France embodies everything religious zealots everywhere hate: enjoyment of life here on earth in a myriad little ways: a fragrant glass of Pineau des Charentes and a pepito in the morning, beautiful women in short dresses smiling freely on the street, shady fat men calling them « Hey salope, tu suces ? » right away, the smell of warm vomit in Oberkampf street, a cubi of wine shared with friends, a dab of fart perfume in the métro, children paying in the Buttes-Chaumont so that their blogging moms can put their face on instagram, the right not to believe in any god except Alexandre Astier, the right not to worry about calories (if you're a heterosexual man), to flirt on Tinder and e-smoke and enjoy sex outside of PACS, to take vacations if by chance you're not jobless, to read any book you want unless you're the Ministre de la Culture, to go to university for free but don't forget to bring your own chair, to play, to laugh, to argue, to make fun of prelates and politicians alike as long as they're not jews, to leave worrying about the afterlife to the dead and the people still going to the church or the mosque.
No country does life on earth better than the French, except perhaps Italians but we all know that they're cheeky pasta-eating assholes.