Animal Stories (2): Gérard Tigerdieu

Veröffentlicht am Veröffentlicht in Animal Stories

Hello guys. We have still occupied Helge’s blog and as far as I can see, this will easily last for another month or so. You can call me ‘G’, but my full name is Gérard Tigerdieu. ‘Wait a minute, what kind of name is that?’ you ask. Yes, any idiot can figure out that is not my given name; in fact, when I arrived in Paris in 1994 and until 2012, I went by the name Mahinda. About a year ago, when Sharkozy and I were drunk like hell, we had the idea that it was time for a new name and found that this obese French tax criminal / Putin buddy was a nice inspiration.

By the way, Sharkozy sends his regards. He knows you are waiting for his story but he couldn’t make it today (he has an important underworld meeting, the kind of meeting where all smartphones are put in a freezer, Snowden-style) but promises to more than make up for it with a long interview next month.  And it will be “no effing puff piece” he said when he left. So the stage is all mine today.

I read Kwan’s story last week and instantly fell asleep. He leads the life of the entitled and the privileged. I had no such luck. In fact I was born in Sri Lanka, near Jaffna, as the only son to a family of 10. When my father, a Tamil Tiger, joined the Black Tigers that was the last we heard from him – he probably led a suicide attack somewhere in the south and thought that was a brilliant idea. My mother was desperate and my family had nothing to eat. So in the time-honoured tradition of desolate people the son was sent to the West to make money and essentially send all of it home.

Do you think I had any education? Of course not. I got my whole “education” from Sharkozy, and in fact I was his first disciple following him on his deviant paths. He taught me all I had to know to survive in the streets of Paris (where I ended up entirely against my will, as I had aspired to make it to New York and to become a dishwasher / tiger millionaire). After spending three months on a cargo ship, I arrived in Rotterdam and jumped a freight train without knowing where it might take me. That’s how I arrived here and quickly gave up on the idea of honest work, because what is an ambitious guy like me to do that will never fit in a lycée, let alone a business administration school?

If you are a member of the haute volée you probably shouldn’t read further. To everybody else I can proudly say that I, as a part of the Sharkozy gang, managed to “extract” about 3.2 million Euros with theft, robbery, and mugging Japanese tourists in the Louvre. Before you get all envious please consider it’s a high risk business with a lot of costs (bribes, paid assassinations, the cost of anonymous communication and so on) and decreasing margins. Some even say the business model of crime is broken, but that debate is too abstract for my taste.

Well, where did the money go? Do I own a Ferrari or a flat in the 16th arrondissement? No. First of all, I refused to live the traditional impoverished emigrant lifestyle. It is hardly exaggerated if I reveal that Sharkozy and I were probably the most popular patrons of Parisian three star restaurants in the last decade. Sharkozy has a very compelling, totally worldly, secular philosophy which states that “money must go round as quickly as possible”. I agree.

I used to feel proud to enjoy my life AND be able to sustain my family with my activities here in Paris, but a string of recent events has planted doubts in my mind about to what extent they really appreciate the level of risk I am taking here. For instance, last month my sister Gunjan texted me on Whatsapp. I mean, can you believe it? We used to buy food, crops and the occasional gun with my money, and now it is spent on smartphones and chatting? I didn’t even open the attached video file as its title “Colombo happy hour.mp4” told me that things really might have changed in the last 20 years.




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