Saving France

November 12, 2005
Paris, France

After watching the awful French riots on TV, I knew I had to help. Early this week several fellow activists and myself flew to Paris with the hope of successfully ending this conflict like we almost did the war in Iraq.
After landing at Charles de Gaulle International Airport we rented a cute little green Renault and drove to our hotel. I don’t know what it is with the rental cars over here, but the inside of this one smelled like a flatulent chain-smoking Cocker Spaniel soaked in sweat. We drove fast with the windows down.
I’ve learned from experience that the quickest way to be regarded like a TIAP* in this country is to speak English so I was careful to speak the local language while checking in and later when I ordered our meals at the restaurant. I soon remembered I really didn't know how to speak French when they served me a carburetor with cheese sauce and a glass of phlegm. The other dishes weren’t much better with the exception of the bacon-wrapped hamster that although tiny, was very moist and tasty.
Our plan was to bond with these immigrants and show them how to peacefully effect change and maybe even teach them a few catchy protest songs. I was really looking forward to the friendships we were to forge with these gentle people who are only seeking acceptance in a foreign land.
When we reached the parking lot we found they had burned our rental car into something that looked like a charcoal briquette.
After renting another car, (this time with insurance) we headed out. While better than the first car, the interior of this one still smelled like a diseased yak marinated in urine. Also, the radio didn’t work. No wonder they like burning these things.
We no sooner arrived at our destination than a mob came rushing towards us! They looked just like the angry Palestinians you see on TV only with sweaters tied around their shoulders and really stylish haircuts.
In hindsight, trying to placate these marauding Euro-Jihadists by yelling that we were Americans, not French, probably wasn’t the greatest idea ever. With the sound of our burning car exploding behind us and the mob at our heels shouting “Allah Akbar", we ran for our lives until we thankfully came to a gendarme (police) station. Screaming for help, we ran inside only to have the officers on duty throw themselves sobbing at our feet while several others waved crude white flags fashioned from what appeared to be their underwear. The rioters came in and pummeled us all before heading to the parking lot to burn the police cars.
While we weren’t able to bring an end to this conflict, we still have enjoyed the beauty of Paris, at least what little we can see through the thick clouds of acrid black smoke.
Au revoir!           *turd in a punchbowl