“Sacre Bleu!” screamed a Frenchman, “The… uh… ‘youths’ are rioting.”
“Death to the infidels!” shouted a “youth.”
“Where are our leaders?” asked another Frenchman.
“Jacques Chirac is under his le desk peeing his le pants!” answered the first.

“Being President is fun,” Bush mused to himself, “but I wonder if I can get a better office.”
The phone then rang.
“Hello, this is the most powerful man in the world,” Bush answered, “Me; Dubya!”
“It’s I, Jacques Chirac!” cried a panicked Chirac.
“What do you want, Jacques-strap?” Bush asked with annoyance.
“The streets are on fire because of rioting… uh… ‘youths.'”
“Yep, those kids and their rap music can be trouble.”
“Uh, no, not that kind of youths, I mean, the uh… ‘youths’ who are very invested in their religion.”
Bush furrowed his brow in confusion. “You mean a Bible camp has gotten out of control?”
“Uh… different religion. More with… uh… veils… and calling people infidels.”
“Oh, you got wacky Muslims running about.”
“Youths!” Chirac quickly corrected Bush.
“Whatever. So what do you want me to do about it? I’m not popular with Muslims… still, the never riot here.”
“I need your help to stop them before they destroy all that is French! It is your duty!”
“Hey, if we Americans always bail out you French, you’ll never learn to take care of yourselves. Why doesn’t your people shoot the rioters, Jacques-strap?”
“We don’t have guns!”
“Well, that’s short sighted of ya.”
“Please! Help us! They’re burning my car as we speak!”
Bush thought for a moment. “Fine. But you have to hold a press conference and admit you’re a girl.”
“Again?”
“Yes.”

“French President Jacques Chirac is about to make a public address about the rioting Mus… ‘youths,'” said the anchorman. Before a podium stood Chirac.
“It is important that I tell you all to remain calm and that…” Chirac stepped out from behind the podium revealing he was wearing a dress. He then pranced about saying, “I’m a dainty little girl!”

“I didn’t say anything about a dress or dancing,” Bush told Chirac over the phone.
“I wanted to commit to the part,” Chirac responded, “So, will you help us?”
“Sure. Here’s what you do. First, play to your strengths. Surrender to the ‘youths’ and let them run the government. Then form an insurgency to fight the ruling ‘youths.’ Then the media will hound the ‘youths’ about how they’re in a quagmire and must pull out.”
“I wanted you to send troops!”
“Well, that’s all you’re getting ’cause I don’t like you.” Bush then hung up the phone and looked around the room. “Maybe the reason I don’t like this office is because it’s kinda roundish.”