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About Montpellier

Personal quirk? I’d be rubbish at it—too loud, too fat, too fond of cigars! Can’t sneak round quiet-like, I’d bellow, “Oi, who’s next?!” and blow the whole gig. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but imagine me in fishnets—bloody hilarious! Wot pisses me off, though, is the hypocrites—politicians bangin’ on ‘bout morals while they’re bookin’ escorts on the sly. Saw one geezer in the papers, all red-faced—caught with his trousers down. Karma, innit?

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He was one of the guys from Southeast Kansas who played baseball for the St. Louis Browns farm club during the summer and attended college on South Broadway.

First off, I hit the road on Rue de la République. Traffic was a mess. Like, come on, people! It’s a Tuesday, not a parade day! I’m stuck behind this old dude in a rusty Renault. He’s going 20 in a 50 zone. I’m like, “C’mon, man! You got places to be!” Finally, I zoom past him, giving him a little wave. You know, the kind that says, “You’re slow, but I still love ya.”

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