"Why do you have to be so mean to me all the time?!"
"I'm not being mean, I'm being logical!"
"What's the difference?!"
And on went another pointless argument about nothing, exchanged by none other than the physical personafications of the countries of England and the United States of America, or just America, if you prefer.
And, as such, there is supposedly no point to record this fight. But really, there is. You will just have to wait for it.
So I will continue writing down their fight, which has changed while you are reading what I am typing, as you will see after I finish this sentence.
"My cooking has nothing to do with this! And it's fine nonetheless!"
"It's fine in a strange and parallel world called the United Kingdom, and there only is it fine."
"Urgh! You never, ever-"
Honk.
Swerve.
Scream.
Crash.
In the millisecond of the pause between words that these countries were exchanging, a red Ferrarri had streamed across the road, honked at them while they were suspended in argument, and had swerved slightly in response to the driver screaming at them and having to readjust his course.
Naturally, and quite predictably, the sleek black Mustang the two nations were in decided to speed up a little. Easily enough to synchronize the unexpected slight swerve, the burst of speed the American gave the engine permission to carry out, and the less-than-great attention any of the beings in the car gave to where they were headed, in a way to make sure that the Ferrarri crashed into the upper right hand side of the right side of the car, sending glass shards everywhere.
Sending glass shards into the right side of the car.
Sending glass shards straight at England.