Gulf Today, Gaul Tomorrow

Just as victory over Hitler brought us face to face with Soviet expansionism, the Gulf War has nurtured a new menace within our midst: the French!

A medium-sized European nation not much larger than the state of Wyoming souffléd, France has never renounced its Napoleonic ambition to rule the world. With vast reserves of crude style, its stranglehold on consumers reaches far beyond the boutiques of Fifth Avenue and Rodeo Drive to the malls of middle America. The United States and its fashion-loving allies have no choice but to draw a hemline in the sand and declare war on France.

America's dependence on foreign style first reached critical proportions during the Jeans Crisis of the late 70s. OFAB (Organization of Fashion-Aggressive Bullies) exercised its longstanding designs upon our social fabric, glutting the market with over-stitched, status-mongering Euro-denim. Americans reacted by turning to domestic style sources, rallying under the leadership of Ralph Lauren, Calvin Klein and the GAP to beat back the buttock-captioned behemoth.

But the upwardly mobile excess of the 1980s has renewed America's style dependency. Over the last decade France (and its Northern Italian client state) have taken control of the trendy dollar, imposing a regimen of haute couture and cuisine on status guzzling Americans. No major city or university is without its fifth column of Eurotrash, willfully deconstructing and recycling our culture at five times the price.

Many believe a war with France would be long and bloody. Not so the experts. According to retired general Helmet Shirtscuff, military consultant to the Home Shopping Channel:
“We'll probably knock out most of their fall line right on the runway. Seventh Avenue and the Millinery-Industrial complex have developed a whole toolbox of high-fashion weaponry. Once we've established hair superiority with our coiffure-seeking missiles, we can decoordinate their ensembles in a matter of days. Our chic bombs will demolish their shoulder pads and designer labels while leaving foundation garments intact. Of course, there's bound to be collateral damage -- some accessories may not survive the war. But we want to avoid couture house-to-house combat. If we have to send in the models, fighting could get Condé Nasty.

“We've heard a lot about the enemy's fabulous wardrobe, but much of it's overrated. It looks great on the rack, but try maneuvering in it without making stains. Sure they've got Charles Jourdans, but they're no match for our Air Jordans. We can run faster, jump higher . . . when it comes to sportswear those sedentary café potatoes are hopelessly passé. In short, nothings too haute for our troops to handle....

"They do possess weapons of mass deconstruction. They've assembled a gruesome semiotech arsenal. They may resort to verbal-mental terrorism, leaving a cloud of verbiage and Gauloise smoke that could hover over Europe for years to come. But we've stockpiled enough Sartre bombs to give them a bad case of existential anguish if they so much as try.

“Our only real worry is their underwear. The French are well ahead of us down there. But if they resort to lingerie warfare, they're in for a few surprises. They have the bustiers, but we have the bodies. A couple of our well-toned battalions will have them retreating in shame if they try to outstrip us on the battlefield.

"Our ultimate weapon, though, is our own bad taste. No self-respecting Fashionist can take it. Our attacky helicopters armed with leisure-guided missiles can swathe them in enough polyester to destroy their fighting fiber. After the screams of humiliation subside, we can just strike a pose and watch them crowd into our POW camps. After all we’ll be showing Jerry Lewis movies in the commissary."

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