"You hang out here for a few, Bishop."
You can't just leave him there, dude. He's half retarded right now.
"Well, the half of him that isn't can watch the pigeons or something." MPlow shrugs, nonchalantly. "I'm getting bored with him already."
MPlow rests the wheelchair next to a park bench, leaving Bishop Steele to the birds and miscellaneous French folks. He begins a slow stride, taking in the sights as he wanders the Le Parc de la Villette.
"Actually, you don't need that first 'the', narrator dude." MPlow corrects. "It's Le Parc de la Villette, and 'le' is French for 'the'. You basically just said it twice."
Fuck off, I don't speak French. And you shouldn't speak French, either. Cheese eating surrender monkeys, and all that. They'd be speaking German by now if it weren't for...
"Look, not everything is about you, alright?" Mike grunts, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I'm just trying to enjoy the atmosphere. This is the perfect culture to immerse myself in before we head to the Rome. Everything I need to understand about Christopher America can be gleaned from spending a few days in France."
Mike looks out over the vast gardens, a content smirk coming over his face.
"Think about it, man." MPlow muses. "This is the country of kings. Louis XIV, Emperor Napoleon, Henry VIII. These were men of power, men of strength, and men of action. These days, France is full of democracy and all those pussy ass American ideals that Chris holds so dearly to the beating monument to freedom buried in his caved in chest... but there was a time when France had a stranglehold on all of Europe. They were feared, and respected. America loves to bury anything un-American, but is that such a bad thing? The country he represents supports political correctness, and the Oxygen network. It allows Dr. Phil to have a television show."
Don't forget to mention how fat and lazy it's citizens are, almost universally.
"Exactly." MPlow scowls. "France eventually adopted democracy, and isn't much to brag about these days. They surrendered immediately in World War II, they smell terrible, and for the most part they're all huge pricks. That's not the France I like to remember. I like to remember the nation of kings. I think it's time to take America back to that time in world history."
That sounds vaguely like treason.
"Oh, not America the country." MPlow corrects. "America the person. Christopher America. It's no doubt such a fickle, feeble minded tool has been bred from a country full of fickle, feeble minded tools. He's not a monster, he's a victim. A victim to a country that has become so pussified that it's not allowed to call it's citizens fat, it's women bitches, or it's economy destroyed. In six days, I get to stand face to face with everything I hate about America and slap it in the fucking mouth, and I get to do it in Europe. I get to do it in the center of the Roman Empire. I get to stand over Christopher America's fallen, broken American democracy of a body and plant the MPlowsian flag in the center of his fucking throat. Because a king, my friend, is a ruler. And a ruler has twelve inches. At March 2 Glory, I'm gonna rule his ass."
Prepare for incoming Christopher America gay joke. He's awful concerned with your sexuality.
"He shouldn't be." MPlow laughs. "He should be more concerned with saving face. He should be more concerned with realizing that the new dynasty of HOW has arrived. King MPlow is going to usurp his dignity, rise a coup within his bones, and assault the bastille of human garbage building up in his American, cholesterol filled heart."
I can't tell if that's violent, or revolutionary.
"Why not both?" Polowy shrugs. "March 2 Glory isn't about defending my championship, it's about defending the ideals that Christopher America strives to destroy. It's about honor. Oh yeah, and it's about watching him crap his pants in one of the most historic locations known to man. I may have won by decision last time, but that was under HOFC rules. Now? I just get to play a game of violent human checkers across his scalp. And bet your ass he's going to King me."
Uh, Mike? There are birds pecking at Bishop.
"Fuck." He grunts. "I guess I'd better throw some bread at them or something. I'M COMING BISHOP!"