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Years ago I had a large vehicle. This vehicle wasted gas while it saved souls. For this vehicle, you see, was large enough to transport a few French exchange students around the suburban parts of Edina and St. Louis Park as they swore their hearts out into the night.
I was, ostensibly, the “host parent” for one of them. In this position it fell to me to become the taxi driver. Being irresponsible as I tend to be, I not only encouraged the lovely Odele to speak her mind out in the car but to entice her somewhat shy and culturally shell-shocked expatriates to do the same.
The cacophony of cursing that soon followed on those taxi rides is a mellifluous memory I shall never forget. When a young French girl swears back and forth from English to French it is a sound that can melt the hardest heart. Which reminds me that french rap is a good facsimile thereof.
Gangsta seems somehow cultivated in a romance tone.
Its so contradictory that it must be cool.
