I'm an idiot?!

From my good friend... http://dizzypixel.tumblr.com/post/57164052/paris-blows-says-the-idiot

Paris Blows - says the idiot.

• Idiot: so what stories do you have Mr. World Traveler?
• Idiot: make it home with your cameras?
• Idiot: get the new mac book?
• Me: i did
• Me: no new macs
• Me: and no new stories
• Me: just exploring Paris
• Idiot: did you find any place that doesn't suck?
• Idiot: didja get a "Royal avec fromage"?
• Idiot: didja miss my incessent questions?
• Me: lol
• Idiot: does that mean "no"?
• Me: i love paris
• Me: everything about it
• Me: i wanna move there
• Idiot: uck
• Me: but no no mcee dees
• Idiot: you can have it
• Idiot: McD's was one of the highlights
• Me: actually knowing you dislike it so much makes me love it more!
• Idiot: well good
• Idiot: Paris in March blew hard
• Me: you and Brandon dislike the French so much
• Me: thats a good sign for me
• Idiot: yes, but maybe not
• Idiot: PARIS BLOWS
• Me: wow, really?
• Idiot: good place to go... ONCE

I went to Paris in March of 2000. It was rainy, drizzly, the WHOLE time there. And what should you expect in March?
Well let me tell you, I don't think the dog crap is seasonal. The Parisians walk their chiens and they crap on the sidewalk. They don't pick up after them. So in the rain and drizzle the sidewalks are littering sitting in poop soup.

Now let's talk about rude. I took two years of high school french. I know I am not fluent. I am not an expert, but I can "Ou est les toillettes?" with the best of them.

We're trekking from Le Tour Eiffel up Le Champs Elysees and we're looking for the subway station at Franklin D Roosevelt. We're tired after mucking about the fecal fountain of Paris all day and want to get back to our hotel. Did I say hotel? The place was a 4 star dump. I don't remember what we paid for the craphole, and I don't want to. At this point it'd only fuel the fire.

So anyway we tromp down the stairs to the ticket counter for the subway.
First I try the old "Parlez vous anglais?"
"Non"
"Ou est FRANKLIN D ROOSEVELT?"
"Je ne comprends pas."
I pick up the map, and hold it so that they can see.
"Ou est FRANKLIN D ROOSEVELT?" and I point at the Franklin D Roosevelt station.
"Je ne comprends pas."
There's been a line forming of freaking frenchies, and they are not happy that the fat dumb americans are holding up the file d'attente.

So after a minute of pointing and saying "Ou est?" to not only the idiot at the window, but the line that formed, we left. Hoofed it back up the stairs to the street.

One block away, I found the correct damn station. We bought our tokens, got on our train. And got back to the shithole hotel we stayed at.

My one redeeming moment in fucking Paris was our trip to the Louvre, where I noticed a McDonald's across the street.
"THAT is where we are going to lunch today!" I announce.
"No Bubba," Shelle says, "We didn't come all the way to Paris to eat at McDonald's."
"THAT is where we are going to lunch today."

So we zip through the Louvre. And when we leave, I beeline towards the Golden Arches. The others are on my heels. They can't beleive my determination.
I walked through the open door, up to the counter and ordered,
"ROYALE WITH CHEESE!"