This may be the first in a series of posts to appear in which I ponder, using as little language as possible, the downright bizzar-ness of things such as this here monchhichi. I don’t remember much about monchhchis while I was growing up. I certainly don’t remember their cutting an album. But today I decided I don’t trust them. Something in the way they look at you with their ridiculous faces in their big round hairy heads. Like they’re about to steal those pancakes you’re eating right off your fucking plate. All the while smiling with their beady little eyes, singing Alouette. It’s downright disturbing.
