To honor Balthazar’s upcoming nuptials to Huang Deng Ping, the child bride appropriated in a freak highway misunderstanding, a little

ditty translated from the diary of our late though strangely eloquent Ayi affectionately known as the M&M Butler and officially referred to 大囧 便 in her People's Official Proof of Death through Redistribution of Essential Life Force Certificate:

A day in the life of the M&M Butler, actually started many years ago, on some of Beijing’s meaner streets – a physical moat and a world and a half away from the compound where Balthazar spent most of his summer days under armed guard, hugging а methuselah of the People's Finest Sorghum Champagne, growing lighter by the second and served with large glowing Rocks of Preschool Crank on the side. This concoction, known as the Murple Drunk, is rich in methylated goodness, kerosene and various other diuretics and adulterants and is a Friday night must of the misspent 12 year old gold diggers who brazenly drink it in dark alleys and gypsy cabs on their wonky way to the cream of Beijing's club scene. Mind you, not just as a last minute method of squeezing into size 3 jeans and not even to fit in with other patrons who experience similar potty problems due to unceasing diets of ketamine and sea cucumber but also to try and maintain some semblance of dignity by disassociating their brain from their bodies for a solid 12 hours of self-loathing and objectification at the hand of their bittersweet patrons. Balthazar came across this liquid gold, after his 2 loves of port and ketamine, had a blissfully catastrophic collision one warm summer's day. Since then, I often saw him furiously sipping Cockodrill (a term he coined himself which pays an homage to the highly intoxicating drug Krokodil whose numerous side effects include acute dermatological scaling and erection reduction, essential during the rare moments when blood flow has to be redirected to one’s brain) with consistent desperation of a modern day bon savant - a once a bon vivant, tipped from grace into madness peppered with occasional sparks of brilliance from whence he was not able to get out for one long precarious and foul smelling moon. In moments of pleasure, in moments of pain and with the sun and the wind to dictate the whims of his fancy, grilling more exotic cuts of beef than your average Chateaubriand constituent and watching them rot for pure esoteric pleasure - this is only half the man that once saved my virginity from the Magic Man, only to take it himself later, and in whose stead I’m serving in that prison of shame that we call servitude. The diary is thick. Thick with writing, as well as blood sweat tears and other unspeakable fluids. More excerpts can be deciphered, sterilized and expertly translated by yours truly upon request. Upon receipt you may payer en nature sexuele, or for those of you who don't speak French, in hugs.

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