A funny (and true) story for a Friday:
I was in Quebec last weekend, and as is the case in most of the Western world, there are fast food restaurants seemingly everywhere.
Driving through the verdant countryside, I saw a Kentucky Fried Chicken, a k a KFC in the United States. Except the sign in the parking lot read “PFK.”
My immediate thought was that the Québécois got it right and had changed the name to “Poisonous Fucking Khicken.”
Thankfully, my wife—who grew up in Montreal and speaks French—again saved me from myself.
“No, you dumbass,” she said. “It’s in French: Poulet Frit Kentucky. And “chicken” starts with a “c” anyway.”