Arnold and Monique Trampe dropped by this evening. We talked about this and that. All kinds of subjects were covered, if only fleetingly. And then Arnold started talking about a certain pride he had felt on account of the civility of Europe, where conflicts could be peacefully resolved by legal means. No more mindless bloodshed. He waxed poetic about our great achievements, which had put to shame our ignoble past. I listened for a while, feeling ever more ill at ease. At some point I had to jump in. No matter what I said, though, Arnold was not convinced. My skepticism concerning European accomplishments did not impress him the least bit. Monique just watched us without a word. But then I lit upon an argument of sorts. “Come on,” I exclaimed, “it is enough to see the wretched tourists that tramp through this town every day now!” Arnold was puzzled at first. “Most of them are European,” I got up from my chair, “and most of them can’t even walk any longer!” Both Arnold and Monique’s eyes started sparkling at this point. “They are twerps, lumps, gimps,” I started limping in front of my guests. “They have flabby faces, drooping bellies, and warped spines,” I started mimicking every deformity I could think of. By and by, Arnold and Monique started laughing. “Okay, okay,” Arnold smiled as I reached for my chair, “I get your point.” To his credit, I had a feeling he really got my point.