RosevilleCAguy
Unsane
- Joined
- Aug 5, 2002
- Posts
- 12,331
Of Martinique, I have been a prisoner of the foul and most foreign French.
My time in captivity has been spent atlernating between boredom an ennui. My captors are using every method at their disposal turm me against my comrades. So far they have failed.
Upon my capture yesterday, I was whisked in a military limosine to an unknown location. I suspect it is somewhere in France, based upon the flag flying from the Eifel Tower, which I can see from the window of my tastefully decorated, Louis XIV furnished, luxury hotel room. They spare no efforts to compromise my will.
I have been assigned a "personal valet" named Francois. From his scrupuoously manicured nails and perfectly groomed mustache to this cigarette held in that insolent European fashion, I despise him and his attempts to subvert me.
Just this morning while bringing me my breakfast of "French" toast (the efforts of my captors are unrelenting) he again tried to bring me into the culture of the Louvre.
"Bonjour, M. Rose" He said, in his best Berlitz CD instructional English,"Interested in a sexy postcard?" The images presented by Francois were guaranteed to get a rise from a Souther Baptist misnister who needed Viagra. Since he wanted $2.00 a postcard, and all I had was a $20.00, and he had no change, I remained steadfast.
The enemy spares no effort to crack me. The television in my room is constantly filled with images of Jerry Lewis and Marcel Marceau. They have no shame. My will to resist only grows with each exposure to infantile humor and mimes.
I have just had a revelation that makes me weep for the fate of my people and planet. I could not understand how the ungrateful recipients of EuroDisney had discovered our plans. Now I know. It was the Cajuns. It all fits. They speak French, or at least a form of it. They overcook thier meat, and attempt to conceal the fact by way of tasty sauces and other culinary ledger-domaine. Thier professional sports franchise, The New Orlean's Saints flagrently displays the hated Fleur-d'-Lys.
Oh. The horror, the horror......
My time in captivity has been spent atlernating between boredom an ennui. My captors are using every method at their disposal turm me against my comrades. So far they have failed.
Upon my capture yesterday, I was whisked in a military limosine to an unknown location. I suspect it is somewhere in France, based upon the flag flying from the Eifel Tower, which I can see from the window of my tastefully decorated, Louis XIV furnished, luxury hotel room. They spare no efforts to compromise my will.
I have been assigned a "personal valet" named Francois. From his scrupuoously manicured nails and perfectly groomed mustache to this cigarette held in that insolent European fashion, I despise him and his attempts to subvert me.
Just this morning while bringing me my breakfast of "French" toast (the efforts of my captors are unrelenting) he again tried to bring me into the culture of the Louvre.
"Bonjour, M. Rose" He said, in his best Berlitz CD instructional English,"Interested in a sexy postcard?" The images presented by Francois were guaranteed to get a rise from a Souther Baptist misnister who needed Viagra. Since he wanted $2.00 a postcard, and all I had was a $20.00, and he had no change, I remained steadfast.
The enemy spares no effort to crack me. The television in my room is constantly filled with images of Jerry Lewis and Marcel Marceau. They have no shame. My will to resist only grows with each exposure to infantile humor and mimes.
I have just had a revelation that makes me weep for the fate of my people and planet. I could not understand how the ungrateful recipients of EuroDisney had discovered our plans. Now I know. It was the Cajuns. It all fits. They speak French, or at least a form of it. They overcook thier meat, and attempt to conceal the fact by way of tasty sauces and other culinary ledger-domaine. Thier professional sports franchise, The New Orlean's Saints flagrently displays the hated Fleur-d'-Lys.
Oh. The horror, the horror......
