A/N: Crack alert. Seriously. Sorry for what you are about to read. A collab with "The Guy Below Me Sucks'. Go check her out. And look at this picture to understand this story: languagelog(dot)ldc(dot)/nll/?p=3438
Enjoy.
It started off, as many stories do, with alcohol. This is because no good story in the history of rapid funny story telling has ever begun with a salad. But by the by, a man walks into a bar, ready to get drunk as hell and pass out cold.
Now, this would normally be unimportant, but this time it was not. That is because the man who walked in was no ordinary man, it happened to be Alfred F. Jones, otherwise known as the United States of America. The tension was high between Russia and said man, plus the 60's were full of hippies, and everything was very, very stressful. Also, his new(ish) boss, John F. Kennedy, was being a bit of an ass recently, being all like "You need to do more work" this and "You're too lazy" that. It was really annoying, and wearing down on America's nerves. Seriously, what more did this man what from him?
So, an America walks into a bar and sits down next to a man drinking vodka, not really caring who he was next too. That was until recognition slapped him in the face with a very large salmon.
"Russia!" America yelped, tipping backwards and nearly off the chair. The blond man with an oddly large nose just smiled eerily at him.
"Privet comrade. I trust you are well." He said, creepy grin never leaving his face. The American just narrowed his eyes and ordered, all the while uncomfortably aware of the analytical gaze following his every move. It was unsettling to say the very least.
And so, the two feuding countries sat next to each other in the bar; drinking their seemingly constant stream of alcohol and thinking every nasty thought about each other they could come up with.
As everyone should know, Russia and America are currently in a huge war, better known as the Cold War. There wasn't actually any fighting, per say, but it was a very large clash of ideals. For whatever reason they haven't killed each other yet is a reason beyond everyone. It was also a daunting fact that Russia and America were once the best of drinking buddies, just behind the Bad Touch Trio, America and England when they went drinking, and Russia and China. Seeing them break into a serious and dangerous conflict such as this one was really weird and vaguely uncalled for.
But, that wasn't a time to think about anything such as war.
Oh, it was definitely not a time to think of anything like that.
Not when everything that was being thought they had was drowned out by the loud, obnoxious noise of two men causing a loud uproar.
America turned around in his chair, looking at the scene displayed before him. A crowd of people was gathered in front of what looked like a stage. Russia noticed this and glanced in America's general direction. He was staring at the stage, just as confused. The huge crowd was cheering happily, though a few, "Oh my God! Who would do this?" or, "Get off the stage! No one wants to see *that*!" And, of course, this sparked an interest in the curious countries.
Once they managed to see over everyone's head and look at the stage, Russia and America nearly spit out their drink.
They just simply couldn't believe their eyes
Through the rambunctious crowd stood John F. Kennedy and Joseph Stalin. On a pole. Stripping. The image in front of the nations seared into their minds as they dropped their glasses simultaneously, much to the anger of the Canadian bartender. But it wasn't hockey season, so he had no weapons currently.
And hold the phone-Wasn't Stalin dead?
"I-is t-that..." America stuttered out, blinking and rubbing his eyes.
"But...Comrade Stalin is dead..." Russia mused, pulling a perfect poker face, even though the sight made him want to cry like he was in front of Belarus in a wedding dress.
America and Russia just twitched, watching, so utterly horrified that they could not tear their eyes away from the scene in front of them. The very drunk crowd was roaring, whistling, and throwing money around like there was no tomorrow. Suddenly snapping out of it and realizing just what was going on, Russia and America looked at each other, screamed like little girls at the same time, and sprinted out of the bar.
They sped out as fast as they could, which was not all that fast as they were both very intoxicated. As such, they were stumbling around like a bunch of baboons, and still screaming like little girls. And crying. Oh dear God the mental images. Tipsy as hell, they crashed into each other and knocked each other out cold, collapsing on top of one another. And right in front of a certain Englishman who was watching the whole scene, utterly confused.
"What in bloody hell is going on here?" The Englishman, better known as England, sputtered once the two frenzied nations collapsed. As England observed the absurd scene in front of him, he crouched down on the side of the knocked out men. He observed them closely, wondering if there were any severe injuries. He touched the side of America's cheek, moving his head back and forth to see both sides, and did the same to Russia. Who was, for the record, on top. Both were out cold, but breathing just fine.
Once England was sure that everyone was okay, he stood back up, now wondering what to do. "Well, I suppose I could take them to my house..." He contemplated aloud as he stared at the face of America, and then at Russia's. He smiled, nodding at the same time.
"I really wonder what caused to them to be in a frenzy like that. Not to mention that they reek of alcohol..." He sighs, now picking up America. England started to carry the bigger nation to his house. England huffed and held America in his arms, wondering if he could carry Russia at the same time.
While England did care about their safety and well-being, he just really wanted to know what the hell was going on.
Realizing that he could carry America and drag Russia at the same time (he was a ex-empire, after all), he got to his house in record time. Now all he had to do was wait for them to wake up...
(line-linelineBEALINElinelineline)
The next morning, America woke up with a splitting head-ache. Groaning, he rolled over, only to come face to face with Russia. As anyone in this situation would, he got completely the wrong idea, never mind he was fully clothed.
"Arg! What he hell!" America yelled, causing more pain to his growing headache, and reeling back. Russia awoke with a jerk, completely headache free because he's just so bad*ss like that. No, actually, he just has a f*cking massive tolerance...among other things, but that's beside the point, which is he drank vodka daily and was fine.
"Oh. Hello comrade. What happened?" Russia questioned innocently.
And then the entire night came back to them in one hit, and left America trying to scratch his eyes out and Russia doing a Switzerland with a bucket over his head.
"Care to explain?" Came a very blunt and very British voice behind them. It was at that point they realized whose house they were in.
Needless to say, they explained everything that happened in that bar. And needless to say, they promised never to speak of this again. And so Russia went back to ignoring America, America went back to hating Russia, and England went back to his tsundere stalking of America.
And that is the Oxford Comma incident. You're welcome.
Haha, they you go.