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Old Frenchie thought he was a martyr, whose sacrifice would purify conservatism. This meant he could define what a conservative was and from there who was conservative. Act 3 is deciding who is Christian, and this doesn't play well at the party. So he goes and slaps a new suit on the junkie at the corner and says - let me tell you about those self righteous bastards who don't want to hang out with us.

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Not your sister in Christ here, but certainly concur that French--to paraphrase--is one heck of a smarmy moron.

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