#monsieur dupont

[nicklloydnow]

“The system of the motorway, the social relation of the motorway, is left untouched by any attack on its specifics - untouched or is it reinvigorated? Does it bloom like the desert in places where fire and rain have visited. Anarchism against circulation is an ethics; it doesn't hurt the motorway even though it wants to. It doesn't hurt the motorway because it is just one response among many to present conditions, and it takes its place alongside all other theories and actions as an ideology - it exists as one strand in the strand of strands of commodified consciousness.

On the motorway, everything that can happen will happen, including dissent against the motorway. But we see now that achieving the heightened condition of dissent does not bestow upon the rebel a capacity to change anything, or even to escape the conditioning of the possible exits open to her/him. Saying "no" does not transport us to a place where we might make decisions separately from the world in which we live. I have met anarchists who live like ironside puritans and others of a deliberately decadent inclination, but whether you forbid or celebrate you do not touch capitalism itself. At every point it holds you in its palm - sometimes allowing a little more movement, sometimes gripping harder. Capitalism has facilitated democracy, fascism, state socialism, theocracy, militarism, human rights, religious revivals; it processes and transforms all social organisation into its social organisation. Every political aspiration is compatible with its productive relation. You propose the counter culture? Capital will commodify it, instigate it, reproduce it, and sell it. There is no outside of the loop.

The motorway cannot be undone either by ideas or practice. It cannot be undone. You think a million people like you could do the business? Well, where are they? If you haven't got them after two hundred years of agitation what makes you think they will turn up now or at some time in the future? And do you really think it possible that a million people can believe the same thing at the same time? How would you check they were really thinking what you thought and not hoping to get something else out of it: a Phd thesis, a promotion, a ministerial promo-tion, a groovy party, radical credibility, a new girlfriend? And if they did truly believe as you believe, if they downloaded your consciousness - by what mechanism would that change the world? Proposed democratic change works like magic, it has a misdirected relation to the movement of capital: if we all think the same thing then everything will come good. In reality, we know that agreement is both false and also not decisive on the mechanisms of power, which act automatically, independently of decision-making.

Why should large numbers of people be convinced by what one person claims more than the promises of any other? The internet is full of get rich quick schemes, anarchism is just one of them.

The easy anarchist answer is that it is not thoughts that change the world but acts. The fundamental flaw in political action is this: the more militant (and therefore true) the action is, the fewer people want to participate in it. The more unreal and fluffy, the more inclined they will be to turn up. Anarchists, being mostly young men, still have not learnt that only young men like to fight back on the streets, everyone else will find excuses not to be there. In directing campaigns, the choice for activists is stark, it is between numbers or ideological purity.

But even to say that rubs some up the wrong way; all discussion subverts the glory of acts. Apparently talking and thinking gets you nowhere because "there is no point in theory without action", as if the likes of Class War or RTS have ever got anywhere. How could Monsieur Dupont demonstrate its activities on the streets? How is anarchism demonstrated on the streets? It seems after all, that all deliberate interventions made by the pro-revolutionary minority are acts but what is really important is whether the proposed interventions either achieve, or are capable of achieving, what is claimed for them.” (p. 160 - 162)

[fidjiefidjie]

Bon Matin ❤️🎙🎹 😊

Véronique Sanson 🎶 Monsieur Dupont

Live RTS

[edsmusicblog]

sandie shaw - monsieur dupont

1969

[athousandgateaux]

Loss of hope, cynicism, pessimism – these are the open-eyed modes of consciousness appropriate to present conditions. There are no solutions, no good prospects, no chance of improving your lot. Things are going down; we’re all going down together. Everything is decay and defeat, the world is grey. Big, good men are laid low by weasly small men. Treachery wins out time and time again: true-hearted intention is twisted to further the purpose of despair. These are the blackest days. And so, if we cannot win, if defeat by the powers of darkness are certain, what then of our rejection of the bad days? Nothing is changed; an illusion is crushed – that is all. Resistance is not a bet made, Pascal style, in the hope of making a fortune in the future – it is an unavoidable burden, a fate, a curse upon our miserable band. Shall we then hear no more uplifting songs from the activist camp, no more group patriotism, no more positivity, no more ‘together we can do it.’ Let us find in…defeat…the absolute truth of capitalised existence: people lose out to money, we lose out to money. With no prospect of victory we still go on because the resistant position is not dependent on either political victory or lifestyle choice, it is an unavoidable chore. Without illusions we must proceed, our consciousness hardened.

Monsieur Dupont, Nihilist Communism, pg. 148-149

[agentellafiles]

It's Agent Ella's toughest adversary yet... or is it? Meet Monsieur Pierre Dupont, the head of the Dupont Family and crime boss of Belize.

You are Agent Ella, and you've infiltrated Dupont's home in the hopes of helping bust his drug smuggling ring! But Dupont reminds you too much of your awful ex-husband and besides, something about him doesn't seem... right.

Play Agent Ella to solve this mystery!

[111seedhillroad]

i only just started reading nihilist communism, and i have to say the critique of consciousness is so important. if you agree at all with the premises of changing society at the economic base to affect cultural changes at the superstructure (for who on the left/post-left is this not true), then "raising consciousness" as a strategy is obvious bullshit. not only is it bullshit, when it is effective it is only effective as a strategy for a faction of people to gain institutional power to again change society at the base via top-down operations a la Leninism. Supporting the notion I've brought up before that political education, pedagogy, etc. is vanguardism by a different means (not even a different means its just what they do).

I also agree with the implications of MD's critique, which is that revolution and therefore communism (and therefore something like a "communist" consciousness) can only occur when the exact people with their hands on the productive apparatus stop, which... is hard to believe will ever happen before climate catastrophe makes it happen.

I need to finish this fucking book.

[dandelionterminal]

Invisible String Part 2 - Prologue II - His Butler, a Shadow

link to next part

tags: not beta read, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, like demon ranking stuff, Demon Deals, demon biology, Mentions of Myth & Folklore, Family Feels, Platonic Relationships, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Song: invisible string (Taylor Swift), Cross-Posted on AO3, eventually part of a collection

characters: Sebastian Michaelis, Original female character

Summary:

-One single thread of gold tied me to you-

Demons, angels, and grim reapers roam the streets of London in the latter half of the 18th century. Adelaide DuPont knows that whatever killed her parents was not human. Someone, or something, killed them and left no trace. Adelaide and her brother, Luca, are left almost desolate. Their only hope is to get the Earl of Phantomhive on their side as an investor in their parents' company. Sebastian Michaelis is a leashed demon. However, that does not stop him from smelling his mate. He will not let the fate of humans in this world take her away from him. He can balance two goals at once. He can care for his master and convince his mate to return to the pits of Hell with him.

Adelaide Manon DuPont was born to her parents Elise DuPont and Alain DuPont on September 17, 1868, in France. She was a bright and cheerful child. Her hair was a vibrant red during her childhood but lightened and dulled with age. It settled into an almost pink strawberry blonde. She always loved to learn and create. Her parents fretted about her playing make-believe so much as a child. She always seemed to have imaginary friends that she would talk to and play with. She called them the most terrifying and archaic names. One she seemed to talk to the most was called Malphas and she described him as wearing feathers and having “really long nails”. She seemed to outgrow it though, as she got older. Little did Elise and Alain know that Adelaide simply stopped sharing her strange visions and visitors. Malphas stopped visiting her though in 1885. The family moved to London in 1870 in preparation for their company launch. 

In 1873, Luca Gabriel DuPont joined the family. He was much quieter and withdrawn than his elder sister and was rather apathetic growing up. Luca did not enjoy make-believe or have imaginary friends. But he did listen to his sister whisper to her in the night. When Luca was around 12, he listened to his sister whisper to the shadows through a crack in her bedroom door. 

“I’ve told you, monsieur, you cannot keep coming here. My family worries, I worry, that I am crazy,” she said to the shadows in the corner of her room. Luca squinted, trying to see what or who she was speaking to. That’s when he saw it, a faint golden glow around his sister’s ring finger. It led up to connect to something lurking in the shadows. An arm reached out of the shadows. Monstrous, long black nails on the hand tried to stroke his sister's cheek. She backed away in fear and Luca covered his mouth to stifle a gasp. “No,” she said firmly. “Do not touch me.” 

The shadows moved, as if laughter was coming from a chest. “I am trying to prove to you that I am real,” the shadow said. Luca could not believe it. The imaginary friends, the delusions, of his sister were real. They were tangible, visible, and speaking audibly. 

“No, you are not. You are in my head, you’re a part of my imagination that has gone on too long,” Adelaide said, throwing herself back in her bed and covering her head. “I will not see you anymore, Malphas.”

The shadow chuckled again and seeped back into hiding. “If you say so, Adelaide,” it said and then vanished into the night. Luca ran back to his room and pretended to have never seen anything. From that night on, however, he never heard Adelaide speak to the shadows again. 

______________________________________________________________________

One night, in 1886, the DuPont home caught on fire. The blazes were so large that the public did not believe there would be any survivors and the DuPont Confectionary Company would vanish into the night with the embers. However, once the blaze had died down, the children of the DuPonts were found unscathed, huddled together in a corner of the home. The 18-year-old heiress to the DuPont Confectionary Company and her younger brother were not burnt and barely coughed as they emerged from the still-burning coals of their home. The bodies of the former Earl DuPont and his wife were found to be burnt beyond recognition. From that moment on, the homeless DuPont heirs were shunned from society. 

______________________________________________________________________

Let me give you an example of the treatment of the DuPont heirs. After the fire, the siblings were invited to a ball with the ton. It was assumed that the heiress would find a husband during this ball. The siblings' aunt in Paris sent them nice garments to wear to the event. When the two walked into the event, the room fell hushed and ladies started whispering behind their fans. Adelaide walked up to a group of ladies she used to spend these high society events with only to overhear the whispers they were hiding behind their fans. 

“Do you think it was Addie or her brother? We know one of them had to start it, right?” one of the ladies said, her perfect curls bouncing as she spoke. 

“Oh of course. How else would they be unscathed but their parents burnt to a crisp?” another asked. 

“Do you think that the DuPonts had that much money? Enough to risk your own life and well-being for?” the first one asked. 

Adelaide pauses in her steps, head bowed to the ground. They were not there that night, she reminds herself. They did not know the screams, the horrors she had to endure that night. The sounds of tearing flesh and hellfire echoed in her and Luca’s ears every night when they closed their eyes. Even as she squeezed her eyes shut in the moment to try to blink away her tears she saw the smiles of those monsters in her vision. The obscene fangs and tongues were covered in her parents's blood. She had shielded her brother from their line of sight, protecting him. She did not know why they targeted her home or her family that night. One thing she did know for certain was that those creatures were not human. Her family was murdered, but they were not murdered by humans. And, as your narrator, I can confirm that she is correct. 

______________________________________________________________________

For the next year, the DuPont heirs struggled. It turned out that running a company on your own as a teenager was not an easy feat. The business seemed to be going down farther and farther. Part of the issue was the tainted name of DuPont. Everyone associated the candies the DuPont Company made with the fire and assumed familicide. Try as she might to clear their name, Adelaide could not convince the public that she and her brother did not kill their parents. 

As the year went on, the siblings struggled more and more to make ends meet. Food got scarcer, sacrifices had to be made, and Adelaide started eating less. On the nights when she was the hungriest, she really missed talking to Malphas. 

It was one of these nights that Adelaide started thinking. She had heard of Funtom company, and how the company was run by a child. She started to wonder if maybe, just maybe, he would take a chance on DuPont Company, on her and her brother.

[un---man]

"Nobody can stop it because nobody chose it, it is a fact, the world we live in. In the same way a television programme critical of the psycho-sociological effects of television ultimately ends by affirming the amazing versatility of the medium, it certainly cannot turn the box off and release people to do something less boring instead. Television and the motorway, unlike the Roman Emperors, tolerate, even encourage, dissent. *

-Monsieur Dupont, Anarchist must say what only anarchists can say

[tintinology]

Tintin adaptations throughout the years

The Adventures of Tintin have been adapted more than a dozen times into several different media, including radio, movie, television, theater, and video games. Most of these adaptations are based on the original 23 comics:

*Not included due to lack of information Radio Luxembourg radio play (1956-1961) - French Radio-Canada radio play (1962-1965?) - French

The most popular books to adapt have been The Secret of the Unicorn, Red Rackham’s Treasure, The Seven Crystal Balls, and Prisoners of the Sun (with ten adaptations each), while Tintin in the Land of the Soviets (with zero adaptations) and Tintin in Congo (with only two) have been the least popular. There have also been no adaptations of Tintin and Alph-Art. It’s interesting to note that the Swedish radio play also adapted Tintin and the Lake of Sharks, despite it not being one of the official books of the series.

The languages on the table indicate the original language the adaptation came out in; however in some were also made available in other languages as well. This is the case with the TV shows, movies (except the one from 1947), and video games.

.

There have also been other Tintin adaptations not based on original comics that were either approved or tolerated by Hergé and Moulinsart/Tintinimaginatio (links may lead to French sites when English is not available):

Movies

Tintin et le mystère de la Toison d’Or (1961) - French

Tintin et les oranges bleues (1964) - French

Tintin et le lac aux requins (1972) - French

Plays

Tintin aux Indes : Le Mystère du diamant bleu (1941) - French

Monsieur Boullock a disparu (1941) - French

Books and short stories

Dupont et Dupond, détectives (1943) - French

Tintin et Milou chez les Toreadors (1947) - French

Tintin in the New World: A Romance (1993) - English

All three movies have had books made, though only Tintin and the Lake of Sharks was adapted into an official comic. The 2011 movie was also adapted as a novel.

The plays and the short story  Tintin et Milou chez les Toreadors have seemingly been lost to time, so all that remains are summaries online and the occasional photo.

Interestingly, the first adaptations date back to 1941, but it isn’t until 1947 that the first adaptation of one of the comics is made. Since Hergé’s death, only one adaptation not based on the original comics has been published, and only because it received his approval before his death.

[ndfan3]

Nancy’s AI Adventure, Part 10

“Come on gentleman, in you go.” said George. She and the waitress supervised the procession of the four sullen and bound men into the manager’s office where they were seated, gagged by the two young women as a precaution against plotting, and then locked up. Meanwhile Nancy, Bess and the remaining staff apologised profusely to the diners, explaining that the police woukd soon be here and that restaurant was closing for the night. “Well, that’s that, then.” sighed Bess wearily. “We captured the whole gang!” Nancy nodded. “You call the police, Bess.” she told her friend. “I would like one last word with Monsieur Dupont.”

The girl sleuth descended the stair to the wine cellar which she entered cautiously. She need not have worried. The restauranteur was still seated, tied up where George had left him after she had hurried away to prevent the cook’s escape. “Have you returned to tell me of your triumph, Miss Drew?” The Frenchman asked the young woman ironically, moving a little uncomfortably in his bonds. “Well your chums are all tied up and locked in your office, waiting for the police to arrive if that’s what you mean.” she replied. Dupont smiled ruefully. “A remarkable young woman.” he said softly. Nancy looked hard at her prisoner. “What made you do it, monsieur?” she asked him. “Turn a local thriving business into the centre of a drugs ring in a town like River Heights?” Dupont stared back at the detective then indicated the racks and racks of high end wine that surrounded them with his head. “How much do you think it cost to set this restaurant up as an exclusive online wine merchant?” he asked her. The young woman shook her head. “Debt, Miss Drew.” Dupont continued. “Eventually you turn to less scrupulous bodies when the banks will no longer loan you the money. And that is how the cartel gets its claws into you.” Dupont bowed his head as the sound of aporoaching police sirens drifted down from upstairs.

Nancy and Bess later met with Sheriff Jane Jessop outside the restaurant after M Dupont and his accomplices had been carted away in handcuffs. “You girls did well,” the policewoman smiled, “ to have turned the tables on the gang the way you did. Luckily for you they were not gang members - just employees who got greedy.” Nancy smiled in acknowledgment. “What will happen to M Dupont?” she asked Officer Jessop. “He will receive at least ten years.” Jane replied. “His team perhaps half of that - depending on what evidence we uncover now and what they tell us. Dupont helped himself by surrendering to you when he did, Miss Drew. “And the cartel?” ventured Bess. “Gone from River Heights, Miss Marvin.” replied the woman. “Something else we have to thank you ladies for.”

Two months later, Bess, George and Nancy sat in the newly opened Pierre’s restaurant. It was the former Chez Dupont, with most of the innocent staff re-employed under new management. The girls had just enjoyed a complementary meal. “It’s nice to eat here and not be investigating!” laughed Bess as she sipped a black coffee. “What next, Nance?” asked George expectantly. “How do you two fancy a holiday on my uncle’s beach house in Florida?” the titian-haired girl detective suddenly asked. “I think we deserve it, don’t you?”

THE END.

AI images created via Microsoft Bing before its upgrade and AI Fantasy

[josefavomjaaga]

Joseph and Napoleon, again.

Still reading the correspondence between Napoleon and Joseph during the Peninsular War, and I can’t decide whom of the two correspondents I dislike more. Napoleon still boasting »I will in Spain find the Pillars of Hercules, but not the limit of my power«, while Joseph - who has warned him over and over that things are going really, really badly here - after the capitulation of Baylén is already on the road from Madrid back to the French frontier, running from an army of infuriated Spanish insurgents … that’s really hard to stomach and makes me pity Joseph, who sees much better how things really stand, but whose opinion, it seems, Napoleon never takes serious.

And yet I think I’m also starting to understand why, despite Joseph’s and Murat’s problems being so similar in nature, I have far more sympathy for Murat than for Monsieur Joseph.

This is from a letter Joseph wrote to Napoleon in 1808, when he had been driven from Madrid the first time, after Dupont’s capitulation at Baylén and literally only a couple days after he had first entered Madrid:

Joseph to Napoleon, Burgos, 9 August 1808

[…] I found here other people of my household who left Naples after it. I have been here since this morning; I have been thinking a great deal about the situation of Spanish affairs, about those of Naples, and about Your Majesty's letter of 3 August, in which she tells me of my fondness for the Spaniards. I disregard all intermediate ideas, and here is the result of my reflections:

1° Since much blood and money is needed to conquer Spain, France is entitled to find an indemnity for it, and to ensure that these peoples, who will long hold a feeling of animosity against her, cannot essentially harm her. For this, Spain must be reduced to the point of being powerless to give in to this resentment: joining the provinces beyond the Ebro to France, joining Galicia to Portugal, dividing up the Spanish possessions, would make what would remain of Spain descend to the rank of a third power; [...]

It would be possible, by returning the increased Portugal to the house of Braganza, and disposing of Spain and the Spanish possessions, to make them objects of compensation, the price of the war and the token of a general peace [...].

2° When I consider myself in this matter, it is impossible for me not to become at once a stranger to Spain. Honour, conscience, or finally that hidden instinct which is the motive of all my actions, […]

… Money? Or women? It has to be one of those two!

[…] would never allow me to remain on the throne of Spain, if that monarchy were to be reduced in the least part.

Of course. Ruling over a third degree power would be beneath one Joseph Bonaparte.

In the supposition that France would want to gratuitously lavish her blood and gold to place and maintain me on the throne of Spain, I cannot conceal from Your Majesty that I could not bear the idea that another than Your Majesty should command the French armies in Spain. Having become the conqueror of this country through the horrors of the war in which all Spanish individuals will take part, I will long be an object of terror and execration. I am too old to have the time to repair so many evils; and I would have sown too much hatred during the war for me to be able to reap in my last years the fruit of the good that I would have been able to do during peace, in the midst of preventions and calamities of all kinds.

To sum up: Joseph is not necessarily against using violence against the Spaniards – to the contrary, he is fully aware that a ruthless oppression will be necessary in order to get a hold of the country, and he even suggests that the country be split up, rendered powerless forever, and certain regions be used as barter goods with the Brits for a general peace.

He just does not want to be the one to do it.

In exchange for the priviledge to see his brother sit the throne of Spain, Napoleon please do all that ugly fighting and butchering and maiming. M’kay? Getting his hands dirty, that’s nothing for a person as delicate as Joseph. He wants to be seen as the good guy by his new subordinates, so he cannot be involved in any of the ugly stuff. But, hey, Naps, that’s precisely what you went to Brienne for, right? So just invest some fifty millions in money and some fifty thousand soldiers (Joseph keeps asking for this over and over, before he even has reached his capital), kill whoever you need to kill in order to make sure that the Spanish will not rebel again, and I’m all yours to wear that crown.

And in case Napoleon should adopt neither of Joseph’s suggestions (either split up Spain and make it powerless, or beat it into submission and then place Joseph on the throne), Joseph will do what any person in his right mind would do, call it a day and go back to his much more comfortable throne of Naples. Sorry, Naps, surely you will understand.

I can’t help but feel a lot of Schadenfreude at the thought that, when Joseph was writing this, Naples had already been given to Murat.

[nicklloydnow]

“Morning always seems too stale to justify

Lament blossoms, hours, minutes of our lives

Broken thoughts run through your empty mind

At least a beaten dog knows how to lie”

Sleepflower - Manic Street Preachers

“The world will not be changed by millions of people voting for change, or demonstrating for change, because capitalist power is not constituted with reference to human feelings: political desires and demonstrations, which are the social forms consciousness takes, cannot touch capitalist domination but are merely determined by it. We have no place for consciousness in our scheme, we see no need for a generalised formulated desire for revolution. Revolution belongs to the mute body and its resistance to, and its giving out to, the imposition of work. What is needed in the revolutionary struggle is precedence given to the needs of the body (consumer culture is a contemporary echo of this. The slogans are not inspiring or romantic: more rest, more pay, less work, no deals on productivity. However, once this demand-regime is set in motion it cannot be side-tracked except by counterfeit political demands, or formulations of radical consciousness made by those who seek to lead it. Once the body tends toward rest, it cannot rid itself of that inclination unless it is roused again to work for some political vision. In short the struggle of industrial workers against capital will be conducted entirely in selfish terms, which in the end describes itself as the struggle against work in the interest of highly paid sleep. In the present nothing has significance but the desire to extend half-hour lunch breaks into hour lunch breaks. If all pro-revolutionaries grasp this they will stop worrying about the precondition of consciousness. It is within the political-economic figure of the imposition of work and its negation (which is comfort), that pro-revolutionaries could make a contribution to their workplace struggles. The struggle is against the maximisation of productivity and for the maximisation of rest. If workers could win their struggle in these terms then they will have broken up the basic mechanism of the capitalist system.

The struggle of the body for rest is not the revolution, it is merely the crisis of capital. A crisis because it brings the massed, accumulated, fossilised acts of the past and the sedimenting/accumulating dead acts of the present, along with the possible conditions for the future, together in collision and in this standstill all value ceases to be enforced, leaving the world in a kind of zero hour/zero place where everything is contestable. (When the traffic stopped last September during the Fuel Protests, a man on a bicycle passed me and said, "I can hear the birds singing." We have heard what economic collapse sounds like.) When industry stops everything in society, otherwise absolutely determined by it, floats free from its gravity. In this particular crisis of capital all hell breaks loose; then comes the time for organisation. You can call that consciousness if you want, we don't care.” - Monsieur Dupont, ‘Nihilist Communism: A Critique of Optimism in the Far Left’ (2009) [p. 26 - 27]

[baeddel]

top 5 books of all time?

Marx's Capital vol. 1, Clausewitz' On War, Monsieur Dupont's Nihilist Communism, Sun Tzu's Art of War, Stirner's the Unique and its Property

[athousandgateaux]

Having finally gotten around to reading Monsieur Dupont, I think I can safely say that 'Nihilist Communism' is a misnomer for what they were doing. MD is still essentially wedded to a kind of Marxist humanism. At best, they express a (rightful and accurate) pessimism toward leftism, activism, anarchism, and other forms of Marxism (or what they lump together as the 'milieu'). Their critiques are often quite good and damning. But what they propose is not nihilism by any stretch of the imagination. It's just a more pessimistic and moody form of Marxism. Pessimism and nihilism are not the same thing.

[tinkerbellartt]

11/ Création d’un personnage : Monsieur Dupont, professeur de mathématiques

[transparentgentlemenmarker]

Il y a quelques années, j'étais assis dans la salle d'attente de la maternité, alors que ma femme était en train de se prendre une perfusion d'ocytocine administrée dans le but d'accélérer son travail. (elle avait ce qu'on appelle le "part languissant")

J'attendais là, en compagnie de plusieurs autres maris, lorsque la sage-femme est sortie.

Elle a dit à un homme assis en face de moi "Félicitations monsieur, vous êtes l'heureux papa de jumelles!"

L'homme a répondu:

"Ça par exemple! Je travaille justement pour un fabriquant d'optique de précision et ma spécialité, ce sont les jumelles!"

Environ une heure plus tard, la sage-femme refait irruption dans la salle d'attente et annonce que Mme Dupont vient de mettre au monde des triplets, 3 petits garçons.

M. Dupont se lève alors d'un seul coup et s'exclame:

"Eh, qu'est-ce que vous dites de ça, j'ai 3 petits mecs et je travaille pour 3M!"

Lorsque la sage-femme apparaît la fois suivante, elle annonce à un troisième père que sa femme vient juste de donner naissance à des quadruplés.

"Voilà quelque chose de vraiment singulier!" s'écrie le papa. "il se trouve justement que je travaille à l'hôtel du Trèfle à 4 feuilles!"

Arrivé à ce point, le monsieur assis à côté de moi se met à suffoquer et à s'étrangler. il se lève, et desserre à la hâte son nœud de cravate, cherchant à reprendre sa respiration. Je lui demande si tout va bien, et il me répond:

"Je pense que j'ai besoin d'aller prendre l'air! Vous comprenez, je suis directeur de casting pour Ali Baba et les 40 voleurs..."

THE NEW BABIES...

A few years ago, I was sitting in the maternity ward waiting room, while my wife was taking an oxytocin infusion that was administered to speed up her labor. (she had what is called the "languishing part")

I was waiting there with several other husbands when the midwife came out.

She said to a man sitting across from me "Congratulations sir, you are the proud daddy of twins!"

The man replied:

"That for example! I work for a manufacturer of precision optics and my specialty is binoculars!"

About an hour later, the midwife bursts into the waiting room again and announces that Mrs. Dupont has just given birth to triplets, 3 little boys.

Mr. Dupont then suddenly gets up and exclaims:

"Hey, how about that, I have 3 little guys and I work for 3M!"

When the midwife appears the next time, she announces to a third father that his wife has just given birth to quadruplets.

"That's something really unique!" exclaims the father. "I just so happen to work at the 4-leaf Clover Hotel!"

At this point, the gentleman sitting next to me begins to choke and choke. he gets up and hastily loosens the knot of his tie, trying to catch his breath. I ask him if everything is fine, and he replies:

"I think I need to get some fresh air! You know, I'm the casting director for Ali Baba and the 40 Thieves..."