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France is a Great Country
A Simple and
Logical Explanation of Why France is Definitely a Part of
Russian Empire (As is Everything Else)
June 15,
2000
France is a great
country. The rest of this world is forever in debt due to
France with 19% monthly interest, because France gave this
world a Civilization. A Civilization was invented, actually,
in Italy, and lately the French borrowed it from America and
Russia, but you see, they gave it to the world. There cannot
be any argument about it. For this simple reason everything
French is greater than anything non-French, and everybody
French is greater than everybody else. Texans disagree, but
again, Texans don't ever go to France, because in order to
go to France Texans have to cross Louisiana, and those
Texans who agree that everything French is the greatest,
remain in New Orleans, while those who disagree get killed
there by Cajun mafia, and their rotting corpses float in
those infamous swamp mausoleums. For a Siberian, I am
relatively civilized: I have seen some of France. I am a
sophisticated Siberian American. A loan officer in my local
bank is quite familiar with my knowledge of Paris
restaurants. In one of those restaurants, so expensive I am
afraid to name it, there were three waiters serving me
alone. The food looked very beautiful but was hardly edible.
The main entree was a raw beef kidney. They told me it was
Cuisine Moderne. But I know for sure it was a raw beef
kidney, I ate one before in Siberia. Their sweet wine
(Chateau d'Yqsomething) was OK, though I prefer Greek
Maurodaphne. Like all of us Russians, I tried to tell the
truth outright, explaining to the closest of my waiters that
this was the first time in my life I wore a tie, not
counting that unfortunate circumstance in Afghanistan when
my Muslim friends tried to hang me, but this waiter wouldn't
believe me, and, when I told him about Afghanistan, actually
became pale in his face, and stopped talking to me
completely. I thought they would at least talk to me for the
$600 I left there, especially since I don't like raw beef
kidneys, but they were so much greater than I, being French
and all, that I shut up, and finished my dinner in silence.
I've read "And God Created the French". I know why Jambon de
Bayonne is the only appellation-controlled porker (because
of the Basque terrorists' clout, that's why). The French eat
cheese instead of dessert. I am also civilized, and I like
their cheese very much, and their desserts too, so I always
order both. I don't understand why those waiters are always
upset about it: hey, everybody's taste is different; you
like cheese for dessert, and I like cheese _and_ dessert,
what's the big deal? Chateauneuf du Pape 1988 is excellent
but many French wines are quite mediocre. People buy and
drink them only because these wines are French, to pay their
debt for being given a Civilization. I drove a car through
Avignon, Arles, and Nimes, and survived (I survived, not the
car). The French use roundabouts instead of street lights,
but they are always out of order because I have never seen a
roundabout lighting up red or green, or even flashing
yellow. That's why everybody in France drives everybody
crazy, going around one and the same thing many times, while
looking for a way out. They call it existentialism, and it
was invented in France by a Little Prince who flew his plane
into Sahara occupied by Germans, and there became
irreversibly post-existentialist. I am the only person on
Earth who managed to enter the Fauchon tea room, and to
actually drink a very expensive tea there, sitting amidst a
fashionable crowd, with an unzipped flyer. The waiter
blushed and mumbled. He tried to make jokes about it,
probably, to attract my attention to the fact, which was,
apparently, uncomfortable to him, but his Russian was too
bad, and I only smiled, and continued to drink my tea, and
to taste their excellent sherbets, being absolutely,
imperturbably comfortable. I zipped up my pants only in the
St.-Madeleine's church, where everybody around me spoke
Russian. Russians always cut right through to the bottom of
things, rudely but philosophically. They told me my flyer
was unzipped. Uncivilized country bumpkins. I can find Venus
de Milo, Nice de Samothrace or somebody shaped and dressed
very much like them, in two minutes after being blindfolded
under the Glass Pyramid, which should be moved to Quebec
where it originated, and shoved up the architect's who
designed it, glass, metal rods, and all. There are beautiful
women in France, this is true, but they are very, very
expensive, more expensive than a dinner for two in Tour
d'Argent (a raw beef kidney was in the other place, and I
disclaim and waive everything, anyway). They don't let you
smoke in Louvre, no matter how many times you come there:
they recognize you, yes, and smile, and nod, and already
start to follow you, because they suspect that you are an
art thief (why else a person would come to Louvre ten
times?), but they don't give you any slack: you cannot smoke
in Louvre, anywhere, period. Civilization. I know what
Balsac said about Rabelais, and what Rabelais said about
Mitterand collaborating with Sainte-Yorre. I spent many
weeks and many thousands of dollars zigzagging through
Pays-Basques, Languedoc, Pyrenees, Provence, and
Hautes-Alpes. In all these places people told me, in French,
that theirs is a special, separate country, not really
France, that France is something different, alien and
unwelcome, out there in the rainy North, beyond Lyon.
Breathtakingly beautiful country for American lawyers,
fantastic food and wines for Japanese executives. The
fast-food stops on the French highways are to MacDonalds'
what honeymoon night 's supper of a billionaire on a
Caribbean beach is to the last convulsions of a mass
murderer being french-fried in electrical chair. An average
bed in an average French hotel invariably breaks under an
average American couple trying to do it, for the sake of
authenticity, French style. Americans eat at least ten times
more, and move ten times less, while French talk ten times
more, but only to their cell phones: they don't like talking
to humans, because humans are mostly French, and they talk
back, while cell phones never talk back, they just beep or
play gaudy music in the most inconvenient places at most
inconvenient times. In France, if you are a foreigner, even
a cop insults you with politeness and grace of a king in
absolutely incomprehensible local patois while pounding the
face of some poor bastard who just had a misfortune to say
something wrong using the same patois (you will never know
what is wrong and what is right in France, because you don't
need to know, France is for your eyes only). American cops
don't beat up the detained in public, they rape them with
broomsticks in private. France, actually, is only a province
of Russia, since Cossacks entered Paris in 1815, after
beating like a baby their much touted Buonaparte, a Corsican
terrorist who started his carrier by blowing up a seafood
restaurant in Ajaccio, and blaming it on the prefect of the
Paris police whose favorite entertainment was drowning Arabs
in the Seine. Right in the center of Paris, in front of all
their presidential and governmental palaces, is the bridge
built by our Russian tsar, Alexander, to remind the French
who is really in charge there. French try to fool themselves
and everybody else by turning their Russian flag 90 degrees
and inside out, but it's a Russian flag anyway. We Russians
were and are the first in the world in everything, from
ballet to ice hockey. Moreover, baseball is a Russian game
brought to Californian Spanish monks from Alaska, where the
children of Russian fur traders played it with Native
Americans who are really from Siberia. That is, first
Americans were Siberian Americans, like me, that is,
Russians. That is, North America as a whole belongs to
Russia, not to mention Alaska which was swindled away from
us! In France, in Europe, Russians are everywhere, Russian
language sounds from every corner, Russian missiles can fly
down your
chimney. Russia is around the globe, world belongs to
Russia. The sun never rises over Russian Empire.
To be continued, may be. -
Alexander Feht
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