Neal’s Take on the French

Neal’s Take on the French

I’ve been missing a lot of my Insensitivity Training at the Church of the Painful Truth, but I’m catching up. I couldn’t pass up this gem.

Let’s not tiptoe around this much longer. Other than beautiful natural scenery, proximity to Switzerland, winemaking and nude beaches, France really doesn’t all that much going for it. It’s a nation of wimps, wussies, cowards and pseudo-intellectuals, the little old ladies of the western world, who spend an inordinate amount of time trying to preserve and promote an effete language that the rest of the civilized world has been trying to bury for over a century. This is a nation that planted shade trees along its grand boulevards generations ago, knowing that Germans prefer to march in the shade. The last century of French history shows a repetitious cycle of chest-pounding, proclamations of international importance and relevance accompanied with demands for respect, if not reverence, alternating with pleas for help from the United States every time they notice a German soldier standing on the corner.

France is in one of their “holier-than-thou” modes right now. The French are trying to show the word that they are still somewhat relevant by threatening to veto a U.N. resolution calling for the use of force against Saddam Hussein. They say that the U.S. just can’t make the rules for the rest of the world. Sounds great, but can anyone point to one great moment in French diplomacy in the last 150 years? When have the bold, brave French ever been the first to step forward to confront a threat to the free world? They’re back-bencher — not even second-string. France is the perennial red shirt in the community of free nations. There is simply no way to say “put me in coach” in the French language. So, now the rest of the world has to sit by and listen to more French bragging about their wonderful independence while whining about the strength and resolve of America, How embarrassing it must be for them. These are people who have mastered the art of foreign affairs but still can’t grasp the idea of a daily bath.

We all know, though, that as soon as the next threat to the French way of life crosses a French border these self-important candy-asses will engage in another orgy of collective pant soiling and scream for help from the lowly Americans — again.

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