America was quite the boisterous country, known for his love of hamburgers, milkshakes, and his general stupidity. He was also known for his love of cursing, which he probably inherited from England.
So on the fateful day in which he received a message from his boss saying that they would be giving the countries code names to preserve the knowledge of personified countries, he gave a huge whoop and bolted to his desk, brainstorming a list of ideas that he would present to his boss the next day.
He ignored his phone the next time it vibrated; it was probably Iggy texting him about his awesome ideas- that involved him being the hero and everyone backing him up, of course.
America hummed happily as he wrote down a list of names, chattering amiably to Tony.
"So, I need this code name thing to sound really, REALLY cool. Let's see..."
He paused his writing, and stared at the ceiling for a bit, tapping the eraser against his chin thoughtfully.
"Ooo! I know!" he said loudly after a few seconds. "Let's see... A Shit Ton of Swag? Yeah, that sounds good..." he said has he wrote it down on the sheet of paper, his handwriting illegible as ever. He frowned slightly as he tried to think up a new one, and leaned back in his chair precariously, toppled over, and hit his head of the floor, his feet sticking up into the air.
"Whoa," he said as he crawled back up, adjusting his glasses. "That was NOT cool." He picked the chair back up, and kept on thinking of ideas for his code name.
"Let's see... The Majorly Cool Hero? Yeah, that's good... maybe Code Freedom... oh! Fuck yeah, America! Hey Tony, this is fun!"
"Fucking. Bitch. Fucking. Bitch," was Tony's only response.
"Cool! Yeah, I forgot about that one... The Amazing America... The Best Fucking Country Ever... Double O Stars and Stripes..."
Alfred stayed up until one that night, brainstorming ideas for his new "swaggy" code name, most including at least one curse word.
The president had to wonder how he got into this mess sometimes. Yes, he had run for president, but was he aware that there was a personification of America running around? No. Had he known that this America acted like a teenager? No! Had he known that America had an alien that used only the words "fucking" and "bitch?" No! Had he known that managing this America would be the hardest part of his presidency? Of course not! If he had, he probably wouldn't have even considered running in the first place.
Yet here he was, sitting at his desk in the Oval Office, and staring at the flimsy piece of paper with barely legible handwriting- the list of code names that America had thought up for himself, and even at a glance he could tell that there was an abundance of the words "fuck," "swag," and general terms relating to America, though the double-o-seven was definitely British.
He groaned and put his forehead on the edge of his desk, wonder why he decided to run for president in the first place.
"America giving you grief again, sir?" his vice president said as he strolled into the office, smiling slightly.
"Like you wouldn't believe," the president said, sitting back up and handing the sheet of paper to his vice president. "You remember Operation Signum Nominis, right?"
"Of course," the vice president said, taking the piece of paper. "What about it- Oh."
"Yeah."
"You did tell him that he was supposed to use human names, right?"
"Of course!" the president said, putting his head on the edge of his desk again. "I'm pretty sure "Shit Ton of Swag" isn't a human name under any circumstance, so I'm assuming that he didn't even pay attention to my second text."
"I recommend that you call him and ask him to fix it."
"I'll do that."
America was eating his breakfast (eggs, milk, sixteen pieces of bacon all piled onto a plate of pancakes smothered in butter) when his phone rang.
"Hempphh?" he said, his mouth stuffed with food.
"What, you can't even speak properly now?" a snooty British voice said. "Stop eating like a pig!"
America swallowed quickly and said, "Hey, Iggy! Wassup?"
He could literally hear the scowl in the country's voice as the other country said: "One, don't call me Iggy. Two, the sky is up. Three, I was calling to see if you finished sending in your list for Operation Signum Nominis because knowing you, you forgot and instead spent the whole time at bloody Disney World."
"Iggy, you're being mean!" he whined, a bagel in one hand. "I did sent in my list! It's it's pretty amazing, too! Much better than yours, I'll bet."
"WHY, YOU LITTLE-"
"It's the truth, and you can't deny it!"
"Then tell me your best ones!"
"Sure!" he scrambled around, looking for his list, until he realized that he turned it in to his boss last night. "Uh," he said as he racked his brains, trying to think of the best one- "Shit Ton of Swag! Swagmeister! Bitch, I'm Fabulous!"
He was pretty sure Iggy had done a spit take, judging from the loud "PFFTTTT" heard on the other line.
"WHAT?" the Brit said as he stopped choking. WHAT SORT OF NAMES ARE THOSE?"
"Good ones," America said defensively. "Very cool ones. Better than the ones you could think up in your old age, I bet."
"America, these code names have to be human names. 'Bitch, I'm Fabulous,' is not a human name."
America frowned, a piece of bacon halfway to his mouth. "Who said that they needed to be human names?"
"Your boss."
"He never told me!"
"You probably just ignored his text because you were too eager to think up every code name possible that involves the word "swag."
"I did not!"
"Really."
"I really didn't!"
"Then check his texts to you, would you?"
America frowned, tapped on the texting application, and saw-
From: Big Boss:
And another thing: The code names have to be human names. Please, PLEASE try to think up legitimate human names.
"Okay, maayybbee I missed a text from him," America said slowly. "But that doesn't mean that 'Swagmeister' isn't a human name! You could name your kid 'Swagmeister'!"
"HOW MANY PARENTS DO YOU KNOW WOULD NAME THEIR KIDS "SWAGMEISTER?"
"Uh... none..." America said sheepishly, shoving the bacon into his mouth.
"Exactly."
"So, uh, what should I do?"
"THINK UP A NAME BEFORE HE GIVES YOU A PHONE CALL AND STARTS YELLING AT YOU, YOU STUPID WANKER!"
"Okay, okay! Hey, what name did you choose?"
"Arthur Kirkland."
"What sorta' name is that?"
"A good one, now shut up."
America sent the next thirty seconds racking his brain for a list of human names and surnames. When he gave up, he turned to Tony and said:
"Tony, I'm dead. The only name I can think up is 'Bob Smith.'"
"Fucking. Bitch."
"What? No way am I being called 'Bob Smith'! It makes me sound old, dude!"
"Fucking. Bitch."
"Okay, maybe I'm old. But still!"
"Fucking. Bitch."
"Good idea!"
America bolted out of his seat, grabbed his bomber jacket and shoved it on, grabbed a pair of relatively clean pants, forced his combat boots on, and raced out of the apartment, down the stairs and into the busy New York streets.
Tony had suggested that he go outside, find a person whose name he liked, and use it as his code name. Tony also had his own suggestion for a name, but it sounded like Hurblegustenaguted Muycakpcuzheven, and was going to be insanely hard to spell, since it didn't even use the English alphabet. Besides, America wasn't sure if he even wanted to be called Hurblegustenaguted Muycakpcuzheven. Even "Bob Smith" was better than that.
The first person that he met was named Bob Smith.
"Wait," America said as he frowned slightly. "Really? Your name's Bob Smith?"
"Yes," the old man said, his dog sniffing America's boots curiously. "My name is Bob Smith."
And at this point, America was about to give up, and this was the very first person. There were actually people named "Bob Smith."
"Oh, okay," America said with a fake smile plastered on his face. "Thanks!"
When he asked a professional-looking businessman what his name was, the man looked confused and said with a British accent: "Alastair Hilton."
Okay, this dude was British. America was American. NOPE!
He thanked the man politely (With a fake smile STILL plastered on his face) and walked away quickly, ignoring the weird look he was getting from the businessman, who was clearly wondering why a teenager had just asked him for his name. If only the dude knew how old America really was... He would be giving America and even weirder look.
The third person was named Lenny Jones. Lenny Jones was a twelve year old boy who only told America his name once America convinced his parent that he was taking survey results for his college class, which wasn't true at all. America had already finished college (Twice, a country could get REALLY bored) and pretended that he was attending a university nearby.
Lenny Jones's mother was named Belinda Jones. America didn't want to be called Belinda. Or Lenny. But Jones sounded cool- Like a secret agent last name, like he was a masked hero, one that hid in the shadows, fighting for JUSTICE!
He thanked them quickly, jot down "Jones" on his notepad, and walked away.
The next person was named Glyndwr Vaughan.
The first time he said his name, America gave him a weird look, and asked him to repeat it again.
"Glyndwr Vaughaun."
"Pardon? Didn't quite catch that."
"GLYNDWR VAUGHAUN!"
"Glendwur Vaughaund?" America asked, confused.
"Glyd-wr Vauugg-hauuunn."
"Uh... How do you spell that?"
"The grumpy teenager slowly spelled out "Glyndwr Vaughaun," and clearly thought that America had a hearing deficit or something.
"Oh... thanks?" America said once he had written "Glyndwr Vaughaun" messily on his notebook.
The boy grunted in response and continued to keep walking, muttering something about "Stupid Americans" and "People never spelling my name right." America knew how that felt, and decided not to be called "Glyndwr." Something nice and simple that everyone could spell and say easily.
Something like... Superman. But Superman Jones sounded too tacky, and he decided to go with something else.
"My name is Trevor G. Stewards. This is for a survey for your classes, I assume?"
"Yeah, it's for- uh- people studies," America said, fidgeting nervously. "Hey, what does the 'G' stand for?"
"Garret."
"Oh, thanks! You know having a middle initial makes you sound reaallyy professional!
"I'm... glad you think so?"
"Yeah!" America said as he shook the man's hand eagerly. "Nice talking to ya, Trevor! Thanks for participating in this- uh- survey!"
"You're welcome?"
"It also makes you sound like you have a secret identity, like Trevor G. Stewards, normal guy at day, but at night, a SUPERHERO THAT DEFENDS JUSTICE AND THE PEOPLE OF NEW YORK CITY!" America yelled, punching his fist into the air.
"Sure... Uh, I have to go now..." the man said, starting to question America's sanity.
"Okay! Bye!"
"My name's Alfred Fields, and I like candy, and I like superheroes, and I like junk food even though mama says that it's bad for you but it tastes really, REALLY good! And I also like dinosaurs, I like T-Rex's the bestest, because they ate other dinosaurs and were really, really big! And I like Lucy Sanders, because she's in my class and is really cute and I tried to kiss her once but I ended up falling on my face and I cried and cried until the teacher gave me a band-aid and Lucy kissed it!"
The mother smiled apologetically and said: "Sorry about this, he just gets excited sometimes."
America laughed.
"Don't worry, I was exactly like him when I was younger!" he said, grinning.
"But I also like Marcia Lambert too, because her hair's really, really soft and she gives me cupcakes but I like Lucy the bestest because we're married-"
"Hey, Alfred, you like superheroes, right?" America said as he squatted down to the boy's height.
The little boy stopped his rant about girls and said: "Yeah!" and grinned widely, showing a mouthful of missing teeth.
America mirrored the boy's grin with one of his own, only he had all his teeth.
"You know, if you're good, you'll be a superhero!" he said cheerfully.
"Really? Wow! I wanna be a superhero when I grow up!" the boy said to his mom.
"That would be nice, wouldn't it?" she said softly, smiling. "I'm afraid we have to go now, Mr.-"
"Jones," America said.
"Mr. Jones. Say bye to Mr. Jones, Alfred!"
"Bye bye, Mr. Jones!" the boy said, waving his hand energetically in the air as he and his mother walked away. America grinned and waved back. He knew exactly what his name was going to be now.
Alfred Jones has a nice ring to it, he thought as he bolted to his apartment, apologizing to the people he bumped into. As for the middle initial... I'll just ask Tony. Maybe he has a good one.
"Hey, Tony," America said, shoveling pieces of bacon into his already full mouth. "Do you have a letter that sounds good with 'Alfred Jones?"
Before Tony could answer, however, America's phone rang. He cursed as he saw the caller ID: It was his boss.
"Hullo?" America said.
"America, I'm pretty sure I said HUMAN names..."
"Sorry, boss..." America said sheepishly. "But I got one now, so can I just tell you it?"
"Sure. What is it?"
"Uh... Alfred. Alfred..."
"Alfred what?"
America turned to Tony, silently begging for help. Tony responded with: "Fuck."
"Alfred Jones!" America said hurriedly. "Alfred... F Jones?"
"Sounds good. What does the 'F' stand for?"
"Uh... Fuck."
"America..."
"It stands for freedom, actually."
"... Sure..."
"Okay! Hey I gotta eat, so can I hang up?"
"Go ahead."
America let out a sigh of relief as the call ended, and he looked at Tony gratefully.
"You saved my life, man. I owe you one."
Tony responded with: "Fucking. Bitch.
"Ha!" America crowed. "Yeah, it stands for either freedom or fuck. I like fuck better, though, I gotta tell England my name!"
When England received a text from America stating that his name was going to be "Alfred F. Jones," he decided that maybe the wanker wasn't so immature after all. That is, until he asked what the "F" stood for.
From: Bloody American Idiot:
uh... fuck? or freedom
And now, England was faceplanting on his table, wondering where he went wrong with his parenting. Was everything in America related to cussing? Well, cussing and freedom.
America, however, was celebrating his cleverness and happily downing another plate of pancakes.
"You know, Tony," America said. "Maybe it should have been S for 'Swagmeister'," America said as he inhaled his bacon.
"Fucking. Bitch."
"Yeah, and England is so in awe of my amazingness, he isn't answering because he needs to comprehend the level of America! I'm such a genius, Tony!"
"Fucking. Bitch."
A/N: I have no idea. This just popped into my mind? I speed wrote this in about two hours, so there might be some mistakes... But I wanted to write something about the fact that the "F" in America's name could stand for "fuck." Annnnnd this happened...
Thanks for reading! Critique is appreciated and reviews are absolutely AMAZING!