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  • Whilst welcoming the retribution being visited upon the man who, using his untold and (in a democracy) unacceptable powers by virtue of owning fifty percent of the British press and huge chunks in the US, Australia and many other countries in the world, including tiny Mauritius, to exert such malign influence on governments for nearly half a century, throwing all ethics out of the window, contaminating his readership with salacious stories of celebs to the exclusion of real news, I wonder why it took so long and cannot but smile as I think of a slightly osé little story.

    It is set on the Paris Métro, so it’s in French followed by a paraphrase in Engish.

    Dans un compartiment plein à craquer, une jolie dame, rouge
    de colère se tourne soudainement vers un vieu satyr et lui
    lance au visage:

    -Monsieur, ça fait vingt minutes que vous me pelotez les
    fesses, avez-vous bientôt fini?
    -Pourquoi donc petite dame, ça a cessé de vous plaire?

    In an overcrowded compartment in the Paris Metro, a good-
    looking lady, flushed with anger turns on a dirty old man in a
    raincoat and snaps:
    -Monsieur, you have been poking me for the last twenty
    minutes; are you done?’
    -Sorry dear, aren’t you enjoying it any longer?
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