Votre chair est opaque, opaque comme le boeuf énorme qui pourrit dans la lune!
I screamed the above line as part of a play called L'Aveugle (The Blind Man). Translation: "Your flesh is opaque, opaque like the enormous ox rotting on the moon!"
I like it, but it doesn't even touch the fuckedupedness of the rant by the character Lucky in Samuel Beckett's Waiting for Godot.
(You may or may not be aware that Beckett translated his own plays into French.)
_
Was not aware...
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