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There are some things in this life that one definitely does not do.

You don't make jokes about air piracy as you go through the metal detector at O'Hare Airport. You don't drive down to East L.A. and scream ¡Puto pendejo! at a Chicano street gang. You don't eat unidentifiable mushrooms while on a forest stroll. You don't tug on Superman's cape, you don't spit into the wind, you don't pull the mask off that old Lone Ranger, and you don't mess around with Jim.

While in Paris, during a sober interview on French television, because I was pissed as Parisian rudeness, I vouchsafed the opinion that the one thing the French know nothing about is love. You can tell the French that their cooking sucks, that their army is comprised of cowards, or that their admiration for Jerry Lewis proves they have no taste, but you do not tell them they don't understand love. There remains an active warr