Francophiles Hate Gallophiles

Once upon a summer’s sandwich, over in Birdgum Hollow, the one from the old kingdom, not new. There lived two birds, one glam, a falconet, and one an Australian blue-grayish cock-eyed Cockatoo. Freddy, the falconet was a quirky, slow-witted, conclosed and obstinate bird, He liked to strut, and preen and crow, without the penalty of learning any new kind of word. Galah, who was raised an only, with no mind for his own, was completely closed to ideas that fell. It was his family’s wishes, so his wishes as well, and it worked for him on Earth, extremely well. They were furious bird-emies from kindergarten on, neither realizing the solution was no Mr. Airy, It was simple, it was easy, all they needed was reading, and a common old ordinary red dictionary “I hate him!” Galah would say. To those who listened. “He’s a Francophile!” And Galah would say this to lots of us who heard. Freddy was equally verbal about Galah being a Gallophile, a word that struck terror in his oatmeal curd. Neither realized until they got to heaven and saw the fibriform sign “Gallophiile and Francophiles here,” That they could have been friends for a lifetime, except for their silly, ridiculous, racially motivated fears. For you see, my reader, and I know this will delight you in advance. A Gallophile and a Francophile are both people who love France. So skip through your day, and enjoy this knowledge on me. If there’s one thing I like, it’s to enlighten at least three.