That would be the Cannes Festival of Fuckery. Today is the last day. Nearly all the fake thousands of dollars Lions have been dished out. The Mimosas drained and the last Croisette hooker has been burried on the Expenses claim. Over at MoreAboutAdvertising, Jane Austin (No, not that one) sums it up well... “The cumulative sleep deprivation, the constant hum of (often) empty chatter and endless parade of panels, meet-ups and kabana lounges could turn even the most extroverted person into a wallflower with a mild case of PTSD. On day 1 of Cannes week, you’re Holly Golightly in full party mode. By day 4, you’re Greta Garbo with a cob on.” Nuff said.
The dumpster ate my expense report!