Tuesday, September 06, 2005

Dear France,

Dear France,

Please send many Frenchmen. I can house two or three in my house alone. But send many, you have much work to do.

Send them with a list of things;

- Make very buttery sauces to put in our fire trucks. Yes, fire trucks. Not only can we butter many BBQs worth of garlic toast (Texas Toast) with them, but we can use the high power jet blast of buttery saucey wine goodness up the ass of the fucking puritan assholes running this country. Blow their pseudo-christian heads right off their pasty-white bodies. Then show them new ways to use their orrifaces with plenty of warm lubrication left over.

- Cunilingus. Seriously, a lot of it. The fucking women growing up in this place are not demanding enough oral sex. They friggin deserve it. Half of them take crap from their loser guys and raise their children. They work hard, and they get fooled into buying cars that are too big. Come here, lick the pussy like there is no tomorrow. Make em moan and squirm and smile and have happy flower-filled dreams. Then next weak, they will demand the same from their American boys and realize what fucking piles of crusty shit them American boys are. Then maybe our women kill them and eat them in their gruel or something useful like that.

- I can go to a mall, buy a copy of Doom3, give it to some kid so he can spend hours and hours using an assault shotgun to blow former-humans to smithereens. That'd make me a hero. But show one damn left tittie to an adult audience and get thrown in jail for it. For this you bring a Petard. Wonderful French invention used for blowing the damn door off its hinges with a big "fhoomph" of natural-born black powder. The barbaric acts of the petard should shed some irony on the idea I can kill and eat a human and thats okay, but the natural act of appreciating the body of another human is somehow wrong.

- Oh, send one Frenchman in a Mirage. Fucking Americans don't know enough to put twin cannons in a figher jet. Monster of the skies I tell you.

- Send some Frenchmen that know english. Not a lot, just say 10% of them. These will be your spies, the infiltrators into normal society. (Sorry, you will have to eat braturst in some places to blend in, that is necessary for the plan.) These secret Frenchmen will sit around and demonstrate to the man in the back woods many things. He will say "I think Carson is the manliest of the five" or he will write on the wall "Please do not pee here, it is for horses only". To make the extrordinary to seem normal these Frenchemen will say things like this. That way the odd ones of us can live our lives while the normals are thinking "what did that secret Frenchman mean when he said that?"

- ITER, make some plasma with your mighty soon to be built Tokamak in Cadarache. Send it over in a big jet of 20,000 degree plasma to light up our skies. Maybe our stupid ass-politicians will be walking down the street and see the sparkly lights, then, oops the stop sign conveniently sharpened to razor edge will slice them in the throat. Oops a happy accident blood all over.

You Frenchmen. You are the only ones with the guts to do this. Please help me, I am only a poor American.

Send Frenchmen


Blogger jafiwam said...

Ok, like most of my stuff I was sorta drunk when I wrote this.

Rumor has it that it has been translated to French and is circulating over there.

Good for them.

Send Frenchmen.

10:30 PM  

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