I may not have mentioned it, but I declared war on France. Me, myself, all by my lonesome, but it’s going rather well, if today is any indicator.
Now, before I go into what happened today, I want to go over a few points of importance about individuals going to war against nations. Generally, this is a very bad idea, if only because of the numbers. Also, most governments serve at least a few valuable services, which the war would harm. And in other cases, there is no value or purpose to be accomplished by warring against the nation. Fortunately, with the selection of France as your adversary, none of these is a problem. There are other such nations, but France is uniquely suitable for personal warfare, with the perfect blend of history, arrogance, and cowardice.
One day, I sent a diplomatic note to the French Embassy, out of pique at one of their daily crimes against Reason. I made sure to write in Pig-Latin. After all, the French don’t seem to understand English, I am not about to write in French, and Pig-Latin has a long and colorful history. As I expected, the French ignored my note.
A week later, I followed up with another note, also in Pig-Latin, but this time I dropped the envelope in a toilet before sending it off, which fooled the front desk into thinking it was European in origin. I demanded to know why the first letter had been ignored, threatening tariffs and to exclude the Ambassador from the spring dinner parties. Accordingly, the French responded with wine, cheese, and knighthood in the Croix d’Guerre.
I knew better than to eat or drink anything from France, so the next week I sent an ultimatum. This time, my outraged piggy asked why the French had not addressed the critical issue of acceptable coffee and beef in their restaurants. The French invited me to a Summit, and gave me majority ownership of several five-star restaurants, which I sold to Jack-In-The-Box.
Today, the French responded in outrage. I think it was the “Frog Burger Special” and the “Jacques Souffle” I ran over the weekend. Anyway, I received a demand from the French Ambassador to see him at the Embassy. Instead, I had a friend inform the Ambassador that this would not be a good time.
“And why is that?” demanded the striped-pants pansy.
“He’s consolidating the takeover of Reins, Lyon, and Orleans. He owns them now, didn’t you know?” replied my bud.
So, to make a long story short, we negotiated the sale of those cities back to France.
Next week, I’m taking over Paris.