"Are all owls French then?"
 "No, me petite derriere, no!" replied the owl. He wasn't really French, and the accent he was affecting did little to disguise the strong Irish accent underneath.
 "No," he continued. " Oui, many of Mon freres are French, like myself. But many of us have deep Nordic roots also, je ne sais quoi?
 I looked at him for a while, forehead burrowed in thought. But it didn't matter. Where ever the owl was from, I didn't want to buy his candy bars.
 "Please, monsieur, it will 'elp send my football team to summer camp!"

Slowly, I began to back away from the owl, hoping a car would run me down. When I got 17 feet away, and death was not apparent, I turned tail and fled.
 What kind of summer camp would an owl go to anyway?