World-Cup season.
Huzzah.
The world once again is engrossed in absurdly competitive and nationalistic global sport. This is the epitome of the modern age: we are among and, for the first time in history, exposed to other cultures, but we just don't like them very much.
For some, as well, the world decided to give Brazil both this festival of Soccer glory and the 2016 Olympics, when they can hardly procure enough money to silence the blackmailers and feed their partying people, much less build several thousand stadiums.
(Anywho, they're continuing the Carnival, so who can complain?)
Unfortunately, the gods of fate decided to have Brazil play Croatia on the first day of competition as well.
The Brazilian coach, knowing that if they lost that game they would be demoralized beyond any hope of being brought back even by partying, was freaking out.
"I WILL BE HUNGGGGGGGGG!" he sobbed, rolling around in his limousine. "WHYYYY, CRUEL FATES?!"
Suddenly an idea struck him. He was saved!
The Croatian team arrived at their hotel tired, and grumpy, because they had shared a flight with a screaming four year old even more annoying than the Serbs.
Vedran Corluka tore off the sheets of the beds and made a nest in the closet, and no one even minded because he did this all the time. Dejan Lovran was fixing his hair, which was even more of a regular occurrence (annoyance?) as he nattered constantly during it.
"UGH like omg does this look good enough?" he asked/whined.
Suddenly the door to the hotel flew open, and in walked several scantily clad Amazon-lookin' girls.
The Croats' jaws dropped. Independent, non-domineered woman? they thought, most alarmed.
"Hello you sexay Slavs," the girls said, sashaying through the room. Vedran poked his head out of the closet and stared on in exaltation.
"We're here to let see a side of Brazil that you'd miss if all you did was play soccer," one of them said, "and we'd hate for you to miss out."
But it was not to be. Ognjen Vukojevic's suitcase exploded in a whirlwind of fabric as the team coach Niko Kovac bit his way out of the bag that he'd been hiding in.
"SQUAWKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK," screeched the coach, bending over and the waist with his hands on his hips. "SQUAWK SQUAWK SQUAWK! PECK PECK PECK PECK PECK." Kovac self-narrated as he began to viciously peck the girls with his face.
Screaming, and angry at the Brazilian coach Luiz Felipe Scolari for making them do this, the poor Brazilians ran from the room.
Kovac stood back up and dusted himself off. "There you are. You're all lucky that you have me to protect you."
"You dumped out my clothes from my suitcase so you can hide in it," Ognjen said slowly.
"Yes."
"AND THEN YOU SCARED AWAY THE GIRLS!" Ante Rebic screeched.
"Yes."
Ivan Mocinic shouted, "AND NOW THEY'RE GONNA HATE ALL SLAVS IN BRASIL BECAUSE THEY THINK WE'RE FREAKS AND BOSNIA WILL KILL US."
"Yes."
The Croatian players burst into tears and forcibly stuffed Kovac back into the suitcase. They were just going to win this World Cup without out.
When the Brazilian girls came back, furious and disturbed, to Scolari bearing the news that they were unsuccessful, the Croats were freaks, and they wanted 10 grand, Luiz knew his life was over.
The girls had failed. The only thing left was bribery.
"Guess what," Niko Kovac said drily as he re-entered the hotel room after he bit his way out of the suitcase again.
"WHAT," shouted Sammir sarcastically.
Kovac held up a wicker basket filled with cheese. "Scolari is trying to buy you fools out with cheese."
"I HATE THIS PLACE," Stipe Pletikosa shouted. "We'll show them what we think of their rubbish bribe!"
The Croatian team went out into the street and gave the cheese away to Brazil's starving children.
Luiz Felipe Scolari, who was watching them through binoculars, cursed and threw a hissy fit before descending into broken sobs.
"I guess I'll just have to get my team to play well," he sobbed, "which is even harder then bribing Slavs with cheese."
This is a weird way of showing it, but... I love you Brazil, Croatia! Good luck. Please R&R!