La Ribot never gets the plank under control, Monnier never learns how to avoid it, and the laughter from the audience increases with each repetition of the slapstick violence.
Gassed up, 300, no spartan oi I beg man pardon, dot-dot blastin' Might get blicked where you're two-step dancin' brrr I do no talkin', the gyal, I'm clartin' It's your boy in a spliff, I rass him mm-mm Bro red card him, shots, no warning yo When I see red, I'm chargin' dead Man, I'm still up on the roads, could've left mm-mm Still chattin' to my bros on the tech' bah, bah Fuck that, man, I don't give a f brrr What, you wanna get smoked? Investigating inside the human body often requires cutting open a patient or swallowing long tubes with built-in cameras.
Here's the sofa with its stretch covers where he was snogged by a hunky guy from Nottingham, here's the Argos catalogue, here's the cactus that Aunty Tina sat on.
» - Marie-Christine Vernay, Libération, Paris, 2006 « … a wild visual fantasy in a dizzying continuum.
Cigarette Bah, bah, bah English, English girl named Fiona, African girl, Adeola Body-ody shaped like Cola, back up back up, ayy, come closer.