Stripperific

by americalovesthecockpit

Once a week, all the countries must gather at a strip club and watch the loser of a bet perform. America really doesn't want to do deal with that though. He'd rather just eat pizza. The other countries are determined to fix this ... especially England and Canada. Total crack and lulz, UKUS and CanUS.

1. Chapter 1

Sorry I haven't posted anything in a while. I've had some health issues, then I got temporarily banned, and yeah it's just been one thing after another. But I'm back now so yeah. (Oh, and for those of you asking if I'm going to post my stuff somewhere else because of this mass purging of fics for inappropriate content, yes. Check my profile.)

Anyway, this fic is for DangerousDollie who requested a stripper fic! It got a little too long so I broke it in half so I'm not posting some huge massive fic. I'll post the second half in a day or two.

Things of note so read it: This is both UKUS and CanUS, though mostly one sided. Other pairings are also mentioned. And this isn't rape, but America isn't too thrilled about the things that happen to him in this fic, so I'm warning for that.

And America's POV.

Edit: Story cover by the awesome Galgenhumor! THANK YOUUUUUUU

All right, I'll shut up now.

X

As soon I heard the news, I flew straight to England. I dropped everything and bought the first plane ticket to London. I just couldn't believe what I heard. Could the rumor be true?

Oh. Oh, it was! Sweet merciful Jesus, it was true!

ENGLAND'S PIZZA HUTS HAVE HOT DOG STUFFED CRUST PIZZA!

I wept tears of joy when the Pizza Hut peoples brought the pizza to me and I saw it with my own eyes. You read right: pizza, that for the crust … is stuffed with hot dogs. HOT DOGS. In the CRUST. (This is true facts, by the way. I didn't make this up. It's a real thing. If you don't believe me, check the Google.)

"Oh, you beautiful wiener-stuffed dough," I said, picking up my first slice. "GET IN MY MOUTH."

It was weird. This was a new thing in UK Pizza Huts. And yet, they weren't in my country! What gives? It totally seems like something I'd come up with, ya know? Why would England of all countries be the one to create this glorious wiener idea? What, was he trying to get me to come out here since I kept ignoring his calls? Haha, England. You lonely crazy son of a bitch.

But mmmm … yeeeeah. This was some good pizza. I was scarfing that crap down like NOMNOMNOM. I had a whole booth in the Pizza Hut to myself, a whole pizza to myself, and the whole night to just down as many hot dog stuffed slices as I wanted. My plan was to eat until I was physically sick, they go back to the hotel, sleep, and then come back tomorrow for more, rinse and repeat, hehe.

As I ate my pizza, I saw Italy staring at me through the window of the Pizza Hut restaurant. He looked sad. A single tear slid down his cheek.

I know he thinks sticking hot dogs in pizza is blasphemy, but psssh. Whatever. Blasphemy tastes great!

I ignored him and his drama, and went back to the scarfing material that was my delicious pizza.

When I was on my fourth slice, nomming happy as a clam, suddenly two people sat down in the booth with me. One on each side. They did it all stealthy and mysterious, like they thought they were cool or something.

"Hello, America," said one.

"Yes, greetings, America," said the other.

"What do you guys want?" I asked, mouth full of hot dog and pizza. "I'm trying to stuff my face over here."

"You have not been attending the world meetings rike you are required to, America-san," said Japan. "They are mandatory."

"Yes," said France. "Your chubby, doughy American derrière had better be zere tonight!"

Hot dog and pizza spewed from my mouth. "WHAT! I go to all the world meetings!"

"Not those meetings." Japan looked at me creepily. "The special meetings."

"… oh."

"You've missed six in a row!" cried France. "How could you do zis to me? !"

"You must go tonight," said Japan. "Also, we are here for this week's challenge. Are you ready?"

"No," I pouted. "I'm eating pizza."

You guys are probably wondering WTF is going on. Well, stop wondering. You know I'm gonna explain it to you, so just relax. What, did you think I was gonna leave you hanging? Come on, baby. I would never do that to you.

So I shall explain! It all started a few years ago when some of the countries got drunk and horny together. France was like, "Let's take all our clothes off!" (and said it in that ridiculous French accent, so please picture it silly like that.) The other countries should have been like "France, GTFO" but for some reason they were like "OKAY!"

Then Japan, being the sneaky Japanese businessman he is, decided to capitalize on this. What started as a gay naked free for all eventually, over a couple years and all, turned into an organized business. A country strip club. Japan wrote the rules, and they go like this:

Once a month, all the countries shall gather at the club. He named it the Peninsula Hammock. Anyway, we all meet there and one of the countries has to put on a strip show for everyone. Who, you wonder? Baby, I told you to stop wondering. I'm gonna take care of you, okay? The person who has to strip is whoever loses that week's challenge.

The challenges started off as stuff like drinking games. Then they got weirder, like Micronation tossing. That's like midget tossing, except we throw Micronations instead. (Sealand hates that one, LOL.) Now they're just stupid random bullcrap like guessing how many meatballs Sweden can fit into his mouth.

Of course, I never wanted to go to these stupid meetings. France throws his challenges on purpose so half the time it's just him dancing, and who wants to see that? The man is a hairy beast. Pubes as far as the eye can see! Someone needs to tuck a Gillette Razor in his G-string instead of a single.

"Why haven't you been going? !" asked France dramatically. "Everyone loves ze Peninsula Hammock!"

"Not me," I said with my cheeks all puffy and full of pizza.

"Tell me why!" he demanded.

"Because it's a total sausage fest!" I swallowed a piece of hot dog. "And not the good kind. You know. With actual sausages. I meant there's too much dick—"

"But you do not go even when a female country performs," said Japan. "Is there another reason you do not want to attend?"

"Yeah, I'm tired of seeing Francey Pants' hairy junk swinging around every week."

France slammed his fists on the table. "Everyone loves my performances!"

"Prease, calm down, France-san," said Japan. Then he looked to me and said, "America-san, it is bad for my business that you do not attend. Others are wondering why you don't come, and I worry they will stop coming as well."

I shrugged. "Sorry, dude. I don't really feel like shelling out cover pay to see a forest of hair. I can watch Animal Planet at my house for free."

"Sacre bleu!" exclaimed France. "Zere is nothing wrong with going au natural! Is it a beautiful thing!"

"That much hair is not natural …"

"Gentlemen, prease," interrupted Japan. "Ret's not argue. America-san, you must do this week's challenge. You are the only country who hasn't done it yet."

"Ugh, FINE!" I sighed. "What is it this time?"

"It is very simple." Japan pulled out his cell phone. "You must simply watch a video and try not to laugh. Whoever lasts in the shortest amount of time is the loser and must perform next week."

France held up a stop watch. "Are you ready, America?"

"That's it?" I took one more bite, then set down my pizza. "I got this. Play the video, Japan."

Japan held his phone out for me to see. He hit play and I saw Adrian Brody in his bed.

"Oh cool," I said. "I like Adrian Brody."

Then he started bobbing back and forth on the screen. Just back and forth. As different backgrounds changed behind him.

And there was this jaunty tune. SO JAUNTY!

I thought, dang this is the easier challenge ever. I just gotta watch Adrian Brody go to the carnival and aquarium and other adventures. Hardly anything was even happening in the video. All I had to do was keep my mouth shut and this challenge would be a snap.

"HAHAHAHAHA — augh, fuck—"

France clicked the watch. "Wow. Zat was one of ze shortest times yet."

Japan nodded. "Yes. Maybe even the shortest."

"Aw, crap."

I started to panic. Why did I find that video so funny? ! Like nothing was going on! He was just moving back and forth on the screen with different backgrounds! With a jaunty tune! Yet I couldn't stop laughing! Damn you BrodyQuest!

Japan was scrolling down his phone. "I'm checking now to see if anyone had a shorter time than you."

I stuffed my pizza in my pizza hole for comfort. I'd never had to be the one to perform before! I always rocked the challenges like a boss so I never lost. I don't wanna cram Florida in a G-string and awkwardly grind myself against a pole! The only thing I wanna cram is more hot dog stuffed crust pizza into my gullet!

"Oh my," said Japan. "I'm sorry to inform you, America-san. But you have the shortest time."

"NOOOOOOO!" I wailed. "I don't wanna get up on a stage and shake my groove thang!"

"You do not have a choice," said France. "You lost ze challenge. You must strip for ze WORLD!"

Damn you, Adrian Brody. For your repetitive adventures and catchy tune and well-chiseled jaw and handsome smile … WTF was I talking about. Oh yeah. Me not wanting to get stripperific in front of all the other countries.

I crossed my arms. "I refuse," I pouted. "I'm not doing it."

France scoffed. "PEH! If you don't, we shall tell your boss about how you are shoveling hot dog stuffed pizza in your mouth nonstop."

"Um, whatever, I don't c – aw, crap …"

If France tells Obama on me, Obama is definitely gonna tell his wife! And Michelle is ALWAYS bitching about how I need to eat right. She put me on a diet and everything! You know all those anti-childhood obesity charity crap things she does? Well, for some reason, she treats me like a kid too. Always making me spit out delicious foods like fried Oreos (real things, mm yeah) and making me eat steamed arugula and crap from her garden from the White House. Y'all ever had arugula? It sure don't taste like fried Oreos …

"Noooo," I whined. "If Michelle finds out I've been pigging out on hot dog stuffed crust pizza she'll make me eat crap like spinach and asparagus for weeks! And asparagus makes my pee smell weird!"

France smirked at me. "So you will do as we say zen."

GRRRRR!

Well, I had a choice. I could give up possibly the best scarfing material I've ever had the experience of putting in my mouth. Or I could get up on a stage, take off my clothes, and dance around for all the other countries to see.

There was only one thing I could do.

I closed my eyes solemnly. "Very well," I said in a quiet voice. "I will strip for y'all."

"Excellent," replied France. "Wear zat old uniform of yours from WW2, will you? Ze one with ze bomber jacket. Ooh, and if you can find your old aviator goggles, wear zem too. It would be a stunning site to see you wearing nothing but zem, HONHONHON!"

"Yes," Japan said very quickly, with his eyes all dark. "America-san wearing nothing but aviator goggles does sound rike something I — excuse me, I mean, the other countries, would really rike."

"… you guys are fucked up."

"Zere must be a theme!" said France. "Zis is what we chose. We run ze club, so you must accept our demands!"

"But there are so many better ideas!" I said. "Like I could dress as a sexy cowboy or policeman or Indian chief – crap, that's the Village People—"

"You will dress as we say," said France all sternly. "I actually had a specific request from a patron for zis particular outfit."

"Whaaa … who? Who the heck wanted me to wear that?"

"You do not need to know."

:I

X

So I was all bummed about showing the world my bum. Like I wanna get up on a stage and prance about naked, my dingle all dangling for everyone to see! I have my dignity, you know. And I will not look very dignified when everyone sees the pudge I gained eating all that hot dog stuffed crust pizza.

I was gonna have a muffin top hanging over my G-string! :O

That's not smexy.

I was all depressed and no one consoled me except more hot dog stuffed crust pizza. I shoveled it down my throat as tears streamed down my face.

I was taking a break with some cheesy bread when it hit me. A brilliant plan to get out of this mess! And all I had to do was buy another plane ticket …

So there I was. Standing in front of Canada's igloo. Pounding on the door.

"DUDE OPEN UP IT'S ME COME ON HURRY UP—"

The igloo door finally opened. "I'm coming! Please, not so loud!" bitched Canada when he opened it.

I shoved my way in, past Canada. "Hey, bro. We need to talk. Can you do me a solid?"

Canada closed the door behind me. "Umm … that depends. What is it?"

I flopped on his couch. "Well, thanks to Adrian Brody, I have lost this week's challenge." I gave him a look. "You know what challenge I'm talking about."

Suddenly Canada's faced changed. "Boy do I!" he exclaimed way too happily. "YOU LOST? !" He said that way too happily too …

:I

"Uh … yeah …" I replied. "So I'm next up to … you know. Perform."

"I'm sorry." He said that but he was smiling nervously …

"But I won't!" I said all determinedly. "I'm not getting up there and taking off my clothes and showing the entire world my junk! And my pudge … and my love handles … and my jiggly thighs … or my stretch marks—"

"No one cares about that," interrupted Canada, shrugging. "I mean, I barely even noticed those four or five kilos you've gained in just a couple weeks."

If four or five kilos was a lot, I'm pissed. But I don't understand the metric system, so I don't really know.

"If you didn't notice them why then why did you point that out so quickly? !" I mean, he was guesstimating the number and everything! "Obviously it's noticeable! There's no way I'm getting up on that stage. I look even fatter with my clothes off. Plus I'm too lazy to shave my balls."

Canada frowned. "You don't have a choice. They'll force you …"

"Welp, that's why I'm here …" I leaned back on the couch, putting my feet up on Canada's coffee table. Canada didn't seem too happy when I did that. "I gotta plan. You know how we look alike?"

Canada sat down on the other side of the couch, looking very suspiciously at me. "Yeeeah …"

"Well, yeah, that's pretty much the extent of the plan. You look like me so you can take my place."

"EH! !"

"Aw, come on, dude," I begged. "Do me a solid, please?"

"Why would I want to do it either? !" he exclaimed. "Stripping and pole dancing is not exactly my strong suit! You're the one who lost the challenge, you should have to do it."

"Pleeeeease?" I begged some more. "I'll do a favor for you too! I mean, I don't know what, but whatever. We'll think of someth—"

"I'll do it," Canada said very quickly.

"What? YOU WILL? ! Wow, that was easy peasey! Thanks, dude!"

"But in exchange …" Why did Canada suddenly look kinda creepy? "You owe me one favor. Of my choice. Anything I want. Any time. I can call it in whenever I want and you can't say no. Agreed?"

"Um … I guess …"

"GREAT!"

As I left a little while later, walking away from Canada's igloo and looking back at him waving goodbye to me in a slightly creepy way, I couldn't help but worry. I'd never seen Canada act quite like that before. He's a quiet guy. He doesn't get excited about too much. Maybe stupid crap like pancakes or hockey or beavers, but he was even more excited than that.

Oh well. At least I was getting out of having to strip for everyone. And that meant I could go back to eating all the hot dog stuffed crust pizza I wanted, since it didn't matter if I gained a little weight if no one saw me naked anyway. I'll just wear lazy sweatpants until I get off my ass and exercise the weight off.

Until then? It's scarfing time :D

X

Why do they call the little pizzas personal pan pizzas? All my pizzas are personal if I don't share them. And I don't. I pondered this as I started on my third pizza, back in one of the UK Pizza Huts. Hmm … what a mystery …

But oh well.

NOMNOMNOM.

A week had gone by. Canada had performed for me and no one had a clue. Thank God the other countries are dummies and don't even notice our different eye colors and haircuts, LOL. Man they're stupid. But good for me! Everyone wins. I didn't have to strip, all the countries got their sick perverted show, and Canada gets a favor. But uh, I didn't really want to think about that.

Just the pizza. Mmmm yeah so good … I couldn't get enough in my mouth …

I was so engulfed in engorging myself I didn't even notice when someone else slid into the booth with me. I looked up to grab my Coke and saw England sitting across the table at me, glaring.

I spewed pizza everywhere.

"ENGLAND? !" I said, pizza bits still flying out of my mouth. "What the heck are you doing here? !"

"This is my country, you know." Oh … he did not look happy …

"Yeah, but this is my booth. What the fudge do you want?"

He looked away. "Oh, only to tell you something … something very interesting …"

I kept munching my pizza. "Mmwhat?"

"Hmm, let's see. It all started last night, at the Peninsula Hammock." Oh, this won't be good … "I thought I'd have a rather enjoyable evening, seeing as how I heard that you were performing."

My chewing slowed. "What …"

"And things began that way," he continued. "Shall I describe it for you? I'll paint a vivid mental picture … the club is dimly lit. Everyone has taken their seats, either at a table or the close seats near the stage with the jutting runway. The music starts and everyone quiets. The DJ announces tonight's performer: America. Stripping out of his WW2 uniform. Everyone hushes, grinning in anticipation, craning their necks and squinting their eyes to see. The spotlight comes on, the curtain opens, and you come out! Dressed in your uniform as promised, even with aviator goggles, and the music becomes louder."

"Cool story, bro—"

"I am not done," snapped England. "Where was I? Oh, yes. The spotlight follows you as you walk, swaying your hips ever so slightly, wearing those tall black boots, to the pole in the center of the stage. You swing around it, grind yourself into it, gradually shedding article after article of clothing until there is nothing left but a G-string and those aviator goggles."

I swallowed nervously. (Swallowed some pizza.) "R … right …"

"Then you walk down the runway. So many countries are excited, myself included. Reaching up as you strut by to slip singles into your G-string. For just a couple seconds to be close to you, to brush against your skin …"

The hell?

"I myself put a very large bill in your G-string," continued England. "You seemed very happy about that. Gave me some extra attention. You turned around and backed up. Backed your arse right in my face and smacked it. Then looked over your shoulder and instructed me to do the same."

Where the heck did Canada learn this? ! Do they got strip clubs made out of igloos in his country too? !

"So I did," said England. "I smacked your arse rather well. And it was brilliant."

"Uh …" I suddenly interrupted. "Th-that's great England. But I was there, you don't gotta explain everything to me."

"Did I say I was done?" he asked all rudely. "Now, I had Japan film this. He filmed your entire performance, and sold it to me. I took it home last night."

Oh God …

"I took it to my bedroom."

OH GOD …

"I watched it from my bed." England stared into my eyes. "And I pleasured myself to it."

SWEET JESUS

"Twice."

SWEET, SWEET BABY JESUS

"Then again this morning. However …" England looked away. "I received a phone call afterwards. A very disturbing phone call. From France."

I was afraid to ask. I was so nervous I actually stopped cramming pizza into my mouth. "What … what did he say?"

"He informed me, in the sly, infuriating way he always does, that last night's performer was not you at all." England glared hardcore at me. "It was Canada pretending to be you."

I narrowed my eyes. "France," I spat, like how Jerry always said Newman's name. Newman …

"I pleasured myself to the wrong person!" England suddenly cried. "How could you do this? !"

I held up my arms defensively. (Arms that should have been shoving hot dog stuffed crust pizza in my mouth.) "Whoooa! Dude, I didn't even know you liked me like that –"

"I was so excited that it was finally you performing!" he practically sobbed. "I'd been waiting years for that day! Praying to God, conjuring Satan – either one, I didn't care! As long as one of them gave me what I wanted!"

"Dude, calm down!" Wait a minute … "… did you say Satan?"

England suddenly slammed his hands on the table, making my pizza jump for a second. "I won't stand for this. You must admit your lie and perform this week!"

"Hell no."

"If you don't …" England had one creepy smirk on his face. "I'll tell everyone it was Canada instead of you. And you'll be forced to take the stage since you skipped out on your rightful turn."

I shrugged. "France apparently already knows and doesn't give a crap. Go ahead, tell people. I don't care."

"You don't care …!" started England, very angrily. "But I'll expose your lie!"

I shrugged again. "Meh. I'd rather my lie be exposed than my ass. And my dangle."

"Fine," said England, though he definitely didn't sound fine. "But I'll have you know this, I'm going to make sure France and Japan force you to come to next week's meeting."

"… why do you care if I go?"

England chuckled creepily to himself, then said, "Because I performed absolutely dreadfully on this week's challenge."

I gasped. "You mean? !"

"Yes," he said, staring in my eyes and creeping me out. "I will almost certainly be this week's performer. And I'm going to do such a bloody good job, you'll be begging to crawl into my bed."

How scandalous :O

"Well … uh …" I glanced around nervously. Then I came up with a NEW brilliant idea! "What if I throw the challenge too? ! And just get Canada to take my place again? !"

"Oh, please. You will do so well at this challenge. Even if you don't try, you will still out-perform almost every country."

"Why …" I said, narrowing my eyes in confusion. "What is it?"

England smirked. "Rap battle."

"FFFFFFFF—"

"That's right! You may as well not even try to not even try."

He was right :( I'm like the best rapper of the all the countries. What can I say? It's in my blood. I bust sweet rhymes like it's my job. I would do good no matter what. I got 99 problems but a rap battle ain't one.

"I will take the stage." England stood up, smirking down at me. "And you will watch me. And you will be seduced by me."

"Um …"

His eyes narrowed. "You don't have a choice."

Then he left me to my pizza.

I had no idea England wanted to stuff his hot dog in my crust. I guess that's how he got this idea for the pizza. It was a weird thing to think about as I kept on eating all night long.

X

"HOW COULD YOU TELL HIM? !" I yelled into the phone that night after I puked up a lot of pizza like a bulimic. I was back at the hotel, flopped on my bed. "THANKS A LOOOOOT, FRANCE!"

"My, my," said France on the other line. "Someone sounds like zey have had a few too many slices, no?"

"Why? !" I sobbed. "Why did you tell him? ! Everything would have been fine if you'd just have kept your big smelly wine-drinking, clove cigarette-smoking, dick-sucking mouth SHUT!"

"I saw ze way England looked at you — ah, Canada — zat evening. With such desire. And when I found out he'd purchased a copy of ze performance for his viewing pleasure? I could not stay silent."

"Uh, YES YOU COULD HAVE!"

"It would be a lie," said France. "He deserved to know ze truth. I knew he would masturbate to it and what a tragedy it'd be to fantasize and touch oneself over someone under false pretenses. I simply had to right zis wrong!"

"LIAR!" I shouted into the phone. "You just wanted to make drama, like you always do!"

"Perhaps," said France. "But my reasoning sounds so much better, no?"

"NO! How the heck did you even know it was Canada anyway? No one else figured it out."

"Ah, America, you underestimate me," he said so patronizingly. "It was rather obvious, wasn't it? Ze slight nervousness, ze softness of his voice, ze way he let me actually take him back to my place and have my way with him. You know — subtle things."

"WHAT? !" I exclaimed, near about dropping the phone. "You had the sex with him? !"

"Oui, I did, but I must tell you—"

"You know England wants to bang me now, right?" I interrupted. "Because of you, he's gonna perform next week and he thinks he's gonna seduce me or something. And he's being all creepy about it."

"Yes, I had a feeling something like zat would happen. I thought it'd work out. I didn't expect things to suddenly become so complicated …"

"… whaa?"

"A love triangle is painful thing, no?"

" … um …"

"I was about to tell you before you so rudely interrupted, America," began France, "but when Canada and I made le amour last night after cooking soufflés together, he called out your name during climax."

Aaaawkward.

"… dude, are you for real?"

"Oui," he replied. "He confessed to imagining that I was you the entire time. Zen he cried as we ate soufflés together."

"Holy schnikes …"

"Zey were good soufflés."

I dropped the phone. I couldn't believe this. Finding out two people very much wanted to bang me in one day? It was a lot to take in. Possibly a lot of dick to take in. Why does everyone wanna stuff their hot dog into my dough? ! Is my four or five kilo overweight ass really that tempting? ! I don't even know. I don't understand the metric system.

X

On the threat that France would tell Michelle Obama about my hot dog stuffed pizza addiction, I really did have to go to England's performance. One week just flew by! I thought it'd pass by slow, considering how nervous I was about all this and trying desperately to avoid both Canada and England. I did avoid them all week, because I just stayed at Pizza Hut all day, but I knew I'd see England and probably Canada too at the Peninsula Hammock.

But it wouldn't be too hard, right? I mean, it's not like I was really gonna be seduced by England. It was gonna be awkward, sure, but not exactly a challenge to resist him. Watching BrodyQuest without laughing — now that's a challenge.

I wasn't even gonna put any singles in his G-string. I was gonna sit in the back, drink a couple eleven dollar Shirley Temples because the club has a two-drink minimum and I refuse to get drunk in a situation like this, and do my best not to pay attention to the show.

You can lead a horse to water but you can't make him drink! Just like you can lead me to a strip club but you can't make me get a boner. Or drink either. I told you I was having Shirley Temples so we already established that.

Well, that was my plan anyway. Except when I got there, France said I had to sit right up front! Right by the runway part of the stage! I was like WTF! Assigned seating? What is this, elementary school? Can I write my name on a piece of paper and fold it in half and then put it up on the end of my desk as a name plate? I mean, come on. This was a strip club. No one else had an assigned seat! This was a set-up …

France made me sit in this 2-person table with him. It was parallel to the runway, which stuck out from the stage. Why, of all people, did I have to sit with France?

I was pouting and sipping my Shirley Temple. I think he thought I was actually drinking.

He definitely was. And smoking this clove cigarette and being all weird and contemplative as we waited for the show to start.

"I have ze most magnifique idea for a performance," he said, blowing smoke in my face. "I shall smoke zis on ze stage. Dressed in a beret and striped shirt. And play ze part of a mime!"

I coughed. "What the heck are you talking about?"

"It will be silent," he continued, weirding me out. "As is customary for a mime, of course. I shall strip, throwing my beret dramatically into ze crowd, peeling off my striped garments sensually, all while employing ze beautiful craft of miming into my act. It shall be a work of art!"

"Pfft, yeah, because everyone thinks mimes are sexy."

/SARCASM

I looked around. Pretty much everyone was there. Japan and China were at the table next to mine, also parallel to the stage, drinking sake or something.

"Quite an operation you have running here," said China to Japan.

"Thank you," replied Japan. "As a ferrow accomplished businessman, I take that as a high complement."

"You could make more." China was still sipping the sake. "Just taking off clothes gets boring. You do more, you make more."

"Do more what, specificary?"

"I have much toys for sale. So much. So much dildo! And vibrators and beads and plugs and –"

"Oh my, excuse me," Japan said suddenly. "Are you suggesting I have the countries incorporate these items into their performances?"

"Yes!" said China. "You incorporate Chinese dildo! I give you good deal. Your customers love, you make more money, everybody happy joy luck."

"Eavesdropping, America?" France asked slyly, staring at me.

I slowly nodded. "I … I am horrified."

"I shall call you rater regarding pricing and quantities," said Japan.

"Ah, good!" exclaimed China. "You won't be sorry! Everybody love dildo!"

"Okay …" I said. "Now I am very horrified."

France shrugged. "It is a strip club. What do you expect?"

"Not talk of cheaply made, lead-tainted, butt-penetrating toys!"

France swirled his wine. "Such is life."

On the other side was Sweden and Finland sitting together. Also getting drunk. Sweden was so drunk he didn't slur his words and I could actually understand WTF he was saying for once!

"When we get home," I heard him say to Finland. "Lock Sealand in the basement with some Dinky car toys. Because we are going to tear that new IKEA bed up."

"But … hic …" Finland was preeeetty drunk. On like, two daiquiris. LOL, what a lightweight. "Everything tears those shoddy beds up, hic."

"I meant I'm going to have the sex with you."

"Ohhhh … hic … I gotta find those Dinky toys …"

I was shocked! D: I'd never heard Sweden and Finland talk like that before! I nervously sipped my non-alcoholic drink and looked around some more. I noticed this place brought out the worst in people. I dunno if it was the alcohol, or just the lusty environment, or the smell of sweat and lotion in the air. But it was weird :I

I saw Germany and Italy sitting together not too far away. They too were drinking pretty heavily. Italy was sloshed! And whining. He's a whiney drunk.

"He … he … he …" stammered Italy, his head on the table. "… he put hot dogs … in the … PIZZA CRUST …"

"Yes, yes," replied Germany, putting on his best p-p-p-poker face. "You told me."

"IN THE PIZZA CRUST!" Italy sobbed. He was crying like a faucet. "WHYYYY? WHYYYYY? It's soooo wrong!"

"Now, now." Germany didn't look too comforting holding onto his beer for dear life instead of like patting Italy on the back or something. "Sausages go vell vith everything, ja? And hot dogs are like sausages."

"Noooooo," Italy whined. "Not in my pizza!"

Germany sighed. "Don't make a scene."

"It's pizza blasphemy!" he sobbed. "Nothing like a sausage should be stuffed in the pizza crust! ME AND THE POPE CAN'T STOP CRYING!"

"You better stop crying," warned Germany. "Or no … sausage … from me tonight."

Italy stopped crying.

"Fraaaance …" I whined. "I wanna go home."

"But ze show hasn't even started," he replied. "Why would you ever want to do zat?"

"I'm learning things about countries I didn't want to know. Like who bangs who and I'm going to have nightmares."

"Honhohon," chuckled France. "Want me to tell you more? I keep pretty close tabs on who sleeps with who."

"No. Stop talking to me."

I almost actually wanted the show to start so this would be over with. But like when you go to the movies, they always make you wait later than the actual time they say the movie starts. And THEN they play stupid previews. In fact, lately, they play stupid COMMERCIALS! Like the same ones they play on TV! By the time your movie actually starts it's like a half hour later and you don't even remember what you were gonna see. WTF was I talking about …

Oh yeah. Waiting for the strip show to start. Luckily there's no previews. Wouldn't that be weird though? Previews at a strip club … I'm imagining this … better keep it to myself or China and Japan will figure out a way to make it happen D:

I kept looking around. I dunno why, since I only found more disturbing things. Like Russia sitting at a larger table a little farther back, with the Baltics and Belarus and Ukraine. The heck? Sitting with your sisters at a strip club? Yeah that's not awkward at all …

"I don't always drink vodka," said Russia, doing his Dos Equis guy impression. "But when I do, I drink all you sookas under the table."

"Um, n-no argument there!" said Lithuania, who did not look happy to have to sit next to him.

"Yes, I don't believe you will find many challengers on that," said Estonia.

"Someone challenge me!" demanded Russia. "I want drinking contest!"

They all looked at each other nervously.

"I'll do it," said Latvia also nervously.

"LATVIAAAAAA!" exclaimed Estonia.

"What?" asked Latvia. "If I win, maybe Russia won't lock the three of us in the basement like he normally does every night."

I wonder if Russia gives them car toys too …

I pretended not to notice as Russia and Latvia starting downing shot after shot of vodka. With Belarus cheering for Russia, "GO BIG BROTHER GO BEAT THAT BRAT KID YOU CAN DO IT FUNNEL THAT VODKA WITH YOUR WATER PIPER LIKE A BEER BONG GO GO GO!" … with everyone else sitting around them awkwardly and nervously.

Suddenly, Poland walked up to them. "Hey, guys. What are you playing? I call winner!"

"Shut up, Poland, you cannot even into space," said Russia in between shots.

Poland frowned. "Oh."

"HEY!" someone suddenly shouted to me. I looked over and saw a table full of the other three Nordics. Denmark was looking at me with a beer raised. "Nice show last week!"

"Oh, uh, thanks," I said back to him, also raising my glass.

"To be honest, I was expecting a little more …" He trailed off, but moved his hands like he was squeezing something. Reminded me of kneading dough or something. God I wished I was back at the Pizza Hut eating hot dog stuffed crust pizza …

"What's that?" I asked.

"You know." Denmark wriggled his eyebrows. "More to love. Cushion for the pushin'. Blubber on the poopdeck."

"What," I said. Not asked. I kinda just squeaked it out.

"Us former Vikings know our way around the whales, right?" Denmark elbowed Norway beside him. Norway rolled his eyes but then nodded. "We were all thinking … MAN THE HARPOONS!"

"Honhonhon," chuckled France, who was listening to all this. "In case you are not following, America, zey thought you were going to look fat without your clothes on."

"Shut up, France."

"But surprisingly, you were rather fit!" said Denmark. "Which was a shame, because we had a pool going on, betting on how overweight you were!"

"I lost 2500," sighed Iceland.

"DOLLARS? !" I exclaimed.

"No, puffins," he said sarcastically. "Yes, dollars. What a stupid question."

I couldn't believe they were betting on how fat I was! Calling me a whale. Hmmph. Four or five kilos is NOT enough to qualify as a whale! I guess. I really need to look up the metrics system. Still, what they said was pretty douchey.

Moar like NorDICKS, am I right?

Just then I heard a thud. I looked over and Latvia had passed out on the floor.

"Yaaaay," said Russia. "A winner is me!"

"Congratulations," said Belarus. "Your prize is marriage. The bride is me!"

"… I am crying tears of vodka."

"Psst, France," I whispered. "How much longer until the show starts?"

"Patience is a virtue," he replied. "I rather enjoy zis pre-show anyway. Always involves some sort of drama. See what you've been missing?"

"I don't like drama."

"Nonsense, everybody loves others' drama." France pointed to a table nearby with Spain and Romano. "Take zem, for instance. Listen carefully and you will hear a beautiful story of misery. Some sort of dramatic, ah, perhaps romantic tale unfolding. What is it about others' despair zat so enthralls us? I don't know, but it is certainly captivating. Listen in and savor it like a fine wine, breathe it in like a cigarette and let it fill your lungs with amusement at zeir woes and ze contentment zat zey and not yours as well."

I looked to their table. Romano was yelling at Spain.

"THE POPE YELLED AT ME FOR WATCHING THAT INTERNET PORN, YOU IDIOT!"

"Ah, disregard that," said France. "I thought zey were talking about something else."

"Lo siento!" exclaimed Spain in Mexican. "Why didn't you clear your el interneto history though?"

"WHO AM I, BILL GATES? !" yelled Romano. "That's the last time I listen to you telling me to Google things."

"At least we learned what the Surra de Bunda is!"

Note to self. Never, ever, ever Google that.

Just then, something happened. The lights dimmed. People started to shut up finally. And I heard an announcer.

"Hey, everybody!" he said over the speaker. "Shut your mouths or put more awesome beer inside them, because it's time for the show to start!"

"Is that … Prussia?" I asked.

France nodded. "He's the DJ."

"Hey, idiot," I heard Prussia say to … someone. "Start the music. No, not that one. The other one. Get it right!"

"It's hard when you don't actually label the music," I heard Austria say over the speaker.

"DON'T SPEAK INTO THE MICROPHONE! You are to be seen, not heard."

"But I do the music. Vat am I but to be heard?"

"… SHUT UP."

Finally, the music did start. And I was very, very confused.

"Chumbawumba?" I asked. "Not exactly the sexiest of music."

"Heh heh …" chuckled France. "England requested 'Satisfaction' by the Rolling Stones. But I thought zis would be more amusing."

"So you replaced it with 'Tubthumping' … haha. You troll you."

France smiled and bowed.

A spotlight fell on the stage. The curtain rustled but no one came out. It looked like there was struggle or something. I could hear whispering.

Finally, England was shoved out. I saw Hungary push him from behind the curtain. "You get out there and you strip!"

England stumbled, but caught himself. "This isn't the music I asked for!"

"You're being recorded so don't do anything to embarrass yourself!" said Hungary. She closed the curtain. "Go dance!"

With the curtain closed, England looked out to the audience awkwardly. And froze.

Oh, man. You guys. You should have SEEN what England was wearing! He was covered – almost his whole body! — with balloons. Yes, balloons. Like regular run-of-the-mill normal balloons, like you'd find at a party. They weren't fully blown so they were a little smaller than normal though, and packed closely to each other so you couldn't see the skin underneath. And they were green, like his eyes.

"HAHAHAHA!" I burst into laughter. "England's like a sexy version of the old man from UP!"

I expected people to laugh at that. Be like "haha, America, you so funny!" and LAWL all over the place. But instead they just looked at me awkwardly :/

"What gives?" I whispered to France.

"You tell me," said France. "You said he was sexy, after all."

"That was a joke!"

It was hard for England to be sexy with "I GET KNOCKED DOWN, BUT I GET UP AGAIN, YOU'RE NEVER GONNA KEEP ME DOWN!" blasting over the speakers. Not exactly a sexy song, am I right? But England didn't have a choice. The music was going, people were watching, the spotlight was focused on him, and apparently the camera was rolling. Somewhere …

Besides all those balloons, England was also wearing tall black boots and black gloves. He was holding something too. A long needle.

"Traditionally, British strip clubs used ze fan method," said France. "Due to a ban on total nudity. Zey would use fans and move zem along zeir bodies, giving watchers peeks and tantalizing but never showing zem everything."

"Yeah, uh, thanks for the history lesson," I said.

"I thought he would pick that," shrugged France. "But he insisted on ze balloons. Who am I to deny someone a chance to express himself? Would be a travesty." He smirked at me. "Plus, zis way will show more skin."

"Riiiight …"

England slowly (and awkwardly) walked his way out to the middle of the stage. Where the pole was. He grabbed it, and started to grind his body on it … but then realized how dumb that looked with the balloons and stopped. He was just rubbing his balloons on the metal pole. Not very sexy. Plus it made some static! His hair stood up for a few seconds, haha.

"Wow, England kinda sucks," I whispered. "He ever done this before?"

"Once, though it was quite a while ago," said France. "It was just as awkward. Imagine him slowly shimmying out of his Britannia Angel outfit while his Marshmallow Song plays hauntingly all around."

"The one that sounds like it's summoning the devil? ! Yikes! That would give me nightmares."

"Indeed. I had both nightmares and wet dreams from it. Quite an unusual combination – wetting ze sheets from both urine and ze fluids of le amour at ze same time."

"Dude, TMI."

As the music blared "PISSIN' THE NIIIIIGHT AWAAAAAY" England held up the needle. I tensed because duh, needles are scary. With a little sway of his hips, he stuck it in one of the balloons on his chest. It popped.

"AHHH!" I screeched.

People stared. Oops. Balloons popping always startles me :(

But luckily they returned their attention to the show. England kept popping random balloons to the music.

"HE DRINKS A WHISKEY DRINK" …. POP!

"HE DRINKS A VODKA DRINK" … POP!

"HE DRINKS A LAGER DRINK" … POP!

"HE DRINKS A CIDER DRINK" … POP!

For those of you counting, England had popped five balloons. You couldn't see too much though. Only little bits of skin.

"WHOOOO!" shouted a very drunk Russia from the back. "Go back to part about vodka! Yaaaay vodka! Hic ..."

Latvia was still unconscious. Lucky bastard.

England turned around on the stage. So that his back was facing us. He bent over, assuming the position for you know what (buttsex) and popped two more balloons. One on each ass cheeks. POP POP!

Then he quickly turned back around and smirked at us. No wait. He smirked at … me?

Then he winked at me like ;)

"Honhonhon," chuckled France. "Better have you singles ready, eh, America?"

"What! No way, dude. I'm not giving him anything."

England grabbed the pole again. He slammed his hips against it. Like thrusted into it like he was trying to make it pregnant or something. I was like WHOA, DUDE. Without balloons covering his crotch he would have been in major cock-and-ball pain city. Population: England's cock-and-balls.

He kept grinding and grinding. Then he looked frustrated. I think he was trying to pop one of the balloons there by crushing it against the pole, but it wasn't working. It just stretched instead.

Suddenly, someone tapped me on the shoulder. I looked and it was Hungary, holding a video camera. "I'm taping tonight's performance. I wanted to let you know someone already bought a copy for you!"

"What? ! No, I don't want it!"

"It's too late," she said, aiming the camera at England's awkwardly grinding balloony body. "We already have his money and Japan will be upset if we lose it with a refund."

"Fine, keep the money! Just keep the video, too!"

"No." She looked back at me with a smirk. "I want to see what happens with this. Maybe even record it."

"RECORD WHAT? !"

"We'll see," was all she said. Then she just giggled and walked away to get a better angle for the camera. Cryptic bitch.

Oh, what I wouldn't do to run away from this godawful country and go back to England. Um, the actual country, I mean. Not the guy. I was tired of France. I mean the actual country this time (the Peninsula Hammock is in France) though the guy was annoying too. I just wanted to leave and hop on the underwater choo choo train to England and go back and eat more hot dog stuffed crust pizza! I'd give anything to be at Pizza Hat instead of this stupid strip club. LOL, I called it Pizza Hat instead of Hut. Well, the roof does look like a hat to me!

At this point, with the song almost over, England had popped about a baker's dozen of balloons. That's thirteen for those of y'all not familiar with bakers. Suck it, metric system. You could see patches of skin from where some balloons were missing, but no naughty bits yet.

Well, okay, you could see some of his ass, but that's it. (Not that I was looking too much.)

Oh noes. He started walking straight for me! Strutting down that runaway, staring and smirking right at me! Fudgesticks …

He popped a couple more balloons on the way, POP POP POP!

Just then, the song ended. England hesitated. I think he was hoping for the song he actually asked for to come on. But NOPE! It was the same damn song! Tubthumping by Chumbawumba! All over again! LOL, France, you truly are a troll.

England looked annoyed and France HOL'd. (That's Honhonhon' Out Loud.)

With England still closing in on me, I needed get out of there quick! I whispered to France, "I gotta go potty."

"Surely you can hold it a few more minutes?" he asked all smugly and Frenchly. "He's coming zis way, after all."

"That's why I gotta gooooo!"

But crap. It was too late. I looked up and England was standing right in front of me on the runway. Hands on his hips, smirking down at me in those black boots.

France held up a bill but England completely ignored him! Instead he turned around and bent over again. Bent really far! And spread his legs a little!

POP!

He popped the balloon that covered his guiche. (That's the taint for those of you who don't know what a guiche is.) (That's the space between your butthole and your junk for those of you don't know what a taint is.) (That's also called the perineum for scientists.) (You just learned something today!)

So I could almost see his balls and almost see his asshole … but not quite.

"Like what you see, America?" asked England, looking at me through his legs, still bent over backwards.

My Shirley Temple was shaking in my hand. "I-I-I like balloons."

POP!

He popped another balloon, this time on his ass.

"Yeah? I don't. I think I'll pop them all."

POP!

That was the last ass balloon. I could see all of his butt! He wasn't even wearing a G-string!

The popping startled me and I spilt my drink all over my lap! BRR! I shivered from suddenly getting my junk all cold and wet. Well, that was eleven dollars down the crapper.

"Which shall I pop?" England asked, looking at me all slyly between his legs. He moved the needle to the one in front of his junk. "Here?"

Why the heck was I shaking like that? Must be from the cold. "Umm …"

The tip of the needle pressed into the balloon. You should have seen the look on England's face! So … so … so sexual! He was really getting off on this.

"I'm so glad you came, America," he said, still with that lusty smirk.

"NO I DIDN'T IT'S SHIRLEY TEMPLE!"

"Heh heh ..."

And then, he pressed the needle all the way in. POP!

So I got a face full of British junk.

I froze and turned bright red. But almost everyone else in the club (almost forgot about them, huh?) cheered and whooped and huzzahed.

"Money shot!" I heard Hungry yell. I mean Hungary. I am hungry. (For hot dog stuffed crust pizza, y'all.)

Lots of dollar bills were being thrown on the stage. They were making it rain! But England paid no mind. He just kept staring at me from between his legs, staring hardcore like he thought I was gonna break at any second. But I didn't. I just sat in pure shock like :S

"I GET KNOCKED DOWN! BUT I GET UP AGAIN! YOU'RE NEVER GONNA KEEP ME DOWN!"

You know what? Chumbawumba was right. I may get knocked down. I might get a face full of English cock-and-balls. But I get up again. (Like metaphorically. Not up like an erection.) England wasn't gonna keep me down!

Sooooo … I ran. I jumped up from the table and bolted. For where? Hell if I knew. I don't know my way around the club. I just had to get away from England and his now exposed penis and testicles and also the guiche.

To be continued!