Paris, Multiculturalism, and Terrorism. Which will survive in France?  Updated 1/13/2015

“I understand you’ve been giving my guards problems,” the warden, a severe and rat-faced individual said. With just a few whiskers he might actually look like one of the portly rats from any one of the many cartoon movies that featured such animated creatures, minus the hair on top of their heads of course. The warden was a walking stereotype, a rat-like human being with great authority and girth to match his supposed power. He seemed a bit squeamish at the beaten and bloodied appearance of the inmate in front him, but it was likely because he didn’t care for the sight of blood.

“I might have broken wind when they opened the door to throw my food in a couple of times,” he replied with a smile, “But other than that, I thought we were getting along.”

“Your face might suggest otherwise.”

His smile was still in place as he replied, “Oh, my face, my kidneys, my elbows, knees, and ribs all might say otherwise, but it wouldn’t change the fact that they’re my buddies.”

The warden gave him a sour look, twisting his lips as he rubbed at his nose. He had to stifle a gale of laughter as the thought of a rat twitching its long, bulbous nose and smoothing out its whiskers came to mind.

“I’ve been given reason to believe that you’ve become an even bigger problem than you’ve already been.”

“Now that would be impressive,” he replied, raising his eyebrows, “I mean, I’m no David Copperfield or even Penn or Teller, but being able to give people headaches from solitary sounds like I have mad skills. I just wish someone would have told me, I would have cashed in sooner.”

The warden’s face was getting a bit red now as he leaned forward, using his girth and his bad breath, which reeked of something sweet and cloying, to force him back just a bit, “You know very well what I’m talking about ‘inmate'”, he sneered, “Your goddamned manifesto has been released across the internet, and my superiors and those with other, similar interests can’t track who’s doing this, but it has to have something to do with you.”

He shrugged, “Warden, you’ve got me locked up. Unless there’s a hidden escape hatch in my cell that I don’t know about I’m not sure how you expect that I might have-“

“You have someone on the outside you dumb fuck! You think we don’t know?!” He kept his smile in place as the warden leaned a little further over his desk, “And you’re going to give them up, or you’re going to rot in here, and your ideas, all your grand ideas and plans, are going to rot with you.”

This time he did laugh, and the red flush that had already crept up to the warden’s cheeks appeared to suffuse his entire head as of now as he slammed both pudgy hands on the desk.

“What the fuck is so funny?!”

After letting his laughter last for a few moments longer, he replied, “You.”


“You can keep me here, but my ideas are already out there. And you can’t kill or contain an idea. So do what you want to me, my will is done anyway ratboy.”

He started to laugh again, and the red hue of the warden’s face was almost the shade of a ripe tomato by the time he was yanked to his feet again.

(to be concluded)

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