ISYGF, Chapter 4: Dirty Frenchman!

Wow, Proust continues to surprise me. For instance, I never would have imagined he would prove to be efficient. And yet, in just two pages, he's managed to provide me with just as many WTFs:

Page 66: Dude, did he just say he liked the smell of a public toilet? I think he did. I really think he did. Dude.

Page 67: Erm, Marcel, I don't know how to break this to you, but yeah, your little girlfriend in the park could probably tell you had an erection if you were, y'know, rubbing it up against her. I mean, unless I should be feeling a lot more sorry for you than I have been so far, or French Victorian-era clothing was made of, like, industrial-grade bubble wrap, yeah, that's the sort of thing a girl notices. Trust me. (Bonus points, though, for a new euphemism: "shed my pleasure." Classy, no? The Pleasure Shedders are going to be my next band, I think.)

I would also like to point out that he spends approximately twice as much space on the public toilets as he does on the tussle that gets him to the shedding point. Which may qualify as a third WTF. Clearly I have underestimated my adversary.