Clownstick has no "friends" as such, since everything is transactional with him. There are people who he needs something from, and people who need something from him, who may be able to return a favor in the future. These two groups are by no means mutually exclusive, but neither are they "friends" in the sense that anyone is confiding in each other, exchanging any sentiment beyond surface pleasantries, etc.
That Clownstick continues to pick at Paris and use it as an example of terrorism gone viral reveals more than just his lack of knowledge about numbers and statistics, as it applies to stochastic terrorism. Clownstick portrays himself as a bon vivant who jet-sets hither and yon, meeting with people around the world, making Big Moves and plotting Big Deals.
But think about it -- where do you think he goes when he has visited Paris? Probably only leaves the luxury hotel to go to another elite location for the transaction meet-up, the exchange of signatures and promissories, bookended with empty pleasantries. Maybe gets in a round of golf if there's something in the area. But I bet he's never been to the top of the Eiffel Tower, never been to the Louvre (unless there was a bidness/PR thing), never been to the Pont Neuf, the Sacre Coeur, the street-side brasseries, driven down the chaotic six-way intersections near the Bastille.
As someone who's done all that and more in the City of Light, seen its sights, heard its sounds, smelled its smells, in all their great variety and wonderment, I can say that you don't know jack shit about Paris -- or any huge, historically vital city -- until you've done those things. You have to experience the street life, the people, the local food, the music.
This goes without saying for anyone who's traveled abroad for the joy of travel, as opposed to traveling for business, which is a completely different animal. Traveling for pleasure is, of course, supposed to enable you to immerse you in all those things, while business travel is the exact opposite, designed quite specifically to insulate you from them.
It is at least some consolation to know that Clownstick -- whether or not he'll ever admit it to himself -- knows this. He has no true friends, he cannot exist outside his hermetic hamster ball. He wouldn't last five minutes in the real world. He's a fictional man, in that even his examples and anecdotes are utterly without credibility.