Shape Up or Ship Out

Today’s Bastille Day episode is sponsored by Perrier. Perrier, if you can’t drink water like an adult and need some coaxing so your pee isn’t hot neon yellow. Perrier, expensive fart water. We have a bushel of Perrier on site, which means I’m now passing gas like I just ate at The Melting Pot without actually eating any solid food. The Melting Pot, relive prom night with warm cheese! That’s a free plug The Melting Pot – you’re welcome. I’ll see you in a mall.

Speaking of malls, our guest just came back from a shopping spree and is sporting some sweet new casual street shoes.  Jacques de Flesselles! Unfortunate casualty on July 14^th, 1789! The last provost of the merchants of Paris! You look homeless from the ankle down!

HB: I like the kicks, Jacques!

JF: Merci! They’re Shape Ups, so I can look cool AND tighten my core.

HB: Great! Hey, I’m so sorry you were shot and decapitated.

JF: That’s ok. Wrong place, wrong time, wrong provost of the merchants.

HB: And you had come from a middle-class family, pulled yourself up to a higher tier, only to be murdered by the rabble.

JF: I tried. Took out some loans, went to Paris State, where I majored in finance and sports science, and then joined up with the local fraternity chapter of La Petit Mort.

HB: Like jizz?

JF: Wasn’t my idea. They had the connections to become a royalist.

HB: Means to an end via semen. Nah, I get it. What did you parents do?

JF: My dad was your typical middle-class Frenchman: worked as a line cook at The Melting Pot, which is basically heating up cheese in a pot. And my mom, ironically, was the hostess. Decent gigs.

HB: Ah, fuck! That’s why I was thinking about The Melting Pot…

JF: It mainly caters to high school pre-dance dinners and uncles taking their nephews out for a nice meal.

HB: I’m aware. Anyway, so you were just hanging out and you got cut down at the onset of the revolution? Bummerz.

JF: Yeah, all these angry dudes were like, “Where the guns at fancy boy?” And I was wearing some shoes with buckles on it, not these Shape Ups, so they fucking shot me. Whatever, I feel if I had on different shoes they wouldn’t have murdered me and put my head on a stick.

HB: Or they would’ve taken your shoes and some random dude would be storming the Bastille with a pair of Skechers Shape Ups on.

JF: You hungry?

HB: Yeah, I could eat.

JF: Go to the Pot? My mom’s working a double.

HB: Sure, I’ll carry your head.