Mucous Plug In Throat

Silva

must hunt down the wolves to exhaustion. Follow his trail and noted the brands fresh in the wet earth, broken twigs, white clusters of white hair glistening in the brambles. Also feel, grime and ammonia, the hints of iron and rust puddle of blood, where it stopped. Bent forward, his face tense, scraped by the lower branches, a hand thrown back, the other arm and reinforce themselves flying the side, chasing the interweaving of lianas and young shoots fat. Focus on your breathing, to distinguish the beast of humus, the foam of the beast. Of breath, chest raised violently, by a sudden, stop, listen, scrutinize between sunlight chaotic by midges thousands, to look out for the slightest tremor, the thrill of the hunted animal. Be both predator and prey, think for both, his flight to transparency overlay to our race. It almost jealous of the ease of his status as hunted animal. For the wolf, one goal, his whole being turned into a single, blind, abandoned by instinct, nothing around him is important.
Earth sickly, dry grain and rough scree overflowing onto the footpath, mushrooms and green gray saturating the air heavy with their fragrance flawed. Greasy droppings and puddles of mud wallow where gray boars. Raise the head and contemplate the slow dance of the peaks, moments of silence disturbed by the creaking of the shoot millennium. The clearing gaping open before us, bathed in red light. Leaves whirl, ignite and burn by touching the grass slow. At the center of the clearing, lying on its side, head resting on a stump, the beast is waiting, resigned. The sun rekindles its fire-mane and his eyes go black lightning.


Sit before him, looking at him, pass his hand over the hair sticky with blood between her ears. Let it sleep.

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15/12

Day 22


I have just experienced a difficult week. A cloud came in the night, four days ago. Three grandchildren have managed to enter through the vent in the back kitchen. I have better strengthened. Luckily I slept on the floor and growling woke me fast enough. I had time to grab me by my shield and my ax. I'm pretty proud of my equipment. I was able to strengthen the straps that I had set the garbage can lid that serves as a shield to me. If I find time and paint, I can amuse myself by drawing a shield above.
I went down slowly, they were still in the kitchen and I could take a few seconds to observe them. It was very dark but the air-hole let in a dim light that highlighted their contours shifting and quivering. I'd like to understand how they work ... I do not know what they are, they feel, communicate ... I do not know. The two youngest were trying to sack my groceries. The latter stood with bowed legs, an arm dangling to the side, the other gripping the rim of the sink. Motionless. I was surprisingly calm. I know that having them here in my antrum should terrorize me, but I felt quite reassured. I was at me.


I banged my shield against the kitchen door then went back as quickly as possible to the top of the stairs. They came right away, one by one. Three black silhouettes and stout, scraping their throats in producing this unique sound, muffled bile and blood. An ax splits the skull of the first. He fell backwards and slows the latter, which allows me to prepare my shot. Just on the shoulder. It falls to the knee and I reversed a kick. The third is already on me, I feel its pungent odor and surprisingly sweet. I reject with my legs, it is on all fours, I pick up my ax and hits de I too far tear him half his face. He gets up and walks back to me. They can apparently lead to sound, or smell ... A final blow across the throat finished removing her head from the body.


I spent the rest of the night to clean the stairs and kitchen. Unable to sleep anyway. Small and were not only the cloud slowly prowling around homes in the neighborhood for 4 days. Some are picking on the shutters and front door. They scratch, hit, spit and vomit. I think they did not for much longer. Since the intrusion of the other night, I ate more than cookies. I had to throw all my reservations, soiled by the grime of 3 guests. It appears I'll have tomorrow, if the cloud has passed.


Note: Remember to find fucking fags.

Kate's Playground Hoof Hoax

Bro gozh my Zadou

December, 20 degrees and a little bitterness.

The sun shines and the wind is spawning life rather pink and eyes full of hope, I'm loading my bag for a few moments of life I want to share. The homecoming. I love that phrase, is what I feel every time I go. My country is very small, damp and capricious. I believe there is nothing there Special to the common man. But to me, its streets, beaches and islands are ridiculously small compass essential.
I need as a poet of his muse.

The journey is long, too long. And just happen, it will go. We'll laugh, drink and make a lot of things unspeakable. We is me, this is another scribbler, and that some other people. It's memories and it's wrong. When your loved ones become memories is when we must make choices. My choice is made: long live the present. Panam, I'll be there.

Christmas: I do not always happen. But I can not say, or at least voice high. Do not like Christmas, it has become to be hip. And I have a little more conviction than a dead leaf, then I do not like being in the wind.

The future: it is dotted and enjoyable.

PS: This morning, on waking. My trusty steed was wrong. The night was rough and his side carries the stigma of uncontrolled shock. Dude, you so, I know you're scared and you're reading this message, leave a phone number, it would have been class.

How To Hide First Day Of Tongue Piercing

Day 17

My watch says 3:34 p.m. yesterday. I have no battery, no clock. I think it is 16h. This morning he was almost good despite the light rain that falls from the first day. I think I saw an airplane in retrieving the buckets placed on the roof. I still do not even appreciate the long view. Although the height to protect me, it would only take a tile crashing to the ground to attract them and I have no desire to be besieged by winter.

Note: remember to put a bucket at the gutters.

beans, canned ham and biscuits for lunch. I always leave a candle lit while the gaps between the boards, I can see. I never read much. I resumed reading the Promise of the Dawn Gary. I can not help imagine the places described in the book. I can not help but represent them as they should be today. Nice and the promenade des Anglais, crowded with black and carcasses of abandoned cars. The silence broken by the heavy surf. I'll finish this book tonight, even if bored.

No incident.

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10/12 8 / 12, 9 / 12. Wake

Day 15.

21:00.

Today I went out. I had not been out for 5 days. The phenomenon of deterioration of the streets has apparently accelerated it. The bodies of two children who were obstructing the landing of the building were missing. I wonder if they do not come to eat the corpses abandoned here and there. I went out to find bandages and alcohol. I thought to find in the apartment of Varet but he had already been looted, probably from day 1.

For now I am not really asked for food. I have abundant reserves of non-perishable food and a "easy" access to the kitchens of Thai restaurant on the ground floor. I do know that one day it will no longer suffice. The most urgent need was to get up a small pharmacy disinfectant, dressings, bandages, thread, needles, syringes ... I also recovered the buckets, large blue sheets drying on a wire and a few packs of batteries.

Day 16.

7:30

There was noise in the street all night. I tried to see something through the interstices of the planks I nailed to strengthen components. I'm starting to get used to it a bit, but this thick darkness frightens me. As if we had lived in denial of the night, proud of our lamps and our electricity. The night now came back, a night like our ancestors had to see and implacable. This morning I was surprised by the sound of my own voice.

Formula Of Interest On Rd

Driving Lesson

One of the favorite sports of homo sapiens always been a witch hunt. But what is a witch, you might say. The definition varies over time. For the knights of virtue rely more fashionable than moral criteria thoughtful. Nowadays, the three kinds of witches - or sorcerers - the most popular are probably the wife beater, child molesters and fundamentalists, replacing advantageously the backslider, the invert and the Wandering Jew of old. The world is still filled with these dangerous characters lurking treacherously in the guise of the man in the world. The sorcerer, in fact, it can be a stranger, a neighbor, relative ... and even you or me. Fortunately, there are brave vigilantes constantly on the lookout.

scene, strictly Authentic, which will follow, taking place this fall at a date that caution us to keep secret. I brought my wife in a large parking lot, nearly empty on holidays, for a driving lesson manual transmission. Last week we tried the reverse. This experience was a revelation for my patient student, who finally understood how to gradually release kurochi (word meaning clutch Japanese and slang) without stalling the engine.

"Advance! Brakes! To the left ... no right. Say, you saw the post there? "
PS Have you noticed the color of this car?
Design: Rie Mochizuki

Tonight, shortly before sunset, the place was completely deserted. Except that, during our maneuvers learned backwards, and sometimes zigzag, a black car, with tinted windows and look almost military, suddenly came to tour our little parking. Inside this tin noisy four-wheel drive, two pairs of eyes that keep us secure. Perhaps the curious in search of exoticism. Or a redneck who makes the speed in a parking lot to impress his girlfriend, or strutting before the only available public, ie us. The black Jeep

has already disappeared. My gracious student continues his quietly driving exercises, for about fifteen minutes. Then we took the road that takes us back to the city.

Last stop before entering the ramp connecting us to the boulevard. We exchange our seats and I'm back at the wheel. My student is pleased with his rapid progress. I'm glad to see pleased and return home without incident. Just as I am about to start, a police car comes towards us, having burned his stop. I am preparing to leave when she stops at my height. The window lowered and the face of a young, fresh and strong police appears.
- You do not see a green car with a man and a woman who cavil?
- Not ... Moreover, there is nobody over there, I'm pointing to the mountain.
my passenger's face lights up with a wide smile as she comes to understand, long before me that the green car in question is ours. The police, reassured, thanks us and goes, runs, flies to the rescue of the alleged victim.

We have not gone fifty yards that another police car is committed to full speed in the ramp. And as we drive very quietly, she passes us without giving us any attention.
- This time it is no longer a couple is bickering, but a couple who tapoche, I'm out to my students, laughing softly.
And yet, the parking that we have just left was actually desert. Two fellow walkers in air, with their dog. Three empty cars at the stop at the entrance of forest trail, probably trippers. None of the cars was green ... except ours. In fact, it seems that it would do more these days, green cars.

When we reached the boulevard, a third police car arrived on the hats of wheels and engages the ramp after a controlled skid.
- is more serious than I thought, I exclaimed. The suspects may be trying to quibble with their rifles.
But this cascade of manhunt, the delayed precipitation, this escalation tragicomic these scapinades Suréalistes, this is too much for my student, who laughs, as in the theater.

We have to obviously, this squad of armed police and alarmed is actually in our pursuit. And only their slowness to react is we have escaped a difficult explanation, to the point of a gun. Apparently, they do not know our registration number. Better not to rot here.

to us to investigate. Trying to reconstruct the facts. A young woman wearing an elegant coat Cashmere, backs his car while zigzagging green, then stops suddenly, climbing slightly on the sidewalk, while his passenger, a man with some pace, gesticulating, pointing to the sometimes driving, sometimes the gear shift, sometimes the lamppost approaching too quickly. At this very moment, an unshaven redneck, Jeep and accompanied by his girlfriend made up, going to places nearby, a well known parking learner drivers in the neighborhood. The redneck alerted by a suspicious behavior he deems is neither one nor two. It darkens to any blind and runs a vast semi-circle around the green car, while maintaining a safe distance. The redneck then directed his girlfriend to alert the authorities as soon as possible, it immediately made strafing the keyboard of his mobile phone. Hello 911, there is a man and a woman in a green car that cavil. The redneck snatches the phone hands adds: Quick, it's serious, it is perhaps in danger. This couple is a victim of vigilante confirmation bias, which means that one sees readily that was expected to see. "The women drummers are all men. So all men can be batsmen women. So a man caught in a suspicious attitude with a woman can only be a wife beater. I know what I think and not what I hear from my eyes. My cat runs away, it is surely he who stole my sardines. My ax is gone, I find that my neighbor has a head Raider ax. And, as a measure of safety, it is better not to rent his apartment to a cat, a thief ax, or even an immigrant. But it became shameful to have the air of a racist, he is still proud to play vigilante. Long live the lynching!

In his panic mixed with excitement, the redneck fails to address the issue of our plate. When the constabulary arrives on site, a good quarter of an hour later despite the proximity of the police station, we already left the scene of the alleged crime. The police see that our car is green, but our cheerful mine leaves him rather think we are a peaceful weekend strollers. We are like more than to brave witnesses of heinous criminals. Especially since my passenger carries no marks of violence, no hair tousled, not the slightest bruise, no blood is still wet. The police can not take the risk of psychological interest to us for a true victim may be in the making gut a wood. As for the other officers arrived as reinforcements, they could block all the exits. But their spirit was already, by anticipation, the scene of the alleged crime, and they remained blind to anything that does not comply with their imagination.

Furthermore, was it really necessary to mobilize a fleet of three police vehicles to subdue a suspect now berate his wife (or vice versa)? A new inquiry is warranted.

The original sketch

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late.

He wrote live before writing. I tried, at length. Often, I wrote while living. Leafless or pencil, no keyboard and no screen, just by thinking, by putting into words what my mind did not. And then I give up. I write.

is a light at the bottom of her eyes, a desire to sleep with clear what will become unlikely. There is no music, no alcohol or substance barely legal. There's just question marks and commas too many. This text is chopped, written for an asthmatic crisis. If we had a set, it would be a picture of a catalog Ikea. Too much thinking about things, they leave their taste. Tasteless. The story ends worn by his fault.

him: he was lost forever. It lies the bottom of a spirit. Some say he is still breathing. I think so.

She: she is radiant. She believes in the future as a jihadist paradise.

Me: Spain. I finally discovered. It changes from day to day and much remains to be done. The weight of tradition, the downside of modernity. And people. As beautiful as elsewhere. As stupid as elsewhere. Damn globalimondialisation . I have to go where I lose? Farther surely .

If you feel like worry, too. We write?

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Chest Infection In Diagrams

No thirteenth floor

(Joke Classic) After
having built his stable, a man laments.
- I made the door too small, and my horse is so big that it will not happen. I'll be forced to demolish the wall above the door.
- Why do not you rather hollow a hole in the bottom of the door?
- is because this is not the horse's legs that are too large, but his ears.

Gege assures us that the 7 th year has been abolished (and this is for him the source of all evils of the current school Québec). I point out that the 7 th years still exists, and it lies precisely between the 6 th and 8 th . He says no, that is happening now, directly from the 6 th to 8 th .

No ^{13 th floor in} hotels in Las Vegas. I am told that this trick innocent does not cost much ... and if it can please the superstitious, why not, after all? I point out to potential customers that the floor is called the 14 th is then actually the 13 th , what makes it so dangerous that if he had kept his real number. Ah ... I I see that sowed anxiety among my interlocutors. Superstitious need a semblance of truth to believe in their nonsense, and that truth can sometimes disturb. Realism Is not the foundation of any successful narrative fiction?

From the outside, this hotel belonging to a casino, has indeed a thirteenth floor (just above the twelfth).

My adopted brother of Iowa, Jon, claiming lack of sleep since he goes to bed an hour later every night, because of his new job at Mobile Home Rubino. I give him the following suggestion:
- Why not get up an hour later each morning, you'll be left like that.
- Oh no, he contends, it would not work. Everyone knows that the first hour of sleep is more restorative than the last. I lose the exchange.

After building his stable, a man laments ...

Blueprints For A Honda Odyssey

The shadows on the wall

Where are these old crumbling walls
Who is peopled with strange figures
OF Eves of Dejanira of Pompadours
And beasts under disturbing
Punic When the evening of nostalgia filled the air as dawn
Or saving was slow in coming?
(Kikite of Brédenarde)

Today, indestructible and cheap paintings fill the center of crafts, which are mushrooming, and legions of non-licensed building structure cleaners cover the ancient frescoes of multiple layers without soul, with the zeal of converts.

Fortunately, there are still tiles of marble and faux marble, which are filled with faces, provided that the caress of the eye. The bright eyes and bushy eyebrows appear first, then the contour of a nose or snout, the mouth corners, a diamond necklace or a cowbell. And the next day, one looks in vain for the familiar characters. But when you think you have lost forever, they appear suddenly, fixing us with malice and whispering in their silent language, "I'm here, I'm still here, I'm still here."

Click on the images below to penetrate their secret

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fiscal and monetary policy in open economies

Tables black scroll saw many things, which nothing remains.

In fixed exchange rate regime, fiscal policy it is generally most appropriate to stimulate or slow down the economy. In floating exchange rate regime, monetary policy is ... As always, life is made of diagonals.

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A tragic miscalculation

Note: The following scene is purely imaginary.

Assuming néobureaucratique who wants the function is the ability, and not vice versa, was entrusted to a small boss is responsible for a vast redevelopment premises. A few dozen boxes of files, although solid, are stacked on each other, forming a cube of about a meter of ridge. It is eight o'clock in the morning, and the little boss advises other students that August institution has hired for the holidays, to reclassify all documents.

A productive bureaucrat has little chance of surviving in the wild. (Charles Robert Coulaincourt of Lamarck) Lamarck

Since we know that living organisms, whether plants, animals or bureaucracies, do change, and since Darwin we even know the mechanism of this evolution. The only difference between these three kingdoms of life is that in the bureaucracy, a system weighed down by excess entropy, evolution takes place in reverse: the struggle for survival meant that descends from the ape man and not vice versa. The hallmark of bureaucracies, it is indeed moving towards unproductive. First, a bureaucrat will never dare to hire a junior more competent than he. Hence the principle, duly confirmed by experience, that each generation of small bosses demonstrated productivity level less than or equal to that of the previous one. And if, by accident, the underling was smarter than the fife, the first would be quickly conditioned to match the lowest common denominator (PPCD) on pain of extinction. We may regret this inexorable decline, but it is impossible to avoid. This is what Darwin called natural selection .

A small boss who just met the big boss.

Before going further in our scientific approach, it is essential to define clearly unproductive. Since we are studying the tape, reasoning by contradiction seems indeed appropriate to identify properly the concept. Being productive is to produce more with fewer resources, or is producing as much with fewer resources. And unproductive, it's the opposite. There are two kinds of unproductive bureaucrats. On the one hand, there are those that cut their numerous breaks, and seize every opportunity to arrive late and leave early: this is how they manage to reduce their daily production (small boss type I ). On the other hand, there are the bureaucrats who are agitated at dawn and do not leave the yard at nightfall ( small boss type II). These people rely on their utter incompetence to achieve a systemic unproductive. Because they never produce anything, and that they harm rather the work of others, their productivity is the product divided by the work, can only be zero or negative, regardless of the number of hours that 'they devote to their responsibilities. When the numerator is zero, it is clear that the result of a fraction is also equal to zero, regardless of the value of the denominator.

The small boss that we met this morning belongs to this second category. It is early morning, stirred, it is reminiscent of the fable pigeon complaining about the air resistance, which slows its course. The small type II boss takes off virtual whirling into space. Five hours

rang. Young people are just maneuvering to classify the last case. The small bosses that must be deducted a day's work for storing a stack of boxes with the size of a cubic meter from the side.

Another small boss who just met the big boss.

The next day, the movers have left the premises last boxes to classify. This time, the cube is larger. It is about two meters instead of a ridge. While students still sleepy, begin their classification, the little boss, dashing, just the apostrophe. "What are you doing? It is useless. I have other tasks for you. We still have another week to finish everything before school starts. You will rank it next week, there will be plenty of time. "Students stop, without a word, and head in flock to the new workplace that comes from their being assigned. "As you wish, you're the little boss," they say in a whisper.

the evening, I met a student on the terrace of a cafe, he will not leave until very late. After all, it's summer. Throughout the conversation, he tells me his doubts about the task he will perform next week. "We have arranged the first cube of documents in one day. The boss thinks it will take two days to arrange the second cube, which is twice as big. We will do that Thursday and Friday. But me, I fear it is too tight. I do not know why, but I think it will take at least three days or four to do everything. "Beautiful intuition, but I would go even further:" According to me, "I'm out, it will take eight days, and you'll never finish on time unless you get to work tomorrow morning. Your cube is not twice as big, it is eight times bigger. "

Now we need one or two words of a certain Reichelt, whose audacity was matched only by his ignorance of basic laws of geometry, and who died one day in 1912. If he had survived, he would have a small boss postmodern entirely appropriate.

Reichtel had built wings that made him resemble both a raven, a bat and a flying squirrel, and he counted with the aid of this machine, landing in the Champ de Mars, after have plunged since the Eiffel Tower. Legend has it that the bird man was victim of cardiac arrest during his flight, but what is certain is that he fell to the ground.

And the reason is obvious. Suppose Reichtel ten times larger than a flying squirrel. This means that its wings, which are measured in square like any surface, covering an area a hundred times larger than the wings of the flying squirrel. But it also means that Reichtel has a volume a thousand times greater than that of the flying squirrel, ten cubed, and it weighs a thousand times heavier than the latter. A surface of wings a hundred times larger to support a thousand times heavier body? How can we hope to defy the laws of gravity with such a disparity? Mr. Reichtel died of a miscalculation.

But small bosses never die from their mistakes. At worst, they remain small bosses. At best, they are promoted to the rank of average boss.

Thursday. It's two days before school starts. The Students begin the classification of cubic meters of edge of two and eight cubic meters in volume. Shortly before seventeen hours, the little boss shows up, all imbued with his conceit. But his smile suddenly winces when he sees the pile of boxes just begun. The little boss the poor little apostrophe workers. "We'll never finish on time! Tomorrow, you had better apply yourself a bit! "

But the next day, the work is not finished. Or the following Monday, or even a week later. According to the little boss is no longer the workers we had. The average boss and big boss (who, according to the law of evolution species, old small boss) abound in the same direction. We will only hire more these students, who shamelessly take advantage of the system.

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Lake Renaud

On Lake Road Renaud (Sainte-Cecile de Masham)

October 18, 2009 Photos: Renaud Bouret

Marty Stuart And Homo

The Chinese character song

New question from another visitor ramou.net .

Question:

Is there a Chinese character meaning song ? Original drawing on what was it based?

What an interesting question! It is that character does exist (see below) and represents just a man trying to make two sounds "A" with the mouth. The right part of the original character (red background) is our man, standing on two legs, with open mouth in profile. The left side shows the two superimposed (add five other "A" and you will hear Gilda in Rigoletto). But before we get to the character song has had many adventures.

Is there a relationship between the drawing of the left and his "A", will say it? Yes and no. Drawing (reproduced below) represents the silhouette of an ax. However, this character is pronounced formerly "A".

In its first version, the character song was written just as the double "A" (picture below). But this character has the same pronunciation as meaning older brother (age in modern Chinese). It did not take long for the original character is kidnapped, so he started to describe as big-brother (that's the only sense that remains today).

It thus finds itself with a character designating two homophones. How to differentiate? This is where the most common process in the formation of Chinese characters, which is to add a key to the initial layout semantics. This is key, as we have already seen, the drawing of a man with his mouth open (see below). This leads to the character at the beginning of this post: something that decides and ge which comes from the mouth of a man.

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The word suicide in Chinese

A visitor ramou.net ask myself this question.

Question:

Let me once again to use your lights. I currently working on suicide Asians, but in online dictionaries, including the new China, there is no ideogram resulting suicide. In your opinion is this an oversight or the Chinese ideogram does not exist? In

is it the same in Japan?

Answer:

Most modern Chinese words composed of two characters in the same way as the French scientific words are often composed of two Greek or Latin roots. The word suicide is no exception: 自杀 (Zishe), literally killing ourselves (or sui- caedere ).

Ditto for Japan. Japanese words, in this case, are often from the Chinese, unless they themselves were created in Japan in early modern times, before being taken by the Chinese.

The Japanese word for suicide is 自杀 (Jisatsu), the same as Chinese. This may be a layer of the latin, created by the Japanese in the late nineteenth century.

Question: Could you tell me

decompose the characters: it is the right itself is left is a weapon that means killing? Japanese were the same except the 3rd right.

Answer:

自 (zi) means itself. This character represents the nose, front view. While a French, a Quebecer or a Gaul exclaim "that's me! "Pointing their index fingers on the chest, the Chinese or the Japanese show their nose (do the experiment!). According to a small house investigation, the nose is indeed the center of the face, which is itself the facade of consciousness. Also, when you talk to someone face to face, your nose is right in his line of sight, then he should squint to look at your chest. (Interpretation subject to change)

杀 (SHA) is the Chinese character (traditional) meaning kill. It has been manufactured, millennia ago, by adding two elements:

杀 represents an animal with long tails, whose pronunciation was the same as the word kill : it is the phonetic element.

殳 represents a hand (bottom) holding a club head stone or bronze (top) is the key semantics.

The combination of the two elements can be read as follows: a word that is pronounced like the animal in question and recalled that a hammer blow to the skull.

In ancient spelling, it is recognized more easily by hand [three fingers] (bottom right) topped with a kind of ax (upper right). The animal (left), we could not identify, appears to have a crest (top) and a beautiful tail divided into three parts (below). In the simplified modern character, it remains only the crest and tail.

Many modern Chinese characters were simplified in the abandonment of the key semantics. This is the case 杀 became 杀 in the 1960s. The strangest thing is that the remaining part is clearly think of two swords s'embrochent.

The traditional character is still used in Japanese (it is pronounced satsu, adapted from the ancient Chinese pronunciation).

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Papyrus

Champollion - General principles of the Egyptian sacred writing

What is this plant, hidden deep in a nursery in the Outaouais, which everyone ignores the name and that is priceless?

Despairing of being able to identify the owner sold it to me for a pittance. It remains for me to rebuild the banks of the Nile, under my eaves.

The papyrus had a wonderful summer under the sky of Quebec.

Champollion - General principles of the Egyptian sacred writing

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The North Americans have the blood of raccoons?

One of the joys of life in Iowa is to sample the local specialties. After all, the main ingredient of good cooking is ... its ingredients.

The street where we lived, named Second-street-south-west was separated from the First-street by a large field divided into plots and used to rear yard adjoining houses. Although the area was inhabited for more than twenty years, the field was trimmed to any property mark: no fences, no gates, no post, no post, not even a tree planted by the hand of man. It was a ground wave . He did, however, doubt that each of its invisible boundaries to plots had a legitimate master and duly registered in the cadastre.

The facade the family home on Second Street, south-west of Oelwein. The vacant land is famous on the back of the house. Along the sidewalk, you can see the car that Jon bought for 100 dollars the day of her 16 years.

When he was pressed, my adopted brother, Jon, did not hesitate to cross, shamelessly, the vacant land he considered no man's land, caring very little of their respective owners. And one day I accompanied him for the first time, are still unfamiliar with the small town of Oelwein, although I was forced to follow, for fear of losing my way. As the Mediterranean, accustomed to the gardens carefully delineated by stone walls decorated with beautiful and broken bottles by fences topped by a row of barbed wire, I had some apprehension to set foot on these private properties. I expected every moment to see a neighbor burst its screen door for us to drink from a stream of insults and threats, and why not loose his dogs on us. And when I saw, behind a house, the stars and stripes floating on a mast, my fears were redoubled, and I'm already hearing the click of a 22 gauge American patriot.

The incomparable Iowa corn
Drawing: Renaud Bouret

Indeed, this wasteland was not entirely overgrown. The plot that stretched back home served the family garden. There were all vegetables known in Iowa, or tomatoes, cucumbers and scallions, then a long cornfield who joined the backyard of our vis-à-vis the First-street. And corn in Iowa, that the natives of that state called Indian corn (probably a layer of Quebecois linguistic Corn ), is by far the best in the world. Its rich flavor is spreading slowly in the mouth, first woody and amber and fruity, before spreading to the brain, plunging the gourmet in a state of bliss. Knowing that corn must be consumed as soon as it is picked, lest his subtle degrade starch into glucose vulgar, it is easy to understand that those who did not live in Iowa can boast of having really lived.

The corn on the cob is still today very popular with Quebecers. Personally, I find the variety Local particularly bland taste reminding me of both the dandelion chopped by the mower and dishwater tepid. Is it the inexorable decline that affects all mass product sold in supermarkets? Is this a consequence of degradation of my taste buds? Is this the effect of bad faith or exacerbated Iowisme? It goes without saying that I attach to corn Quebec mitigating circumstances, and I hope it will be enough to get the forgiveness of many Quebecers authentic as I count among my friends, and even among my descendants.

Which brings us to a strange custom of Quebec, which is the true subject of the topic today. This is the sacking of corn in supermarkets, collective ritual of hysterical character occurring in late summer, corresponding roughly to the sacred ceremonies of the harvests that are found among many primitive peoples.

Here a crowd around a stall radius of fruits and vegetables. The clerk has to discharge a cargo of corn, and immediately, customers, enticed by the smell, rushed. These brave people, these kings consumption, frantically attacking the goods fresh just given into their clutches. We see only the backs and bottoms fluttering, and a few golden beards fluttering gracefully above the swarm. Even the most timid start of the game, slipping in the slightest breach. It's a rare occasion when all inhibitions disappear suddenly, local phenomenon that psychologists have well-kept look.

A moment of calm we can approach the battlefield. Before us, a mountain of corn plucked. Not a spike has survived the massacre. All were furiously opened by these two-legged raccoons, who pulled the sheets and went to burn their nails on the grains. Hundreds of ears are perfectly healthy now crowned with black, showing that starch exposed does not mix with ambient air supermarkets. To save the few survivors, he will be resigned to be cut sharply, the infested part.

Before the spectacle of such a disaster, man has a natural tendency to look up at the sky. And What does he then? A sign announcing the motley dozen ears of corn for the modest sum of one dollar.

Would there raccoons in the neighborhood? Three of the six ears of corn purchased at a total price of 50 cents and forgotten in a canvas bag on the porch, were stolen overnight. Here is what remains.

A crucial question facing us. The phenomenon is genetic or cultural? English Canadians and Americans they show the same behavior that Quebecers in this regard? The rage of the ear if it is common to all the inhabitants of America North? To find out, we initiated an investigation on the other side of the border, in full business suburb of Ottawa. But instead of corn in bulk, we have discovered bags of maize carefully sewn stitches to tear-proof and totally resistant raccoons, each containing a dozen ears. What we are suggesting that the wild ritual of desecration of maize affects both our English-speaking neighbors, and, with their proverbial practical sense, the English have already found a solution. We appeal to our readers to complete this survey.

According to the most latest research on the human genome, it appears that the genetic distance between Homo quebecensis (and the rest of humanity) of Procyon lotor is only 3%, which means that the two species share 97% their DNA. This could explain that.

So, innate or acquired? In the present state of science, it is difficult to determine. But it is clear that with our scholars, the question will eventually be resolved.