America First

“OK, I’d just like some more cream,” America said, pointing to his coffee, infuriating Chris the barista.

“You asked for it black,” Chris said angrily.

“Yeah,” America replied “and I don’t mind black. I enjoy it black. I drink a lot of black coffees. I just want some more cream.” Chris poured creamer until the coffee was nearly white.

“Perfect,” America said. As America strutted down the halls of the UN meet, his muscles bulged through his business suit, which was most likely made by a different country. His blue eyes and blonde hair perfectly complemented his ego, which made him taller in his mind than anyone else. His very presence scared other countries because he was prone to attacking people on a whim, especially if they had valuable possessions.

In fact, this wasn’t actually the true America. The true America was a black-haired, dark-skinned, peaceful man whom the new America suddenly replaced one day. More accurately, there had been several Americas. There had been a Mexican one, a French one, and even a Spanish one. But all of them had been replaced by this white America with the help of his British father. As America walked down the halls, most of the other countries avoided him. America then stopped in his tracks as he noticed his friends walking towards him: the tall, serious-faced Russia, and the smaller yet even more serious China.

“America. How are you today?” China asked. Immediately, America remembered that nearly everything he owned, he bought from China at inhuman prices. America tensed up, thinking to himself, “Just count to ten and pretend he’s not there. Don’t get nervous because you owe him a lot of money. Don’t think about how much you enjoy his food. Don’t think about how you would go belly-up if anything happened to him. Don’t think. Yeah, that’s nice. Don’t think about the facts.”

“I’m quite fine, China,” America replied, “How’re the kids?”

“I’m too busy for children!” China responded.

“Comrades, please, enough of your bickering,” Russia interjected, “we must unite in times like this. Now America, what have you done lately?” America looked down and smiled at his nearly white coffee.

“I stopped talking to Iran, Iraq, Libya, Somalia, Sudan, Syria and Yemen because they’re scary.” China and Russia looked confused, like two businessmen who had just discovered protestors at their ethically dubious sweatshop for indentured, orphan baby seals.

“Well,” Russia responded, “the meeting is about to get underway. Come, friends.” The three then walked down the hall like nuclear supermodels. They were unstoppable.

The countries all took their respective seats at the table. Immediately, the tension in the room mounted as Mexico walked in.

“Rapist,” America immediately shouted, “take his food and his holidays and get him out of my sight! Also take his trade commodities and cheaply made goods! But still include him on the Christmas card mailing list because I don’t want to seem like a bad guy. But rapist! Godless rapist drug-dealer man!”

“Que dijistes?!” Mexico was enraged. “America, I have put up with your insults for years. Nearly every interaction we have ends with some slight against me or with you dragging up that one time I hopped over your fence to get my wallet, which had accidently fallen through.”

“So you admit you hopped it!” America proclaimed.

“But calling me Godless,” Mexico continued “is the last straw! I hereby announce trade sanctions between me and America. I refuse to be disrespected like this anymore.”

“So,” America rebutted, “I’m not allowed to criticize?! Well, that’s just dandy. Sensitive and drug-dealing. Isn’t that, like, an oxymoron? Anyway, too bad you’re alone here. Nobody else has a problem with me, right guys?” He looked around the now silent room. Russia was the first to speak up.

“Comrade America,” he began,” perhaps you do come off a bit like a… dick.”

“I do not! I’m nice to everyone,” argued America.

“Oh really,” entered Syria, “what about when you didn’t let me stay at your place after my flat had an ISIS infestation and needed to be fumigated? Or when I came down with a case of Assad?”

“I actually thought those were all drugs.”

“Or,” Syria continued, “what about when you physically beat every brown country you could find after September 11?”

“Justified.”

“And don’t even get me started on what you did to the Africans.”

“That was a long time ago and I shouldn’t be judged by that! I know better now!”

“You should’ve known better back then! America, honestly, you’re just a bully,” Syria decidedly finished.

“You know what?! Fine! You’re all terrorists and bigots and rapists and thieves and… and… damn, what’s the word for it? It’s when you umm… un-alive someone…? Oh! Killers,” screamed America. “Fine! Say hello to my big friend!” He pulled out a briefcase and unlocked it, but before he could slam his hand down on the button, he was stopped by Russia’s yelling.

“America, if you do this, you’ll force my hand!” Russia had pulled out a briefcase of his own, which had a smaller briefcase inside, which had a smaller briefcase inside, which had a smaller briefcase inside, which had a smaller briefcase inside… which held a palm-sized briefcase inside, which contained a red button. France, scared by Russia, brought out her briefcase, and China, fearing response from France, brought out his briefcase. Soon everyone who had one had brought out their briefcases, neutralizing each other like a Mexican Standoff, except it’s international and instead of guns, everyone’s got world-enders. America looked distraught.

Cuba — who had been sitting in the corner minding his own business, and had come without a briefcase — made the mistake of sneezing.

“NUCLEAR ATTACK!” yelled America. Buttons were pushed. Silence swept the room. After everyone had committed to death, they all turned towards America.

“You’ve doomed us,” Mexico stated. Before the nuclear fire had completely annihilated every living molecule in that room, one last proclamation was heard.

“That’s just an alternative fact.”

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