Narrated by Morgan Freeman.
Canada walked to the tin establishment. He approached the large Russian at the front door.
"Welcome to the Salty Spittoon. How tough are ya?" the Russian asked.
"How tough am I? How tough am I? I got fucked by Cuba this morning!"
"Yeah, so?" The Russian laughed in a Russian-like manner.
"Without any lube."
"...Right this way, sir. Sorry to keep you waiting."
With that semi-awkward and absolutely fruitalicious confronting of the Russian, Matthew, otherwise known by his whore name as Maple Leaf, entered the Salty Spittoon, looking rather manly, and by that I mean he didn't look manly at all and if you were to look at his ass you would think he was a woman. He approached the counter and talked to the Ukrainian woman behind it.
"Hello big-breasted woman. I would like to purchase this establishment."
"That'll be 62 cents."
"I'll take it."
And within the next five years, Canada had created the best pub/bar/strip joint known throughout the entire world. However, throughout the last few months, he has been considering exchanging it for a strip club with flowers all in blue. The plastic one was better, though.
Now, without any other jobs to do, he now took the place of the Russian in the front, waiting for the next tough and incredibly masculine customer to walk up to the doors. Testosterone has a distinct smell. Kind of like spoiled raspberries, so it was sort of easy to tell when someone manly and boosted with lots of testosterone and such were to approach.
The next spoiled-raspberry-smelling man walked up with a kind of swagger that can best be described by the song: My humps. Kind of like a swagger-bot, a robot for swagger. He had blonde (an extremely annoying shade for hair) hair and glasses that weren't quite hipster, but kind of made you want to make out with him when you looked at him.
"Welcome to the Salty Spittoon. How tough are y—AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!"
America ferociously (came) ripped the maple leaf tattoo from Canada's forehead. When he turned it upside-down, some sort of molecular disposition, change of tides, sorcery, or division by zero, caused the maple leaf to turn into the American flag when placed back on the Canadian's sweaty, bumpy, forehead.
Author #2 makes a side comment: Sweaty...Bumpy...? Are you describing Deidara's ass or what? Trololol.
Author #1 makes a side comment to the previous side comment: ...Didn't want that image. Thanks.
"F-Fine...go ahead." Canada rubbed his forehead in pain (Pein), and another contestant to endure the sheer awesomeness of the Salty Spittoon emerged.
"Welcome to the Salty Spittoon. How tough are ya?" Canada asked.
"I'm a cop. I'm an officer of the law." When the man took off his shady sunglasses, Canada knew. It was the ever-famed Yellow China, policeman extraordinaire.
"Indeed you ..." The drawn-out "a" adds character.
"How can I help you, Yellow China?" Canada bowed, his curl proTURDing from his head especially erect today. It's like...a hairection.
"I am here to investigate an alleged case of Cuban prostitutes."
"Only the Cuban ones?"
"Yes."
Canada cursed under his breath, only it was more like: FUCK rather than fuck. In other words, he didn't whisper it at all, I'm not sure why I worded it that way. With another loud expletive he ran inside, stumbling once, twice, five times on his own incredibly erect hair before making his way inside.
"Cuba! Cuba! They found out about our prostitutes!"
"Which ones?"
"The Cuban ones."
"Just the Cuban ones?"
"Yes."
Cuba made a noise that kind of sounded like the Kazekage when you try to feed him dinner, or a kid whose World of Warcraft account got cancelled, before he ran into the incredibly shiny kitchen, taking a tub of ice cream out of the freezer. He sat down on top of the counter, and by some incredible feat, ate the ice cream while crying and covering his face with his hands, his foot holding the spoon.
Before Canada could say a word, he had already eaten through 4 gallons.
"..U-Um...Cuba, that's a lot of ice cream..." Canada piped up, frowning.
"I'm pregnant, fuck off." Cuba grumbled, throwing his ice cream-covered spoon at Canada's head, and like everything that gets thrown at Canada, it turned into the American flag and promptly attached itself over the bulge in his pants.
Neither of them seemed at all phased by this.
"Wait, I have an idea!" Canada suddenly had an idea.
"What's your idea?" Cuba asked about Canada's idea.
"What if we show Yellow China how great Cuban prostitution really is! Then I'm sure he'd be happy to keep the Salty Spittoon around."
"Great idea!" Deidara ran up to Cuba and ripped his clothes off with his teeth, then ran away again into the dark corners of Ke$ha's crotch.
"Thanks, Dei," Cuba said whilst licking a portrait of Austria, readying himself. He then ran outside and tackled Yellow China, showing off his ugly thing. "My milkshakes bring all the boys to the yard, and they're like, it's better than yours..." Cuba groped his moobs, moving them around in an erotic way.
"I'm so turned on, aru!" Yellow China, in such a steamy sex-craving mood, ripped off all his clothes, revealing his...wait for it...chunky yellow vaChina.
Chunky yellow vaChina.
Chunky.
Yellow.
VaChina.
There was silence throughout the entire Salty Spittoon, and it probably would have been a wonderful time for someone to paint a cow, because complete silence and concentration is required to paint a cow, especially angry Canadian heifers.
Suddenly there was a rather loud and girlish sounding scream as someone in the back of the room fainted, and at further inspection, was revealed to be an otter with the head of Hidan, still holding its prized fish.
"LOOK AT IT. LOOK AT IT. I WANT ALL OF YOU TO LOOK AT IIIIIIIT" The extra 'I's add character. Yellow China screamed the following statement with such intensity that everyone within a 5 mile radius got a boner that made them spin around in circles, pointing north, like a compass.
This lasted for a few days.
Cuba had the longest boner, and was quite proud as his personal record of 3 days and 4 hours was inserted into the record books.
Just then, another scream was heard from the front of the Salty Spittoon. Canada, too lazy to get his butt off the floor, yelled toward Cuba, still seducing Yellow China, and said, "Cuba, you fat lard, go see who screamed."
"'Kay." Cuba strutted to the front of the...bar...?...ugly thing swinging in the breeze. He saw a yellow sponge lying on the floor. "Should I touch it?"
"Yes."
"I don't think that's right," Yellow China interjected.
"But THIS is!" The Russian from before appeared before the Yellow China, waxing his calves, legs spread-eagle. "Become one?"
"I'm so turned on, aru!" The chunky yellow vaChina found its new bird of prey.
Later, in an ambulance that was leaving the Salty Spittoon hastily, a yellow homosexual sponge lay on a cot, his rodent friend by his side.
"Ooh...Sandy, what happened?" He asked groggily, homosexuality smelling different from testosterone, so instead of spoiled raspberries, it smelled like green watermelons.
"You...you ran inside and slipped on an ice-cube." The squirrel lied, swallowing back the horrible images she preferred to keep from her friend's mind, the memories burned into her squirrel like brain forever.
A trillion miles away, Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling had babies, and Author #2, the only fangirl of that pairing, squealed and married one of them.
Then Morgan Freeman shot himself.
The end.
(In other words, we're pregnant. Fuck off)