After some sleep, we embarked upon sightseeing in gay Pariee, but must’ve signed up for the straight tours. We walked all over the Champs De Elyse to the Eiffel Tower, which surprisingly looks just like the one in Las Vegas, but without the free lardass buffet. Walking we met a gypsy woman, who happened to find a solid gold ring on the ground, after explaining that she can’t wear rings for religious reasons, she gave me the ring, then walked away. She quickly returned asking for a few Euros for a sandwich. Well, it must’ve been the lack of sleep, but I was the ultimate rube making Scott give her 10 Euros. You’d of thought I would’ve learned my lessons from Cher in the early 70s singing about gypsies, tramps, and thieves. I may also become the owner of a few stories of the Eiffel Tower, if my real estate transaction with that lovely Somalian Realtor goes through. Either way, I get to keep the complimentary selfie stick that came with the deal.
Next, as we are staying in a Starwood hotel and I am the Platinum Princess, I was given a free harbor cruise as an amenity, so I’m now financially up from the gypsy faux pas (while in Paris, screw up like the French) and am ahead 90 Euros on the free cruise. Best of all, we got it without having to listen to a timeshare presentation at Euro Disney.
On our walk, we past an exhibit in a museum in tribute to Dr. Louis Pasteur. In a banner behind Scott, it turns out Pasteur fought for safe milk not with a germ busting process, but with a mean upper left cut. Perhaps instead of Dr. Louis Pasteur perhaps the disease was actually fought by French favorite, Dr. Jerry Lewis Pasteur with a batch of flubber!
Rubber Chicken 