American here. Let's just be real here, whether they're found in Paris or Montreal, talking shit about the French is one of the easiest things anybody could possibly do... other than maybe a French hooker. You know the kind, I'm sure. Smells like a burning zoo, pits so hairy you'd think they were trying to hide a family of opossums under their arms.
Foe example, rebuilding an upper receiver because I didn't properly align the gas tube with the key on top of the bolt carrier, because apparently I build AR-10's like a ketamine-addicted capuchin monkey.
