The setting: last night's performance of Carmen at City Opera. Me: an perky brunette twenty-something with big glasses and a yearning for le jambon. You: the well-coiffed French bitch who stole my ham sandwich. I only put down the sandwich for a second when from underneath my hand it was untimely ripped by you, you skank-ho.

Were you WATCHING Carmen? You are, like unto her, an impudent trollop who deserves to die at the end of the third act, but your death shall not be mourned because most of the audience has already fallen asleep when the bullfighter left the stage.

In no way do I support the rampant anti-France attitudes sweeping America right now, but I swear to God, if I ever find you, I'm gonna beat you so hard with a baguette that you'll think you're Quebecoise!