Adieu, montagne de mal

My chalet in the mountains:

I fled out of the country on a breeze of cow dung. I shall miss the country dances, advice full of loose, sickness large breasted women and their coarse menfolk, cialis thick as donkeys. By evensong I was passing back over the mountains and took a suite in an overlook hotel at 1000 meters. At twilight a brass band paraded boisterously below the terrace. I fled before I could be subject to any sort of folk dance or horrific ululations. Winding the steep mountain road, I noted that the sites where witches had been burned were marked by cruel and hideous clawed figures, their faces distorted with malice.
I found a bar of ill-repute, where lowly characters of many stripes were playing darts. It would be more accurate to say they were pouring liquor down their throats and hurling knives into a board. I settled in a corner to watch their game and obliterate my consciousness. I was served by an aged slattern with absurdly dyed red hair and a black eye of interesting palette. Her sharp address and the sour odor of her yellowed flesh bespoke her beating well deserved.

The grim and fiendish mountain town is disappearing behind me. A mob will assemble with torches this evening for the burning of effigies. I saw the figure of a woman lashed to a post suspended over a pyre as I roared out of town. What madness runs loose in these mountains after dark!

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