Cultural Mind-Fuck, Scene 1: America and British Chips.
If anything could be more butt-numbingly British, it's going to your local English fish-n-chips shop. Thus, it's no surprise England takes the unwitting America to one one evening, if only to avoid the inevitable scenario of being carried home by your former charge after a night at the old pub binge-drinking the night away and raving about ponies.
They sit down on the awkwardly high stools set around the long tables lining the small place with the portion of fries they ordered.
Just as England is about to tuck in, he notices America staring with a mixture of awe and confusion at the soft, fat potato wedges on the table before him.
England stares at him questioningly.
"What? They're just chips," he says, not able to figure out for the life of him why the things were freaking the young nation out.
America opens his mouth like a surprised fish catching his wife in bed with his neighbor, Mr. Salmon.
"Dude..." he whispers, picking one squishy chip up with his fingers and staring at it like it was the Holy Grail. "Dude...these...these things're frickin' HUGE! Oh my GAWD they're just like your penis!"
England is struck dumb. Both by the unexpected mention of his penis that America seemed to have extensive and violating knowledge about, and also the fact that America has just shouted it out for all the other disturbed customers in the shop.
He's not sure whether to choke the man-child with the big fat portion of chips liked to his so-called Big Ben, or run out of the place and go into hiding for a few years until he was sure everyone had completely forgotten the whole thing.
He makes do with the choking. Then he hauls arse out of there.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I don't know about in other countries, but British fish-n-chips shops are home to some of the biggest and soggiest chips known to man. They also like to drown them in vinegar...eww...
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Cultural Mind-Fuck 2: Germany and the Incident with English Beer in the Night-time.
If anything could be more butt-numbingly British, it's going to your local English pub of an evening. Thus, it's no surprise England takes the unwitting Germany to one one night, if only to avoid the inevitable scenario of being the only one stark raving drunk at the end of it, safe with the knowledge that his companion would be in the exact same state.
They sit down on their stools by the bar counter, and order two large beers. A few seconds later, two large, golden glasses of alcohol just waiting to be downed and replaced by ten or so more sit in front of them.
Just as England is about to take his first sip, he notices Germany staring at his own glass with a mixture of horror and revulsion, like he'd just been given a dead baby.
"What? It's just beer," the Brit says, not able to figure out for the life of him why the thing is freaking the blonde nation out. The glass itself is perfectly clean and there is nothing dodgy floating in its contents. Yes, there is a total lack of the foaming white froth that accompanied German beer, but...
Oh.
Then the German gets angry, and glares ferociously at the barman with a look that could kill a puppy.
"I ORDERED BEER, NOT APFLE JUICE!" he roars, terrifying the barman so much the man dives under the table and cowers there.
England is struck dumb. Both by the fact that Germany takes a lack of froth on beer so personally, and that every soul in the whole pub got to know about it.
He's not sure whether to choke the stingy bastard by tying him to the bar counter and sticking a funnel down his throat and pump alcohol down it from one of the nearby barrels, or run out of the place and go into hiding for a few years until he was sure everyone had completely forgotten the whole thing.
He makes do with the choking. Then he hauls arse out of there.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: TRUE STORY...SORT OF! My great uncle from Germany did this once on a visit to England. He meant it as a joke, though-and he didn't go crazy like Germany either XD
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Cultural Mindfuck 3: Crossdressing gone horribly wrong.
Japan is on a visit to Siena (Italy) with Italy himself, and is standing outside the door of the Italian's house, waiting patiently for his guide to step out so they can go on a relaxed evening stroll, as is done in abundance in the Latin regions in particular.
He hears footsteps and looks to the threshold to greet his friend.
"Oh, Italy-kun, you're-"
He doesn't finish. He can't. No-one, nation or otherwise, would be able to say anything immediately after what Japan was forced to see.
Italy. In a frilly pink dress. With high-heels. And lipstick. And a...thong...
Japan gapes, all restraint flung clean out the window, despite them both being out in the open. You get what I mean.
Italy beams, oblivious as always.
"Vee, what's wrong, Japan?" he chirrups, snapping the other out of his shock.
"O-oh...I...well...I'm a bit...surprised...by your get-up..." he manages, blushing like England did when France hosted his own Olympic Games. "What made you choose...this...?"
Italy giggles.
"Oh, I got an old craving, I dunno!" he sing-songs, without any shame or compulsion. "I used to do this all the time when I was a kid!"
With that, the excited boy-girl links his arm with a disturbed Japan's, and they proceed to frolic down the street together, the black-haired nation dying a little inside with every humiliating and all-too-public step.
"Uh...Italy-kun..." Japan murmurs, too flustered to say anything else.
"Ve! Just call me 'Mary' tonight, Japan!" the Italian says loudly.
Suddenly, both young men are seized by Italian police, Italy is bound in handcuffs, and is dragged away before Japan can process what's happening.
"You are coming with us, you dirty whore!" one growls, as Italy wails and Japan runs as fast as his rheumatic legs can carry him, shouting that it's all a misunderstanding and if they would please release his dumb, sexually-confused friend.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: It is illegal to be a prostitute in Siena, Italy, if your name is Mary.
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Cultural Mind-Fuck 4: Spain and Grapes.
It is New Years Eve, and Romano wanders through Spain's beloved orchard with the intention of grabbing a few tomatoes to give as a New Years present, so as to save money (cheap bastard, but then times are hard for him nowadays, money-wise).
He suddenly hears the sound of a load of Spaniards nomming on something. Romano knows this sound all too well.
Going in the direction of the sound, he eventually finds Spain among his friends chowing down bunch after bunch of grapes like heroin addicts, not even bothering to chew-just cramming as many as they can down their gullets.
Naturally, Romano freaks out.
"WHAT THE FUCK, IS THIS A SUICIDE MISSION?" he screams, bursting into the group and hitting Spain on the back to dislodge the saliva-covered grapes. Spain spits them out and coughs.
A timer sitting on a nearby dirt-mound beeps. They look at it. 12:00pm, it reads.
Spain moans angrily.
"Awww, Romanoooo, I was winning, damnit!" he whines, like a spoilt child, pouting and folding his arms while his friends jeer.
Romano is outraged.
"Oh SORRY for giving a fuck! Next time you wanna choke on your damn grapes, be my guest! Just be prepared for me to chuck tomatoes at your coffin at your funeral, ya bastard!" he spits, storming off in a huff.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: During New years, in Spain, at 12:00, Spaniards will try to eat 12 grapes before the clock sops chiming. I made them have 12 BUNCHES of grapes instead, because...it's funnier XD
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Cultural Mind-Fuck 5: You're mean, China...
One day, China surprises Japan by inviting him to his favourite restaurant near his house, Ming's Gok Wan. Sitting together at the table ordering their starters, China leans over and points at something on Japan's menu.
"I recommend this, aru!" he says, smiling gleefully. Japan looks, and reads 'Bird's Nest Soup'.
"Ah, this looks verry interesting," Japan remarks, nodding, putting his menu down. "Yes, I sharr have this."
China grins.
"Great, it is one of my favourite soups, aru! I will have some duck, myself."
A few minutes later, their dishes arrive.
They both tuck in, Japan sipping his soup tentatively, before smiling in a way that people do when they are trying out something they thought they wouldn't like, but are pleasantly surprised when proved wrong.
"Ah, this is very dericious!" he says, smiling.
China laughs.
"Of course, aru! I chose it for you, didn't I?" he says, glowing in shameless egotism.
Japan chuckles, wiping his mouth a bit.
"You did."
Suddenly, China's eyes gleam mischeviously.
"Japan, do you know the main ingrediant used in your soup?" he asks innocently. Japan stares, clueless.
"No, I'm afraid I have no idea," the mild Japanese man replies, blinking.
China smiles, and leans over the table again, beckoning Japan nearer. The other nation dutifully leans forward and cocks his head so the Chinese man can whisper into his ear.
Japan pales, his face an expression of sheer horror. He instantly jumps out of his chair and bolts straight into the nearby toilet with his hand over his mouth.
Violet retching can be clearly heard as China chortles hysterically in his seat.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: The active ingredient in Chinese Bird's Nest Soup is saliva.
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Cultural Mind-Fuck 5: Gluttonous Americans.
England is invited to America's house, as an apology on the latter's part for the embarrassing episode in the fish-n-chips bar. Walking down the path to America's grand, overly-lavish house one fine spring lunch-time, he approaches and knocks twice on the front door.
Surprisingly, he finds it slightly ajar, and presently opens it fully to call out to his young host.
Before the Brit can even open his mouth to do so, a massive avalanche of takeaway pizza slams into him with overwhelming force, knocking him off his feet and sending him tumbling down the path, overwhelmed by a sea of the stuff. Almost suffocated, he emerges from the vast pile, and finds himself half-way down from whence he had came, with a long stretch of pizza following up right into the hallway.
Too stunned to say anything, England simply stares as America peeps apologetically at him from the treshold.
"Whoops, sorry dude!" he calls. "The pizza guy came early this mornin' and I forgot to clear it all out before you arrived! My bad!"
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Every day, Americans eat an estimated 18 acres of pizza.