Je rassemble votre langue stupide dans un crachoir et la jette dans la gouttière!

I like the French language, like hearing it. But I hate to touch it. I trace it back to when I was a very small boy and they taught us "Frere Jacques" -- in French. The bells went "din, dan, don" or some stupid French thing like that. I tried it that way, but to me, "ding, dang, dong" sounded so much better. So I sang it that way no matter how much the teacher corrected me. My thinking was that bells are bells -- in any language.

In junior high my buddy, who had some French Canadian ancestry, persuaded me to take French, though I was really set on German (Jetzt gibt es eine Sprache!). By a few weeks into the course I was so disgusted with the stupid French language that I drew cartoons on the side chalk board for the rest of the course ... and the teacher let me.

In my other courses, I did quite well. I was a bright kid. Algebra was easy. But my true love, for literature, shone through when I got in trouble for reading Erma Bombeck in Algebra class.

Left grip is 44 pounds (43, 44, 44), right grip is 96 pounds (96, 89, 86), left leg balance is 13.13 seconds, and inhale volume is 4500 mL.