TROMPER MONSIEUR TRUMP

My good friend Currado Malaspina recently submitted himself to a full medical examination and his physician, Dr. Philip Soupoualt, ignoring his hemorrhoids and his episodic onychocryptosis, pronounced him "the fittest artist in all of France." (l'artiste le plus sain dans la République).

This has come as something of a surprise and many of his detractors continue to insist that a psychiatric evaluation should be included in the assessment.

They point to his age, his work and his ardent attachment to the Catholic Church.

But Currado sees no contradictions and is offended by the insinuation.

His ego is an echo of the size of his hands.

His sagging, puckered skin is as thin as a post-it and the most innocent innuendo can trigger the vindictive instincts of a slandered pubescent. 

He's boastful to the point of parody yet remains oblivious to the mockery his hubris consistently inspires among his peers.

His rivals think he's crazy but of late this aspersion has evolved into a palpable fear.

You see, Currado Malaspina has recently been shortlisted as a prospective Minister of Culture. It's rumored that if Sarkozy's UMP succeeds in the next election my good friend could find himself in the position to settle some unsettling scores, ruffle some colorful plumes and basically upend any semblance of propriety within the ranks of the Parisian intelligentsia.

But maybe that's a good thing.