The French sink to a new low

I was really looking forward to meeting my readers last night at the Grand Illusion Cinema in Seattle. I arrived early, wearing a wig, paisley pants, and a headband fashioned from a necktie so that I would blend in with the locals in the University District, but I suspect my military bearing must have given me away. I was taunted with laughter for the full length of my trek from my parking spot to the theater.

Still, I felt pretty good about my journey. I'd only been forced to pull my pistol three times while interrogating possible terrorists I encountered along the way--a lot of people just looked a little bit too swarthy to me.

I suspected there might be more trouble once I reached the Grand Illusion: there were recycling bins in the lobby; the cafe served weird vegetarian food with funny, foreign sounding names, and everyone seemed to have all of their teeth. Hoping to spy one of my readers, I looked around for a NASCAR jacket or a hat made out of beer cans tied together with yarn, but none were to be found.

I stood in the lobby for awhile, pondering my next move. Surely, some of my readers were there, perhaps, like me, they were traveling undercover so as to not attract the attention to themselves. With the movie about to start, I desperately yelled, "Is anyone looking for The General. Most of the other movie goers looked at me rather strangely when I did that and quickly moved away, but I recognized a glimmer of recognition in the eyes of four others as the General was mentioned.

None of them looked like they'd be my readers--they just weren't militia material. Like I said, they all had teeth, they apparently enjoyed bathing, and not a one of them was accompanied by a sheep. Obviously, they too had prepared for travel in Seattle's French Quarter by disguising themselves--they just didn't have the same access to paisley I had, so they looked like normal folk.

Six more like-wise disguised readers introduced themselves after the film ended and we decided to share a beer (which I soon learned didn't mean you actually drank from the same glass) at the College Inn. It was there that I learned the truth. These people weren't god-fearing conservatives. They couldn't be my readers. They were far too intelligent and compassionate. Obviously they were Frenchmen and Frenchnotmen who were hoping to pollute my essence with india pale ale and thereby decrease my score on the manly scale of absolute gender.

I couldn't allow that to happen, so I immediately exited the bar through the mensroom window. Sure, I could have left through the front door, but I was making a point. The Duke would have done it the same way.