O.S.P.- Operation Soap Paris

On Friday, May 30th, 2008 at 11:46pm we were washing dish soap out of our ass cracks.

Now let us tell you why.

One day prior we had taken part is a free tour of gay Paree. Highlights included the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe, self-castrating Saints and various fountains of the city. Now if self-castration is not your thing, maybe you like victimless crimes.

During the tour de France we were most taken with the spectacular display of water features around the city. Not only did they vary in size and location, but also in ability to create impressive current. The movement of the water sparked a similar movement of thought in out brains. We gazed at the fountains asking the question, "How could we exploit this local landmark for the benefit of the tour?" We found ourselves pondering, "What goes well with H20?"

"Naked Women?"

"Juice Crystals?"

"Dish Soap?"

"...Dish Soap."

It was no longer the question. It was the answer.

After locating the perfect fountain in the Place de Colette we spent the following day orchestrating a flawless plan of action.

We were sure of two things;

1. The louvre (located only steps away from said fountain) was free on friday nights

and 2. We would have to go in prepared. This meant

-black attire (head to toe)

-mapped out escape route

-running shoes

-copious amounts of dish soap

Friday evening rolled around and we departed from our Hostel at 19:00 hours. We took the metro to the Place de Colette to scope the scene. The square was a buzz with friday night party goers but we were not phased. After taking some preliminary photos to study, we breezed through the Louvre... our minds busy with the coming events of the night.

Following our uneventful, and frankly, quite distracted tour of the Louvre we approached the square from the North-West and decided the time was now. It was 23:00 hours and the area had calmed. But for how long?

We used a quiet corner near the fountain to load up. The technique we had planned was quite simple in theory. We would each place 1 bottle of Paris´finest yellow dish soap under our sweaters on our backs, tucking the nozzle into our pantaloons. We would then approach the fountain in a non-shalant manner and take a seat on the edge. From there it would be all down hill. We would life the nozzle out of our pants, open the bottle, and allow the coapy goodness to flow freely into the water. Afterwards we would ditch the bottles, and walk away slowly, progressing into a light jog.

Little did we know, things would go terribly ary.

Well, the plan went swimmingly up until the point where we sat down on the fountain edge. Perhaps our first mistake was putting the nozzle directly into our pants pointing south. We´re not sure, nor do we care to place blame. All we know is when we sat down the bottle promptly opened and gravity took over, sending the dish soap streaming down the cracks of our asses.

We´re not sure what you guys are into, or if you´ve ever experienced dishsoap being squirted down your ass, but one thing we do know is that it is not pleasant... at least not when you aren´t prepared.

Your first instinct would be to promptly remove the dishsoap from your pants, but instead we sat there, wide-eyed contemplating our options. As the liquid slowley moved in and around our bum areas we made the split decision to ditch the entire bottles into the fountain.

We were paralyzed for what seemed like awhile, wondering if this slight variation of our original plan would render similar results, until we saw the suds begin to form in the water.

At this point we darted. Leaving soapy like ass-prints on the fountain ledge.

As we sprinted though the side streets of Paris, our minds racing, we started to feel a chemical reaction occuring, dans le pants. The friction between our bum cheeks created sweat which then mixed with the soap to form a sudsy residue, visible on the outside of our tight black pants. we ducked into an empty doorway to rethink our plan and tie sweaters around our waists. The soapy pants issue now tied us to the scene of the crime.

After collecting our thoughts we ventured back to the Place de Colette.

Adrenaline pumping, we entered the square, this time from the North-East. As we peered around the corner we saw the most marvellous sight. It was at that moment that we realized this was quiet possibly the reason we had come to Paris. Soapy bubbles overflowed from the top teir of the fountain. Suds poured onto the surrounding sidewalk. People walking down the street stopped and stared. They took pictures, they gazed in glory, wondering why they had not thought of this themselves. They were overcome with the beauty and bewildered by the result of such a simple concept.

We took some quick photos before fleeing the scene to wash ourselves of our sins and suds.

Which brings us up to 11:46. 3 Ducks Hostel. Showerstalls on the second floor. There was no need to bring the soap. We had everything we needed.

Later that night we returned to the fountain dressed in different outfits, sans soap. The water had been shut off, but the memory and the suds still remained.

We left a card.

"Au Revoir xo-Sparkle Motion"

Goodbye Paris.

"Suivre le Rire"