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As
you may clearly see here, there was an obvious reason
for Roger's dementia. Somehow, he had managed to
find - and, with malice aforethought, purchase -
some of the shittiest american beer one can buy. It
seemed to have affected his brain in quite an
unfavorable manner. I'm telling you, the
dude went bat-shit crazy for a time and he wouldn't stop
babbling something about a princess and someone's only
hope. It was not entirely unlike him, yet still somewhat
unsettling.
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We
weaved our way back towards the hotel, back across
the Cours Saleya, and up along the Place Massena.
It looked like a magazine ad, so we snapped some
pics to sell off later, forcing the random french
people to sign releases by breathing heavily upon
them of our alcoholic haze. The ones that didn't
immediately pass out soon became quite cooperative.
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Eventually, we found
ourselves back at the hotel and still quite
polluted. In his euphoric daze, Roger decided
the view out of our window deserved a little
memorialization. The view of the
buildings across the street. Titillating,
isn't it?
That was a rhetorical
question. Because no, it's not.
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Eventually, he did pass out,
and I was finally able to get some much needed rest in
anticipation of our trip to Cannes the next morning.
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