Oh là là, Monsieur Macron! The French President invites U.S. scientists to his Ménage!

Sexy Macron

I’ve never trusted the French, not since I sat for my first class in Madame Duvet’s 6th grade Introductory French. She kept saying, “Le pouce. Le pouce.” That was accompanied by a thumbs up. I didn’t get it, but I just nodded my head in agreement with the old, crazy bat. From that moment on I knew that I had to keep my Yankee wits about me as she dragged me and my compatriots ever deeper into the twisted, tangled, and tawdry world of Liberté, Equalité, Fraternité. (I immediately called bullshit. America invented that stuff. 1776. April Morning. Don’t tread on me. These colors don’t run. They stole our Red, White, & Blue obviously.)

For six years I studied their language and customs in school by day, and by night I studied their more perverse arts. (Est-ce que quelqu’un a commandé une pizza à la saucisse? Oui! Oui! Mais oui!) Though the studies were difficult, I proved myself to be quite a resilient pupil, full of resolve, unbending, standing tall during oral examination, a rock hard pillar, whilst my naturally rolling Spanish-touched tongue tamed la langue d’ amour.

That is why it came as no surprise that French President Emmanuel Macron made his seedy, Pepé Le Pew play on our American scientists last week after we pulled-out of the Paris Climate Accord prematurely and cockblocked their party. Apparently Macron was upset that we did not consummate the agreement with Paris’ willing group of nations. (He must’ve had a raging case of balles bleu. I mean this had been planned for a while now. Everyone was ready to drop CO2 emissions and go au naturel. It’s not like there weren’t plenty of caps to slip onto those piping-hot, smoke stacks.) So he decided to make a sleazy move on our scientists. He was like, “Oh hey there American scientists. Is your man not treating you well? Does he not bring you flowers? Play with your hair? Buy you expensive parfums? Take you on long, romantic walks? Why don’t you come wis’ me? I’ll hold you and whisper sweet nothings in your ears. You’ll be ‘appy, non?” (You know that kind of shit, but in a smarmy, sexy accent.)

Well I say, fuck La France. It’s time to put some good ol’ American thrusts of freedom into our American scientists to ensure that they stay right here at home where they belong…in the lab, cooking up experiments, and pregnant with the next generation of American innovation! Research funding for everyone! Vive les États-Unis!

Here’s the Froggy French bastard himself in Jezebel’s tongue:

Here he is in Godly American:

 

© J. Manuel

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