America's POV
I ran through the halls of the Homosexual Factory in Stockholm, Sweden. Why was I in the Homosexual Factory?
Because Canada was chasing me.
With a chainsaw.
Strapped to his groin.
A "groinsaw".
Maybe.
I dunno.
I continued to run at a steady pace of one mile an hour. Sorry, fan-girls and fan-guys, I'm no Kenyan (aka Usain Bolt.)
Wait! Usain Bolt is a Jamaican! Not Kenyan! So, I can't run like any black guy, to be politically correct. Unless I'm being chased by the cops. Then my inner black/Hispanic/Russian/other minority kicks in.
I was so close to the exit-doors of the Homosexual Factory.
"Yes!" I yelled as I prepared to push open the door.
Canada then split me down the middle, top-to-bottom and both sides of me fell to the ground.
Next, I was transported to Heaven and I had to stand in a very long line of two people. I guess with the homosexuals, Liberals, and Mitt Romney, the line into Heaven is short.
God got to me. "Shoot," He said. "You f'ed up in your last moments. TO HELL WITH YOU!" He decreed.
I gaped at him. "Why?" I shrieked in a homosexual manner.
"You were in the Homosexual Factory in Sweden, the gayest place on earth!" God hollered.
A hole in the puffy white clouds opened and I dropped billions of miles into Hell.
And this, my dear Americans, is why our economy went to Hell.