The President of the United States walked down the blue-carpeted hallway surrounded by multiple bodyguards. They were heading for the famous Oval Office tha would soon be all his. The first part of the day had been interesting. After being elected as the new president after many months of running for office, he'd waved and given his acceptance speech, waved some more, signed important papers, swore an oath, and had been quickly led away to the White House. His heart was fluttering faster than a hummingbird on caffeine.
They reached the end of the hallway where a white door stood with a gold plaque that read "Oval Office." The president swore he heard faint music coming from inside, but he dismissed the idea. The room was sound-proofed to keep classified information from reaching the wrong ears. A man in front of him opened the door and stood aside for him to enter.
Music instantly blasted from the room, filling the hallway with a Miley Cyrus track. Standing on the desk in the center of the Office was a dark blond man with his back to the group. He swayed his hips and tossed his head to the beat of "Party in the USA," occasionally joining his vocals with the song, oblivious to the guests.
"Mr. Jones." Said one of the other guards. The man apparently didn't hear him. "Mr. Jones." He said louder.
"GET TO THE CLUB, IN MY TAXI CAB-"
"MR. JONES!" said one of the female officers, who had crossed the room silently and turned off the radio.
The man jumped. Noticing the new arrivals, he turned and hoped of the desk. "Sup dudes!" he said cheerily. His bright blue eyes shone over his glasses with glee. He wore a large aviator's jacket and a military officer's uniform. A single strand of hair poked up from the right side of his head.
"Excuse me," the president said, clearly baffled by the man's behavior, "but who are you? And what are you doing in here? This is the Oval Office."
"Yeah I know." The man smiled.
Another guard tapped the president's shoulder just then, "Sir, I'd like to introduce you to Alfred Jones-"
"That's Alfred F. Jones. If ya don't mind bro. But you can call me America."
"Pardon. This is Alfred F. Jones. The…er… country."
"What?" The president asked no one. "How is he the 'country'?"
"Let me break it down for you pops." The man, America, slung his arm over the president's shoulder, "I'm basically the super totally awesome embodiment of this rocking country we got here! I'm like, a gillion years old, but you didn't hear that from me. I'm the one makin' all the international bargains and stuff with other countries. Well, not really, but you tell me to do something and I will…sometimes. Most of the time. Yeah. Anyways! I'm the hero of the nation since the nation is, heh, me."
Mr. President stared blankly back at the clearly insane man. "You've got to be kidding me."
The female officer pulled out a book from the drawer and flipped to the first page. It was a photo album with pictures and shrunk down paintings from all eras. An old dog eared painting of the Declaration Signing party was on the page, and the officer pointed to a shorter, younger version of the man in front of him near the back of the crowd. She flipped the page a few more times, and at every picture she pointed out Mr. Jones, looking no older each time. One of the pictures was even Mr. Jones and Walt Disney himself at the opening of Disneyland, Alfred with the biggest grin possible plastered on his face.
The president stood, slack-jawed, as the officer replaced the album in the drawer. Alfred wore a sideways grin.
"So… You're…?"
"Yeeeeeeeeep!" America said with another smile. "The one and only! Big red white and blue!"
The President stared dumbfounded at Alfred for almost a full minute.
