Bon Jour. Today more art from Paris,  my dusty love rodents. Come now, enjoy culture, the beauty, creepiness that is public art in Paris…

IN Jardin des Tuileries (or Garden of Tiles, which, we in the U.S. call, The Mall). This one of the many statues that depict athletics.

Our open field running rocks when we play the midget team!

Naked American Football is HUGE in France. Strangely, they use a pigeon as a ball.

Here a tiny defensive linebacker gets owned.

Hit me! I’m open!

The Job Interview:The girls were perplexed…

Where is the pole? I was told there would be a pole?

Just down the path, Marge was shocked, shocked, I tell you, at public shenanigans:

Quit acting like you don’t know what I’m talking about. You guys were  having a threesome.

On the Alexandre III Bridge (which is one of your fancier bridges anywhere):

When they told Andre that a six men had died mysteriously on the bridge,
he thought they meant that they’d drown. Sadly, no.

Okay, your basic Roman or Greek god, probably high ranking, because of his beard.
Here he’s holding what looks like a giant Sundae Cone and a broken electric guitar and is surrounded by little kids, because that was popular motif at the time.

But what IS this kid doing? And what IS that?

Seriously, WTF is that?

Ah, but a different angle reveals that there’s nothing at all weird about that picture and I have just been Rorchached into making everyone think there was.

A closer look reveals it’s mearly the innocent effigy of a kid blowing a dog.

(It’s rumored that former senator, Rick Santorum, was the model for the kid.)

Back on the Alexandre III bridge:
It’s clear that the gods and goddesses of Paris preferred the Fender Stratocaster:

“Oh Hai, my Dad was in the Cure, want to touch my guitar.”

Before television, fine art was used as a medium for marketing.

Now, a celebrity spokesperson:

Bon Jour! It is I, your tiny Emperor, Napoleon Boneparte. When I’m not building an empire, I enjoy chilling on the couch in La Snuggie. Look, I have made a little tent in here! Josephine, come join me, my darling!

Observe, while I circumsize this unsuspecting Gladiator, with the Super Scissors, from Popiel! Masseltov!

“Regard, mon amis, as I pulverize this tiny angel in one easy step, with Le Ronco, Smash-matic!

Did someone say PIZZA?!!

(insert annoying music)

VIVA, VIAGRA!

It’s his knee. See…

Strangely, though, the name of the sculpture is: “But I Really AM Happy to See You”

(Meanwhile, at the Hotel Invalides – a former hospital for disabled veterans, built in the 1600s, now a military museum.)

Nothing says, “Have a Nice Day”

Like a big-ass cannon.

Really, how bad off are you:

Pick an entrance…

Until next time, I leave you with one of France’s national heroes:

Painted as a Smurf.
(No, that’s not Photoshopped. It’s in the courtyard of the Hotel Deux. I’ll try to get a closer look today.)
Until next time:
Adieu! my murky marmots d’amour. Adieu!