I work with a man from Paris. I often speak with him in French but usually I like it when he goes on in English. He has one of those over the top Parisian accents you hear in the movies. During Gulf War II, I called him “Freedom Toast” in reference to the mature US politicians who thought by renaming everything from french fries to kissing, France would learn its lesson and never defy America again. Freedom Toast was not an atypical Frenchman in that he was frequently going to protests against the war as evidenced by the large number of anti-war leaflets he kept around his cubicle. I suspect him of being a communist or perhaps a socialist. And of course, he smokes.
In any event, I have thus far been unsuccessful in getting him to say the following sentences for me:
“Vive le Québec libre!”
“We fart in your general direction.”
and of course:
“Zank ‘eaven for leetle girls.”