5th day — Why I love the French

This is a little different. A friend, a fellow poet, suggested that I write about “frogs”, so this came out.  Not exactly about “frogs” but there are some frogs in there! Heh.   All in good fun BTW.  And, for the fifth day of NaWriPoMo! 

Why I love the French —     Max Wolf Valerio                   

People with French privilege are called Frogs.

That’s “frogs”,  F- R- O- G -S

The “F” is not a vowel or an implement of war, but an “F” simply.  It is quiescent, contained, and ranges far.   It also begins the word “flight” as well as the late 20th century phrase, “far out”.


Now, “frog” is actually, most likely, an insult.  To call someone a “frog” may be seen to diminish

their humanity, even though frogs have French privilege since French people are frogs and privileged.

But don’t call anyone a “frog” without checking to see whether or not it is OK.

Don’t ask why. If you do, your privilege is showing. If your privilege is showing, you will be placed in purgatory.  Even if you, are not French, or a frog. 

Purgatory is full of frogs and French people.  Or, possibly it is not.  Possibly purgatory is really the dreaming place that is limbo between worlds of hot, and worlds of cold. 

The frogs are there already, dipping their long legs in the water. 

I actually thought once, when I was prone to thinking about such things, that French people were called “frogs” because they ate frog legs. My French (ex) girlfriend told me that people called the French “frogs”, because French has that guttural sound.  French erupts with silk panties deep inside the throat and when you pull it out – French becomes a swollen, yet succulent aphrodisiac.  It is moist and highly aromatic.  French is born in fresh waters and ambrosia flowers. 

What about Frog Men?  What happened to Frog Men?   Were they French, or simply imitating frogs by immersing themselves under surface waters?  Were they searching for treasure only, or for the key to the French language?  Do they still exist? 

Now, you may ask, wandering about the lake and tapping with a red-tipped cane at stationary objects, you may ask:  Why do the French possess privilege?

My child, this is simple, the French possess Bridgett Bardot! 

Bardot is old now, but she is not frail.  She still commands the fantasy of motorcycles and thigh tight leather boots, however her cat eyes are no longer as subtle. 

Bardot has fallen from favor even though the French have not yet fallen from French privilege.  This is because Bardot believes that the Muslims are attempting to steal French privilege. 

She is wrong. The Muslims do not believe in French privilege.  And, because they do not believe in French privilege, they can never be French.  They can only become the poltergeists of France. 

There is an insurgency in French art. 

There is revolt and the multiplication of revolt.  There is Superman, who is American, flying toward the collapsing Eiffel tower to prop it up.   The French are sneering at him since he talks with his mouth full. 

 The freedom of the French is a vast panorama of transforming stars. 

There are French fries and exploding French Kisses.  And, if you do not understand French, you cannot have French Privilege. 

 If you have French privilege you should never allow anyone to make slurping sounds when they drink. 

 If you are unsure as to whether or not you possess French privilege you should look into the records kept by the Mormons. 

 The Mormons will be happy to assist you. Right now, as you skim this text, in the great Mormon temple by the great Salt Lake, many low-paid or unpaid data pickers and data sifters are picking through and compiling your genealogical data in its entirety, examining the birth, marriage and death records of everyone vying for French Privilege.  The Mormons are confused, they are uncertain as to how to manifest transformation even as they are transforming all the French into Mormon missionaries. 

The French are penultimate and postmodern.  They unpack their privilege with situationist fingers.  The  truth is relative to the abandonment of polarizing certainties. 

 Poodles are French like topiary.  Poodles are rationally proportioned  to offset the bouncy Chihuahuas.  However, let us note: Poodles are body dysphoric and would rather run wild like arctic wolves. 

The powder puff is French also. 

We must not forget!

It is now my firm conclusion, while downing a hyperbolic aperitif, that ALL French privilege should be unpacked.  Right now, right here, don’t delay.   

You skinny Godard women!  Unpack!  Open those thin-strapped purses, blow a kiss to the cameras as you sleekly invade the columns. 

Unpack!  Unpack! 

I didn’t say Repent – I said UNPACK UNPACK

Your privilege – your FRENCH PRIVILEGE — Unpack Unpack Unpack

(Ribbit – (!))

Max Wolf Valerio    (c) April 5th, 2012


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