France becomes CHUD briefly, forgetting everything that has happened in Paris for 20+ years now.

Being French is to exist in a state of barely contained rage. You sit at a cafe, sip a tiny espresso and eat a delicate pastry on your union-mandated 4-hour coffee break, looking as placid and content as can be, but under the surface a seething ocean of emotion boils, ready to destroy Europe for the 4th time in 2 centuries, finally put perfidious Albion and the Eternal Kraut in the dustbin of history where they belong, reconquer the ungrateful Algerian swine, assert Francophone dominance in West Africa, kick the disgusting Anglo Ontarian across the St Laurence and raise the Tricolor above a sea of bayonets you will gleefully shove right up the anus of anyone who says "muh surrender monkey".

Sometimes the mask slips, but is quickly reaffixed beneath your fruity beret. You finish your coffee, paying exact change with no tip, and secure your baguette to the back of your 49cc moped. You push the starter button, and in your mind the single cylinder buzz is the righteous grumble of a V12 diesel in a Leclerc, crossing the Rhine with Mirage 2000s screaming overhead.