My title is the ending tag line of “JOHANNE SACREBLU[E] ‘el musical’ un homenaje a EMILIA PEREZ.” Adapted to the English formula, it means “Thanks to each and every one of you.” Camila D. Aurora is the artist behind the no-budget parody “filmed on the streets of Mexico City with Mexican performers.” The article linking me to the video is here. It has useful background for what triggered the spoof. (Hint: The film “Emilia Pérez,” helmed by French director Jacques Audiard, “tells a story set in Mexico but was mostly shot in Paris with a mostly non-Mexican cast.”)
“Johanne Sacreblue” is tagged “Una Película Muy Francesa” (A Very French Film), and its dialog is a gloriously garbled mix of ruptured French spitroasted at uproarious demotic velocity with wicked-wondrous Mexican Spanish punishing the uvular ‘r’ and the mixed vowels mercilessly.
Disclosure: I’ve studied Spanish and French since childhood, and I understood perhaps half the dialog in my (so far) single viewing. It doesn’t matter, that’s partly the point, and the visuals tell themselves, a saucy comedic cross between mime and mummery. The “plot” enacts over-the-top musical melodrama around a faceoff between the baguette and the croissant, with yeasty, below-the-belt symbolism attached to each Gallic icon for the staff of life.
If you have 28 minutes to invest wisely, watch this video. It trumps whatever else you had planned for those minutes. If it turns you off, tant pis. (Translation with soupçon of irony: “I’m devasted with sympathetic regret.” Pas tellement.)
(c) 2024 JMN — EthicalDative. All rights reserved
EthicalDative 
The Coarsest of Coarse Discourse Courses Through the Corridors
English isn’t made for rhyming compared to Spanish, French or Arabic. Alliteration was its strong suit of old. My title flaunts it with a homophone. It also goes to town on sibilants, which is icing on the cake. That’s a metaphor.
My fellow Americans, a veritable warlock’s brew of billingsgate and contumely is fermenting in our musky juices. I’m sure I didn’t dream it — surely? — but read somewhere that the land’s unelected executive co-pilot tooted on his social medium that persons opposing some view of his should go “fuck their faces.” How do you even?
From my favorite tech podcast helmed by The New York Times’s Kevin Roose and Platformer’s Casey Newton, I learned that Butthole Coin is a real memecoin, marketed on pump.fund as “The Foundation of Flatulent Finance.” Its market cap at the time of Kevin and Casey’s broadcast was $40 million. Pump-and-dump schemes are thriving, and nowhere more than in the precincts of the poobahs.
On my country-western radio station a song’s hook was “Don’t drive your truck when you’re all tanked up!” I’ve got to track down the female artist, because I love her saucy ditty. While a train kept me stalled at the railroad crossing, a snatch from another song said something like, “I want to wake up with you in the back of my truck and start all over again.” A man’s pickup truck is the vehicle of romance in this part of the country. The “bed” of a truck is a metaphor in its own right. It’s where an F-150 mates with its load.
An ad on Hardfork spoke of Source Code, the title of Bill Gates’s new book about his “origin story.” “It’s not about Microsoft, the Gates Foundation or Technology,” says the ad. That’s a daring publishing move: Title a book with a term of art from the domain which made its subject famous, in order to have to assert that the book is not about that! Here’s the title I would give to a memoir by the graying eminence of Redmond: My Voice Never Changed.
(c) 2025 JMN — EthicalDative. All rights reserved