A/N: Originally it was Nicki Minaj, but she's my girl no matter what my subconscious mind says, so I made it Lady Gaga instead. Please don't ask about the bit in the summary about my brother, it's painful to talk about.

So at first Canada was like

"I'M SO BORED"

Kinda like you are now, actually…

But then he found out that Italy was having a banquet. He was like "WTF, eh?" cause Italy hasn't destroyed his house yet, so he went to Italy's house to see what all the cool kids were doing. They were eating bread.

Italy's house had a banquet hall. One side was about ten feet higher than the other one, and the long wall was made of glass and had a view into a really dense rainforest, and the other side looked exactly like Canada's indoor pool. Except it had sharks in it. Canada had so much swag he didn't care.

At first he was gonna be like "Y U NO HAZ REASON FOR BANQUET" but then he figured out that it was Italy's birthday. Except the only nations that showed up were Prussia and Ukraine. Not even the host. And Prussia and Ukraine were at the other end of the table trying to feed some random ten-year-old Russian girl to the sharks. So Canada was all alone despite the people of every age, race, sexuality, gender, and species around him. And the bread was really good.

Prussia vacuumed up all the bread at his end of the table, so he yelled down to Matt's end "YO MATT, GIMME SUM BREAD IN DIS HIZZLE" and Matt was Canadianly pissed that Prussia was being so darn difficult, so he ground the piece of bread under his heel before passing it. Prussia was pissed, so he let out his anger by shrieking "YO, NOT COOL YOU BREAD WASTER" and finally throwing the girl into the shark pool. Canada has no willpower, so he meekly passed down a good slice of bread and Prussia ate it extremely suggestively (that is, attacked it, chewed it up, and swallowed it).

"Grmphgh, grphphgm! Phufgh phumpheph fph!" Prussia yelled through his Suggestive Bread. Canada, being America's brother, could decipher this as, "Hey, Mattie! Come over here!" So Canada jumped onto the table and played hopscotch on people's plates all the way down the twenty-yard table. Nobody minded. Where does one even find a twenty-yard table?

He sat down at the end, next to Ukraine. Prussia promptly started ignoring him. Go figure. He ate some bread instead.

Behind Canada's seat, up against the wall, were bookshelves. Canada's bookshelves. The ones that were in his room at home. In Canada, this is perfectly normal and socially acceptable because they have such massive amounts of swag. Canada was already bored again, so he started pushing the Cherub series in and pulling it back out. (He didn't realize how wrong this sounded until he phrased it in his head, at which point he promptly smacked himself for giving in to Prussia's influence.) Ukraine was bored too, so she started helping, when suddenly–

DEAD SILENCE.

Ivan Braginski had sat down at the table.

He was near the middle, and the people around him were shaking like leaves. He didn't seem to notice, and started chatting away about how he would be going as a purple monkey from Georgia. This made little sense, so Canada got out the invitation (which he had in his pocket despite not being invited). It was made out of bread. It said, "It's Italy's birthday party! *blah blah blah text text text* It'll be a tough 20-foot haul between McDonald's and Burger King, but I know we can do it!"

This still didn't make any sense, but Canada had been distracted enough to forget about Ivan. Until he got up, swept out the door, closed it all but a crack, put on a monocle, put his eye to the crack, and whispered, "In Soviet Georgia, purple is monkeys!"

For some reason, this irritated Canada. So he threw bread at Prussia. (Not at Russia. Because 1) Canada didn't have a death wish, and 2) everything was so insanely irrational already that he was afraid that if he upset the balance Darth Vader might get him.) An enormous bread fight broke out, with screaming and bread guns and rye and white and wheat and Panini and ciabatta, and Canada made out with Lady Gaga, and then and then and then–

Canada jolted awake, gasping for air and sweating bullets.

Oh, phew, he thought as his heart rate slowly settled. It was only a dream. He unfolded himself from his armchair, headed into the bathroom to wash off the sweat–

And froze.

There was bread in his hair.

THE END.

A/N: Recently, I discovered that I write in my sleep.

Yeahhhh.