You know I’m the type of person who absolutely refuses to bad mouth anyone. It’s just not in my nature…I can’t do it. Besides, it creates bad karma, and I’m all about yummy karma. But the French can be so arrogant, pompous, pedantic, didactic, judgmental, affranctuous, babblative, henotheistic, pedestrian, rebarbative, and yucky. Am I right or am I right? Now, let me just get one thing straight. It doesn’t bother me that the French are henotheistic per se; look at the Croatians. They can be very henotheistic as well, and I never say a bad thing about the Croatians (aside from the fact that I don’t like the way they pronounce the letter “g” and their “r”. And I hate their cabbage soup.) But the French are just so damn henotheistic. It’s just a bit excessive.
Well, any way I’m a bit hesitant to tell you what the French did to me because it’s going to ruin your day. But I think you need to know. You need to be prepared since it can happen to you. I was at this party of some famous French actress. I’m not going to tell you her name. But let’s just say it rhymes with Catherine Veneuve. Enough said. Well, I get there and I am dying of thirst. Paris dehydrates. And none of the travel agents ever tells you that. London lubricates. Paris dehydrates. All I wanted was a Diet Dr. Pepper with three large ice cubes in it. Nothing too demanding. Well, her bartender points to a row of maybe 90 bottles of exotic French wines and says to me, “Ms. Veneuve is serving wine tonight.” So I said to him, “Well, Dr. Trillionaire doesn’t do wine, especially when he’s in France. It gives me the runs and your toilet paper is so damn stiff, and you still have Turkish toilets all over the place that quite frankly I’d rather just wait to go to the bathroom when I’m back home in America where there’s Charmin double-ply. I need something that will bind me.” So you know what he says to me? You’re going to love this! He says to me, “Can I get you some bottled water?” “Can I get you some felt?” Who the hell drinks bottled water when they’re dehydrated? And I was on to his little charade. He’d bring me some water and no ice. Room temperature water. The French do that. They drink room temperature water.
Well, I don’t forget. So last night I invited my closest 5,000 French friends over for dinner (there was actually one Belgian, but she claimed that her grandmother was French. So I let her stay.) All I served to drink was root beer. The French hate root beer. And there was lots of ice. One of them had the gaul to ask me for water. Well, I gave it to him but made sure he knew it was tap. The French don’t do tap. And the rudeness, they start bitching to me about who drinks the root of a tree. It’s not like it’s just any root: it’s the root of a sassafras tree. Like a grape is any better! Did you know that the sassafras is dioecious? The grape is not.
