29 Tokyo, Japan
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My self-summary
My name is Adrien, not AdriAn please. I'm a French douche. After graduating with a Master in Finance, I logically decided to start a career as a screenwriter.

Questions you need to study about me:
1) Math
If Adrien has 2 immigrants grandma from Spain and Italy and 2 grandpa from his country of birth, what is the distribution of his origins ?
2) Biology
What specie is Adrien ?
3) Philosophy
Does Adrien exist ? If yes, is he infinite ?
4) Economy
Adrien's last name is Lacoste. Is he related to René Lacoste ? (tennis player and founder of the brand "Lacoste" )
5) Physics
Is Adrien inflammable ?

Answers :
1) 50% French, 25% Italian, 25% Spanish
2) Adrien is tiny and hairy, then he must be a Hobbit.
3) Adrien thinks, therefore he does exist. Adrien is finite though.
4) If he was, he would be rich and wouldn't need Okcupid to get a girlfriend...
5) Chocolate doesn't go up in flames, it melts.
What I’m doing with my life
writing stuff
I’m really good at
Whispering to oysters...mmm yeah totally my thing
The first things people usually notice about me
my dazzling beautie (joking)
Favorite books, movies, shows, music, and food
Book: My novel, hope it's gonna get published soon
Movie: "Le dernier metro", François Truffaut
Show: How i met your mother
Music: Jay Brannan, folk music
The six things I could never do without
My thumb, my index finger, my middle finger, my ring finger, my little finger and my guitare.
I spend a lot of time thinking about
how much i'm wasting my time doing useless shits. I should be nobel prize by now...
On a typical Friday night I am
having beers with my buddies.
The most private thing I’m willing to admit
I'm a woman.
You should message me if
you want to save my life from boredom and turmoil.
You could probably be my future wife if you understand the following poem:

La mort des pauvres

C'est la Mort qui console, hélas ! et qui fait vivre ;
C'est le but de la vie, et c'est le seul espoir
Qui, comme un élixir, nous monte et nous enivre,
Et nous donne le coeur de marcher jusqu'au soir ;

A travers la tempête, et la neige, et le givre,
C'est la clarté vibrante à notre horizon noir ;
C'est l'auberge fameuse inscrite sur le livre,
Où l'on pourra manger, et dormir, et s'asseoir ;

C'est un Ange qui tient dans ses doigts magnétiques
Le sommeil et le don des rêves extatiques,
Et qui refait le lit des gens pauvres et nus ;

C'est la gloire des Dieux, c'est le grenier mystique,
C'est la bourse du pauvre et sa patrie antique,
C'est le portique ouvert sur les Cieux inconnus !

Charles Baudelaire, "Les Fleurs du Mal"