I don’t know what beef the U.S. of A. has with France. Really, the best creations known to mankind are of the French persuasion. Take their toast for example. I just made a mound of french toast high enough to intimidate the conquerers of Mt. Everest, and it was quite possibly the most euphoric experience of my life, next to paying Kehly back for being such a drunkass on Face Plant night.
How about french braiding? Without the french braid, middle schoolers all over America would have been donning the mundane ponytail or pigtail, complete with embarrassing Tweety Bird scrunchie.
French fries. What the fuck would we do without french fries? If I could eat french fries for every meal for the rest of my life without clogging my arteries and becoming morbidly obese, I would do it in a heartbeat. French fries are quite possibly my favorite food of all time.
French silk pie. If heaven were to come in a tangible, ecstacy-inducing dessert, the french silk pie would be it.
French kissing. The art of the french kiss has revoluntionized the way the youth of today “express” their romanticism and uncontrollable raging hormones. It has even been deemed “first base,” universally understood worldwide, and a “foot in the door” action for horny teenage boys to grab some titty.
Let’s not forget french maids. Just another legitimate excuse to dress like a cheap prostitute on Halloween. The french maid stereotype gives girls across the country a “reason” to dress like a promiscuous house keeper and get away with it on All Hallow’s Eve.
I mean shit, what has America got to its name? Germany has the german chocolate cake, Canada has Canadian bacon, whiskey, and Clearly Canadian, the ever-refreshing carbonated beverage. Russia’s got the Russian Roulette, China has too many things to count, Mexico’s got the jumping bean—even Holland has the Dutch oven. Leaving us with what, the American “flag?”
I’m going French. Pack my bag, ma.
Tomorrow’s agenda looks something like the following: Awake. Hit ze gym. Go to class for too many hours. Gym. Drunk. Very drunk.
Looking good. Oh yeah, Elvis cashed today by the way.
I am off to digest and read Tucker Max. Peace out, homelanders.