The French Predilection

bush-freedom-friesThis post is dedicated to a friend of a friend. You know who you are…

Team America is about to unload a can of whoop-ass-sized Freedom Fries ™ on your Roquefort. Yeeeeeeee-haw!

U.S. CEO Blasts French Work Habits
–A frothy headline from the “We Hate Obama’s Guts” edition of the Wall Street Journal

Can I re-write the headline?

U.S. Money Eater Blasts Cheese Eaters, Claims Currency Is ‘Ten Times More Delicious’ Than Fromage
The Daily Abyssian Union Picayune Herald Register Times Tribune Weekly

Roquefort is under attack. Roquefort will be defended!!!

It all started when the CEO of a U.S. tire manufacturer published a letter in a French newspaper criticizing the work habits of French workers and, responding to the notion of buying a former Goodyear tire plant, stating: “How stupid do you think we are?”

To be honest, I’d happily respond to that question but I doubt he’d be able to understand the answer. Héh héh héh héh héh!!!


A lost piece of Americana from the defunct How Big Is The Spill blog. The math here is old and busted.

Are the French high on Roquefort? Or do they have a valid point? I resolved to get to the bottom of this. Mmmm. Roquefort. I resolved to not be biased by delicious little veins of blue.

“I have visited that factory a couple of times. The French workforce gets paid high wages but only works three hours.

They get one hour for breaks and lunch, talk for three and work for three. I told this to the French union workers to their faces. They told me that’s the French way!”

–Morry Taylor, letter dated February 8 and obtained by French business daily Les Echos

Mr. Taylor, a man who once fancied himself a Republican presidential candidate, is aghast that there are some people in the world who don’t want to work as hard as Americans. Go figure.

Based on my apocryphal observational data, I glean that a typical work week in the U.S. is lumbering mass of 40 hours while in France it is a fleet, swift of foot gazelle leaping to and fro at 35 hours.

Five mere hours and what a difference they can make.

I’ve done some experimentation in this area and I think I know what I’m talking about.

A 40-hour work week is like outhouse bunk beds. And your boss has already called dibs on the top bunk if you know what I’m sayin’.

A 35-hour work week is intoxicating nectar of the gods. That missing hour is magically transformed into pure energy and light. For a brief moment of time you fall into that light, are joyously consumed and become one with the universe.

Way back on Nov. 4, 2009, I attempted to illustrate these weighty concepts with a pie chart. (See inset above-right.) Reviewing that data, though, I found a fundamental math error that no one caught. Thanks a lot. Now I am certain that not even my reader actually looks at this blog.

Since I love playing with myself so much, however, I decided to fix, update and revise the graph for the sake of accuracy.


After work and sleep, barely anything is left for “Other” where, presumably all the fun stuff takes place. You know? Family. Love. Enrichment. Personal growth. Awareness. Community. Love. Freedom. Fun. The occasional jolly shake of ye olde twig and berries. The stuff that actually makes life worth living in the first place.

Look at the size of the slice. “Other.” For simplicity’s sake it isn’t broken down further. It doesn’t shrink for things like time spent on the toilet, waiting in line, working on taxes, attending weddings and funerals, etc. In all actuality, the realistic size of that slice would be too small to be seen with the naked eye.

I say fuck that CEO aka greedy elderly white man. I think the French are on to something. If we can only pull our heads out of our asses long enough we just might learn something truly important. Oui oui!

11 responses

  1. Une autre bonne raison vous devriez être le fromage principal au bureau….she said as she smothered her baguette with blue cheese.


  2. A friend of a friend?….hmmm…I’m not friends with any of your friends unless you meant blog friend…I’m so convinced it’s me that I can’t bring myself to read the rest. Our blog-friendship is too important to me. It’s not me, is it?


    1. You are very wise to get stuck on the throw-away line. In fact, that’s the best way to read this blog! Well done.

      Of course I meant you. Who the hell else could it possibly be? You and me are the only ones here.

      There was that other blog friend of mine I was discussing this very story with that gave me the idea for this post, but I couldn’t be her. 🙂


      1. She’s soooo mysterious behind those Foster Grants!


  3. Working at a tire factory would suck, regardless of nationalité. This CEO is très sage to have discovered where the rubber meets the road. (Yes, I strained to get that tire idiom in there. What’s that, you say? It’s tired?)

    I don’t know much about French work habits, but I do know that they have elevated dining out to a high art from my brief experience in Paris with friends who lived there. Dinner and conversation are an all evening affair. Qui a le temps de travailler? La vie doit être vécue. (Merci for google translate.)


    1. Here Americans “Naturally Seven” show the French how to live.
      Another version. One of my favorite songs.


      1. Thanks. I will check out your videos this weekend while at the Buddhist guru retreat. They got free wifi so I’m taking the iTablet to get it blessed. And, quite literally, smudged.


    2. Check out the link below that I found just for you. And your friend. 🙂

      What? The French want to work seven hours a day instead of the all-American eight? For that alone they must fry!

      It’s time for the red, white and blue to kick a little, erm, blue, white and red. Say what?


  4. Worried about the people who make your S-Car go? Check out this link which contains a very healthy does of what chemicals are found in the tire manufacturing process and how it is enjoyable for those who work in those factories.

    Read it in your car!


    1. We are all suffering from breathing particulate matter, such as tire dust, car exhaust, furnace exhaust, soil from plowed fields. We need to return to our hunter gatherer days. No more cars, agriculture or even campfires, because of the smoke. I’m going to seek out my cave this weekend, where I will live out the end of a brutish life. I said brutish, not British, although it seems they are heading there first.


  5. […] Warning: It’s quite possible I don’t really know what “riff” means. Recently we heard the story about the CEO of an American tire manufacturer rippin’ the French people a new one because he thought they should work longer hours. (The French Predilection.) […]


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