John Kruk: Hello, Mr. Chirac. Nice to meet you. Let's get right down to buisness.
Jacques Chirac: Yes, sounds fine.
JK: I see that you're a Prime Minister now. What's that like and stuff?
JC: Well, it is a fascinating and nuanced profession. I have had to handle many pressing domestic issues such as the Clearstream affair and the Islamic riots. However, I believe our administration has handled these domestic issues with aplomb. Economically speaking, my administratio

JK: Hmm, yeah but how would you deal with the pressing issues of when to serve French toast, French fries, or those awesome French muffins they sell at the Bristol deli for like 3.99 and come with the extra butter packets?
JC: I do not understand how this question pertains to me. The French government is a parliamentary democracy that does not have jurisdiction over the foodstuffs served in local restaurants and cafes. Intrusive domestic policy is not our aim.
JK: Ok Jacky, but what do you think about the NL East? Do the Mets have enough p

JC: I do not closely observe American baseball to conclusively answer that question.
JK: Did you see me in that awesome fantasy baseball commerical in leather? Leather is sweet, man, sweet. Sweet like a boston-cream donut from that Dunkin' Donuts on Crest Street where on Mondays there's extra sugar for the coffee. Ohhh...I could use one of those and box of jelly-filled munchkins right now, man. You ever had a huge hoagie, with a spicy salami with those crunchy onions?
JC: Your question confuses me.
JK: Oh, sorry, you know I'll wipe that drool off of your shoes later. Hey wait where'd you get those loafers?
JC: They were custom-made by a tailor of mine in Versailles.
JK: I'll drive down there next week and pick up a pair. Anyway...
JC: Mr. Kruk, you cannot drive to France from America. There is an ocean that separates our countries.
JK: Look eggo waffles, I don' t have time for your geography lessons and syrup. Sweet syrup, poured slowly on a steaming hot pile of pancakes with a side of raspberries...and nine strips of bacon burnt on the tip. The tip, man.
JC: Are you feeling well, Mr. Kruk? Your pupils appear cloudy and the saliva has not ceased rolling from your lips.
JK: Jesus, pecan pies. Big fucking pecans.
JC: I don't think you are mentally fit to do this interview anymore. I will be leaving.
JK: Dammit, don't take my marshmallows, (Lenny) Dykstra. I want my fucking marshmallows. You sonofabitchmotherflamerwhore come back with the fudge pringles, man. You too, Mitch (Williams). Ahhh gravy! Gravy everywhere!!
JC: Thank-you for your time, Mr. Kruk. I hope to see you again when you are not delirious.
JK: How do you answer your critics who believe there is perceived social rift between those living in more opulent urban areas and those dwelling in the more rustic countryside? Hello? Mr. Chirac? Dammit Krukie, you gotta stop thinking about food when guests are around. But I am as hungry as an anorexic Ervin Santana. I think I'll head down to the deli and pick me up some fried chicken and Haagen Daz. Stevie (Phillips) man, get your ass in the Honda, we're going to the deli!
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