Jeez, you've gotta hand it to them Frogs for sheer pettiness. They've got their Stalinist skulls shoved further up their freckles than that pyromaniac pinko Robert Corr.

Look at this sad story. Because some smart babe used the rather tragic - but nonetheless piss-funny - death of some airhead-bint-celebrity called Marie Trintignant (or something) at the clammy hands of her drug-fucked, heavy metal-headed beau, the surreal celebrophilic squits are all in-a-lather (which is rare for the soap-phobic Frogs, let's face it!).

Burying children alive (like their major trading partner and anti-Seppolian ally Uncle Saddamy did) is way cool for PC Parisians, but abstractifying a high-profile carking into a mathematical equation most definitely is not. But aren't these left-wing left-bankers supposed to be really into irony and detachment and ennui, and all that eurocentric jaded shit?

Obviously fucken not.

Hey Frogs! You think you know it all. But really, you know Foucault!

(Er, I know that last line really hasn't got much to do with this particular subject. Just always really wanted to use it, that's all...)