I was having drinks with my friends in a little bar in the Bastille, and we were accosted by two people in royal blue spandex who were passing out cups of this bland 7-Up drink, called Pschitt.
Of course the first thing I said after a sip was "This tastes like Pschitt."
As near as I can figure 'Pschitt' is an onamatapoeic word in French, for the sound a bottle of carbonated water makes when you open it. It shows up in old Perrier ads, if you do a google image search.
Of course, now they know very well what 'Shit' is in English, and were eager to exploit that as well -- my friends got his and her Pschitt T Shirts -- his says "I'm a Pschitt Pusher" and hers says "I'm a Pschitt Addict."
God bless those zany cheese eating surrender monkeys. Sometimes Paris is elegant and haughty, and sometimes it seems like it's a movie directed by Jerry Lewis.