Jan 14 2008
Reason Number 2,863 To Hate The French
With the exception of a few well place 'Frenchies' here and there, I've never been particularly fond of the French to begin with.
Admittedly, I was never one of those rabid folks (i.e., dumbass Americans) who started referring to my french fries as 'freedom fries'. However, I always found the air of superiority wafted out by the majority of the French — together with a considerable amount of body odor, as well — more than just a bit distasteful.
If it weren't for their considerable history of promptly surrendering to any (and all) of their neighboring countries on the continent, perhaps that attitute may be justified. As it is, however, I have more respect for the guys working the late shift at the local 7-11. Until I meet a thousand more guys like these two great blokes in the Philippines, my opinion stands. Sorry.
That opinion now seems even more justified after the run in (pun intended) I had yesterday with 3 of the biggest kooks — all French — that I've ever met in my life. Three Frenchies were out in the water yesterday hooting and hollaring (perhaps they were trying to surrender to the Sri Lankans), and just getting in everyone's way.
One of them sat right in front of me while I was up on a really nice wave, looking me in the eyes and doing nothin else to move or otherwise allow me to maintain my position on the wave. I had to ditch.
Another dropped in on me while I was up on waves, not once, not twice, but three times in only a 1 hour session. Fucker.
The third of the group (part 'trois' if you're counting in French, which I doubt, because if you're French, chances are you're off looking for someone to surrender to) ran right into me while I was in the whitewater paddling away from him so he could ride his wave in peace. But instead of riding the wave, he turned right towards me before realizing there was something in his way. Upon reaching that conclusion, he ditched his board, kicking it right at my head (perhaps he thought it the best way to surrender). I moved just in time for it to hit me square in my right calf, which is now sporting a huge muscle bruise.
No apologies, no nothing. He just paddled back out. Nice. Three more reasons for me to go out for some 'freedom fries.'
Post script: My foot is now pretty well healed up, with the exception of the 1 or 2 remaining smaller spikes that are now poppin out randoming like zits on the face of a rabid Hannah Montana fan. Thanks to all for the concern (read: horror).
And in response to Jayne's crazy question as to what body part I will injure next for my rapt (read: cold and bored) audience, I now have both an answer and a reason why: my right calf, and because some French kook with a surfboard ran into me out in the surf.
Precious!
That was my keyword (searching in google) and I ended up here.
Sending you a smile - don’t be to harsh on the frenchies in general!
No, I’m not , but :
‘’tres'’, btw is spanish, if I remember correctly.
-Trois- would have been the correct word for three.
Best wishes and enjoy your trip!
Was anybody else there, getting kooked by these fuckwads? I’d like to offer three suggestions or courses of action:
For French Fuck #1. If he sits there and doesn’t move, you shouldn’t be surprised, you should just dominate him. Run him over.
For French Fuck #2. Dropping in on someone is a major no-no. Is this their local spot? I think not. I’d like to see them try that stunt in Hawaii.
For French Fuck #3. That’s a dangerous move. I’m not sure what your position is regarding justified violence, but a bit of a yell and maybe a sock to the jaw would have sent a message.
Geez, I’m mad as hell right now. Thanks for starting my Tuesday off this way. That’s it, man! I’m flying to France to act like and entitled American, piss on the Arc D’Triumph and parade down the Champs Elysees.
Loretta, thanks for taking a peek. Sorry you cought me on a bad day. As per your suggestion, I’ve corrected the language issue and I’ll think about giving the Frenchies a break in the future.
Slouch, damn right, brother. Fuck those surrender-monkey frenchies!! I’ll meet you at the Arc (that is, if they haven’t surrendered it back to the Germans again, in which case, we’ll have to go there and take it back for them … AGAIN).
To everyone else, relax … I’m just kidding here (but not really).
Okay, then. I just returned from Paris. I feel much better.
I kid.
I love Paris and lived there for a brief month.
I love the French.
I hate kooks.