I can’t decide whether this thread is my welcomed cure for narcolepsy or my nemesis catalyst for insomnia.
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Whenever anyone mentions narcolepsy, I think of this: 
My father was a relentlessly self-improving lingerie salesman with low-grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a 15-year-old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanise, he would drink, make outrageous claims like he had invented the question mark. Sometimes, he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. My childhood was pretty typical. Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons, in the spring we would make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap sack and beaten with reeds. At the age of 12 I received my first scribe. At 13 I met an Austrian barber-surgeon named Wilma. She ritualistically shaved my testicles. There’s nothing like a freshly shorn scrotum. It’s breathtaking, you should try it.
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I want to say something about this, but I was lost for words. Sorry Jen 
Are you telling us you now got balls !! Jen-eral 
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For a while there I thought she wasn’t telling the truth. 
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Jen doesn’t type in a deep voice, it’s how your can tell 
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I wonder if the PM’s hubby keeps the same company as people like the late Cyril Smith.
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Next you will be telling us that you are a Thai lady-boy…
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I see curvature.
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You can definitely see where France is headed…
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France is already a shithole!