Pรชche Poussรฉ
A friend went out to a fancy French restaurant looking for
an amazing meal. Spare no expense.
“Please won’t you
prepare your very best dishes for me, chef’s choice.”
Course following course. Every one, a triumph. Each, better
than the other.
Finally, the dessert course . . .
The maรฎtre de arrives tableside with a cart on top of which
is a pyramid of the most exquisite colorful ripe peaches precisely placed on a
gold tray surrounded by pink roses. He is accompanied by a gorgeous young lady
wearing a peachy pink outfit with a short skirt with lots of ruffles and
petticoats.
The maรฎtre de selects the prime-most peach, inserts a fork
into it and proceeds to peel the juicy fruit in one deft movement. Like a
Frenchman who has been married many times.*
He then smugly bows and presents the peach to the diner with
a grand flourish.
On cue the young lady lifts her skirt. It is clear to be
seen that she is not wearing any panties. And, as smooth as a peach herself.
The maรฎtre de gently places the juicy peach between her soft ingรฉnue thighs,
whereupon she proceeds to wriggle and writhe, squirming and gyrating around the
peach up between her legs.
After quite a long time — and an ecstatically explosive, operatic climax crescendo [available on request for an extra charge] — she stops, and the maรฎtre de lifts up
the peach with a grand flourish. He exclaims, “Voilร , monsieur, Pรชche Poussรฉ!”
Shocked, the man blurts out, “No way am I going to eat THAT
peach!” WTF!
The maรฎtre de diplomatically rejoins, “Ah, monsieur, the
peach . . . the PEACH you do NOT eat.”
* A friend of mine married a French girl. He told the story
of meeting her parents, and being presented with the task of peeling a pear
without breaking the peel. It should come off in one continuous piece. Presumably, a test
to see how much care and attention he would devote to their darling little
girl.
PS The fellow developed a taste for that dessert and now orders it regularly himself ...
PPS For an extra charge the lass will stand on a large gold tray onto which the flowing peach juices are collected and served as a kind of a chaser.
[Wraunchy Wronski strikes again.]
2 comments:
I read a version of this joke decades ago in Playboy. My only quibble with it is that Google Translate translates "Pรชche Poussรฉ" as "Driven fishing". I don't speak French, so I can't speak for the accuracy of the translation.
Thanks for your comment. Take the quibble up with Google Translate. And, hey come on, it's a joke anyway.
Best wishes.
David
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