A/N: Contains highly suggestive scenarios!
Done for the LJ US/UK Secret Santa Exchange. The entry on my writing journal (listed in my profile) has a ridiculous set of notes, if you're curious.
The lights of the city glowed outside the window as America placed a delicate kiss against England's naked shoulder.
"Yes, it is lovely," England replied in a low whisper. "But that's not the point."
America sighed and rolled over, pulling England with him. "I don't see what the big deal is. Yeah, I splurged a little bit. So what?" He kissed along England's neck, brushing his hair out of the way to nuzzle the shell of his ear.
England's breath hitched in his reply. "Well, to start, your economy's still shit." He twisted his waist in an attempt to break America's grip, but it was futile. "And you do own an actual house in the vicinity." America's eager affection during the first day of his visit was to be expected, and he was becoming less inclined to reject it.
"Hey, I know what it gets like around here. The metro is gonna be packed." He placed a line of kisses against the back of England's neck. "Trust me, booking this room was genius. We can just get up and walk right over to the Mall."
"It is convenient, I'll give you that. Did you have to choose something so…ostentatious?" England's gaze swept across the ornately decorated hotel suite, which seemed to house an entire living room in addition to the enormous bed that they'd swiftly made use of. "It's a bit ridiculous, really. We're only going to be here for a few days."
America grinned. "Baby, stick with me and it'll be luxury all the way."
"Oh. Well. Thank you for making me feel like a rent boy." England pulled the sheets around his bare chest and scowled.
America drew him closer. "If you were a rent boy, you'd be the classiest, most expensive-"
A dangerous look from England stopped him in his tracks.
"Sorry." America loosened his grip. "Look, I just thought it would be a nice break. This way we can spend less time in crowded metro stations, and more time being…productive." He walked his fingers along the thin sheet covering England's torso, on toward his pelvis, before England stopped his hands.
"We obviously have different ideas about what is 'productive'," he said with a sigh. England regarded America's devious smile, but the more he stared, the easier it was to spot the truth hiding just behind it. It was written all over his face: the stress and tension that lay near to bursting beneath his confident exterior. England gently brushed his fingers against America's jaw. "Relax, love. All this fussing isn't good for you. It'll be over soon enough."
America's grin slowly faded, and he finally allowed himself to collapse against England's shoulder with a pathetic grunt. "Yeah, I know. It just feels like they're going to tear me apart sometimes."
With a soothing smile, England turned to stroke America's hair, grazing the golden bangs with his fingertips. "It won't be as bad when the election's done with."
America nodded, calming under his touch.
"At least it's not a presidential election. I thought you were going to chew through your fingers in 2008," England recalled.
America shook his head vigorously. "Oh god, that was awful. And great. But also pretty awful." He vividly remembered the pain that had seemed to tear into his very soul. "And your election wasn't exactly a picnic."
England shuddered deeply. "It…it wouldn't end. It wouldn't end."
"And then your electric kettle thing broke and you threw it against the wall and kept yelling and yelling and yelling and yelling." A shadow of fear came to America's eye. "That wasn't fun."
England hugged America to his chest. "I wouldn't expect so. But your presence kept me from going completely unraveled. I'm sorry if I frightened you."
"Naw, it's fine. The sex was fantastic. All that frustration and tense energy." His fingers found their way to England's chest again, tracing circles against the sheet. "I could barely keep up."
England's face grew flushed as he cleared his throat. "Regardless, I'm trying to say that you were there for me, and now I'm here for you. We're going to have a great time tomorrow and you're going to push away all that nastiness and enjoy yourself."
"'Course I will. But what I'm trying to say is, I'm enjoying myself right now." He leaned in and lowered his voice. "The night doesn't have to end yet."
England shivered and tried to resist, despite his own desire drawing him closer. It was for America's own good. "Don't you want to be rested? I thought you were excited about the rally."
"I am! I booked this room as soon as my contact gave me the date. How do you think I got something so swank?"
It seemed that America's concentration had finally been broken.
"You know someone from The Daily Show?" England was slightly jealous, even though he wouldn't admit it.
America smirked. "I got contacts everywhere. I could introduce you to Jon, if you want. Or Stephen. Or, well, pretty much anyone in the media."
England's heavy brows furrowed. "Have you met them before?"
America looked smug for a moment, before turning his attentions back to his more immediate goal. "Sure have. Why don't we talk about it over breakfast."
England crossed his arms, knowing that he was fighting a losing battle. He tried his best to look cold and uninterested, even though he ached for more contact.
They'd been together long enough that America could see through his bluff in an instant. He crawled under the covers and slid alongside England's naked form. "Ready to go again?" he asked with an irresistibly sly cadence.
England scowled dramatically, but America had soon started to add to the cluster of lovebites around his neck. With a defeated groan, England gave in. "Fine, but you'd better not complain tomorrow. I'm not having it." He wrapped his hand behind America's neck and pulled him in for a fervent kiss. America smiled against his lips and they tumbled gently over the sheets.
They didn't wake up until the alarm went off, screeching in the morning light. America groaned and lifted his head, releasing England from his rigid hold and granting him newfound freedom. England blinked his eyes open and was immediately met by America's eager lips. He would have made a comment on morning breath, but there was a current of excitement playing across America's face, and it was catching.
America's hair was completely ridiculous, mussed and sticking up in different directions. His own hair couldn't have looked much better. He grunted angrily when America got up from the bed and wrapped a blanket around his waist so he could walk to the window to get a better view. England joined him soon after, when he was finally prepared to stand up straight. It was early, but people outside were already gravitating towards the grass of the Mall. America started to bounce on his heels, and turned to England with a grin of pure exhilaration. He then proceeded to hum the Daily Show theme song and pump his fists in time with the tune.
It seemed that some of the stress was already slipping away. England couldn't help but smile at that.
They got dressed in their own time, barely speaking along the way. If he was being honest, England had to admit that he'd been anticipating this day ever since America had invited him. Of course, he was almost always happy to spend personal time with his long-distance lover, but this was a bit different. He was actually a fan of The Daily Show and The Colbert Report, and had been for a few years, after they had become well-circulated overseas. It wasn't America's typical comedy fare, which seemed to rely primarily on trite, low-brow jokes and played-out catchphrases. The Daily Show and its ilk were clever and self-aware. They were good satire, and that was definitely England's cup of tea.
Preparing to leave, they double checked that they had everything, and England made America list everything he'd wanted to bring aloud. He had a water bottle sticking out of his jacket and the camera in his pocket. Electronics were charged and phones were on, in case they got separated. They were halfway to the elevator when they realized America had forgotten to put on shoes.
By the time they got to the lobby, hunger was gnawing at England's stomach. Travel usually gave him a large appetite. Thankfully, they'd planned to stop for breakfast nearby, and were soon seated and putting in their orders.
"You've really met Jon Stewart?" England asked once he'd gotten some tea in his system.
"I've known him since he was on MTV," America replied nonchalantly, though he was clearly flaunting his connections now that England was actually interested in what he was talking about.
England set his cup down. "Jon Stewart was on MTV?"
"He had a talk show. It was a couple of decades ago. He also had a show with The State. Did I mention I also know The State? Cause I totally do." America was brimming with pride, but England just stared blankly.
"The…State?"
America's face fell a bit. "They were a comedy troupe. Had a sketch show, kinda like Saturday Night Live. You've never, um, heard of them? At all?" There was a tiny, feeble dash of hope in his voice.
England shook his head.
"Oh. It's not important. Not like you actually would have liked them or anything." America sounded utterly dejected.
England decided to shift the topic. "And you know Stephen Colbert as well?"
America's eyes brightened at this. "Of course! I met him when he was still doing improv at Second City with Steve Carell. I know all those guys." England's blank stare returned. America sighed wretchedly. "Second City is an improv troupe in Chicago. Lots of comedy greats have come out of there." He leaned back against his seat with a hint of irritation in his body language, and pouted. "For someone who loves to talk shit about my comedy, you don't seem to really know much about it."
England bristled at this accusation. "Well, how am I supposed to know if you don't tell me?"
"I would say 'the internet', but I know you can barely work your email. There's also these things called 'books', and I know you've heard of those cause you always have your nose in one. I guess you have to be interested in the subject to want to read about it, though. I bet you never cared enough about my comedy to read up on it. You'd probably say, 'oh it's so low-brow and trite nyeh nyeh nyeh'." America followed his offensive imitation with a childish hand gesture.
England crossed his arms and fixed America with a glare. "Oh, because you're such an expert on my comedy?"
"I'm not an expert, but I don't criticize it all the time. Besides, I don't have to be an expert to know that mine's just more awesome all-around."
England could feel anger rising in his blood, but before he could lash out, the waitress stopped by to deliver their food.
The silence that lingered through the meal was only broken after America put his hand on England's knee and started to rub apologetically.
"I'm not going to forget you said that," England announced stubbornly, even as his fingers threaded between America's. "We will have words."
"You can take it out on me later," America whispered playfully in his ear.
England's feelings of anger and insult slowly disappeared once they joined the gathering groups of people walking toward the Mall. The energy had returned to America's stride, and while they walked he turned his head this way and that, trying to take in all the burgeoning activity around them.
They ended up stopping several times before they even got to the waiting crowd. America insisted on stopping people with signs and reading them out loud, and getting his picture taken with them, especially if they were in costume. It was intriguing to see the way that their faces lit up when America spoke to them. They didn't know who he was, of course, but there was always some flash of recognition. America just took it all in, laughing and chatting with his citizens, as casually as if they were family. England found that he didn't mind watching and waiting, even though America's attention was all over the place. In this case, it was rather endearing to see America with his people. Many of the signs even had England laughing, against his expectations.
Finally, they were approaching the stage. The front section of the crowd was already full, so they got as close as they could. As they were moving, America spotted a girl painting her friend's face as part of a costume. The colors were, of course, red, white and blue. America turned to England with a mischievous smile.
"Oh god, what's happening," England thought to himself.
"'Scuze me, miss," America said, adding a fair bit of charm to his tone. He tapped on her shoulder, and she spun around in surprise, still holding the makeup in her hand.
"Uh, hi?" she replied, and scrutinized his face in a "do I know you somehow?" sort of way.
"Hi! Name's Alfred. I was wondering, when you're done helping your friend, maybe you wouldn't mind painting something on me?" He pointed to his right cheek.
She turned back to her friends and whispered for a moment, before responding with a smile. "Yeah, I'll do it." She pulled out her cellphone and quickly checked the time. "What do you want on your face?"
America puffed his chest out a bit. "An American flag, of course."
The girl laughed and cleaned her brush off. "Of course."
America had to bend down for her to reach his face. She touched his chin to steady him, and England felt an icy chill of jealousy.
"So where'd you come from?" America asked, flinching a bit from the feeling of the paint on his skin.
"Seattle." The brush flicked white paint across his cheek before she added a blue square.
"Damn. That's dedication," he responded. She smirked and gave a small shrug.
"Well, how often do you get the chance to be part of something so awesome?"
America nodded just a bit. "That's true. I've been to a lot of rallies, but usually not like this."
She reached up and started on the red stripes. "So where're you from?"
"Ah. Let's just say…everywhere."
The girl laughed. "I know the feeling."
"No, I don't think you do," England thought.
Little white dots were added to the blue square. "I don't think I can fit all the stars on here," she said, eyes narrowed in concentration.
"That's okay," America assured her. "No one really knows how many there are."
She giggled and wiped her brush off again, presenting the final product. "Oh, does your friend want one too? I mean, we have loads of time to kill."
America turned to England with a hopeful grin, to which England shook his head slowly and firmly.
"Do you think you could do a union jack?" he asked the girl, and quickly took out his phone to find a picture. She looked at the phone's screen and nodded, before looking to England.
Great, now they're paying attention to me.
"I…" he looked between the two of them, who were waiting expectantly. He sighed and grumbled. "Fine. Do it."
America bounced in place and pointed to where it should go on his left cheek. He held the phone so that she could see the image, and she started to paint a blue square. This time, the girl seemed less talkative. England thought that she was just focused because she was less familiar with the design, but near the end she finally spoke up.
"So, you're British?" she asked.
England blinked. "You could say that, yes."
A very faint blush spread across her cheeks. "Ah. That's cool."
After a moment of contemplation, he couldn't help but smirk. He glanced at America, who was pointedly looking away. The effect that he had on Americans since the start of their alliance had always seemed suspicious. It hadn't been clear why until they finally got together. His smirk grew.
"And you're done," the girl said. America asked her to take a picture of them together and grabbed a grumbling England around the waist. She took a couple of pictures and handed the camera back to England.
"Thank you, my dear," England said, laying on an exceedingly posh accent. "And may I say, it was so very kind of you to help us."
The girl squirmed and nodded, but her friends were starting to move in another direction. "I gotta go. Hope you guys enjoy yourselves!"
England turned to America with a knowing smile, but America refused to acknowledge it. He pressed further, thinking that it was due revenge for everything that England had to put up with. He checked to make sure no one was looking in their direction.
"They love that accent, don't they?" England snaked his hand over America's shoulder, dragged his fingers lightly across his neck, before standing up to whisper in his ear. "I wonder what it does to you."
America exhaled heavily. He took England's hand hastily and squeezed it. "Oh hey, I think people are moving forward. We should, uh, do that."
England noted with satisfaction that his cheeks were very red.
They pushed forward into the crowd. America turned to look behind them, and gasped at the number of people there already.
"Holy shit," he exclaimed. "It hasn't been that long, has it?"
Even though England was only a bit shorter (not very much at all), he couldn't see the crowd as well as America. He stood up on his toes and tried to look around, but it wasn't to be. America saw that he was struggling, and grabbed his hand again, pushing through the tightening crowd. They ended up moving back a bit so that they could see some of the video monitors, leaving England somewhat surprised that America would move further away from the main stage for his benefit.
They waited for some time before anything actually happened. It seemed that the crowd was getting packed together closer and closer, even when it felt like they couldn't physically fit any more. As more people came, they had to acclimatize to new standards of personal space. It also became increasingly difficult to talk, even with America's boisterous voice cutting through the din. Eventually, they seemed to develop their own style of communication through touching. When it looked like America was getting sidetracked in his worries, England would squeeze his hand to remind him to look around, and remember why they were there.
By the time the opening musical acts finally came on stage, the energy of the crowd was palpable, and America couldn't stop grinning. The anticipation of the people around him affected his mood, whether he knew it or not. Even when the energy of the crowd started to wane with their impatience, America was completely captivated.
The sound from the speakers was overwhelming, pulsing through them like a second heartbeat.
When the Mythbusters emerged onstage as a warm-up, America let out a less-than-manly squeal of unbridled joy and awe. He watched them with dogged intensity, and when they announced their plan to execute a large-scale experiment on the crowd, America became deathly still. England hadn't seen him look so serious since…well, since the last time they'd been late for the morning menu at McDonald's.
Jamie and Adam told their gigantic audience that they were going to measure the time it took for a "wave" to reach the back, and America immediately looked like it was everything his sole purpose in life to participate in this wave. When the wave reached them, his arms shot up and came back down with the precision of a machine.
The experiments went on a bit longer, and although America never seemed to waver in his fanboy-ish dedication to the Mythbusters, their eventual departure signified that the event was coming to a head. When the opening acts were through, a group came on to sing the national anthem. England half-expected America to participate in lauding himself, but saw that he was instead looking out over the sea of people with a broad grin. Not a look of arrogance, but one of pride.
Finally, after England had started to really feel the ache from standing in one place for a long time, Jon Stewart took to the stage. He felt a strong patter in his heart. It seemed that he too had become swept up in the energy of the people around him. Stephen's entrance, from his fake underground "fear bunker", was met with around round of passionate cheers.
England stood on his toes and brought America's face nearer to him with his hand. "Is that meant to be your 'Evel Knievel'?" he asked, referring to Stephen's costume, a white body suit covering with stars.
America nodded energetically and continued to bellow his joy as loudly as he could.
The theme of the rally was represented in the exchanges of Jon and Stephen. Jon advocated rational, coherent thought. Stephen, through his comedic persona, was a proponent of fear-mongering and disorder. As the show went on, England felt that their banter was perhaps not as sharp as it was on their respective programs, but it seemed to serve its purpose.
When the hosts left the stage and re-emerged in some preposterous outfits saturated in Americana, England felt a sense of déjà vu akin to "America has pajamas that look just like that". He made a mental note to tease America about it later, though his egomaniacal partner would probably just beam with pride.
Several more special guests were woven into the show. England managed to recognize several of them, like Sam Waterston from Law and Order, who read a poem about fear written by Stephen. When Ozzy Osbourne took to the stage, it prompted some very strange flashbacks of decades past. There were a few moments that made England feel like he was approaching the category of "nerdy fan". Particularly when Jon and Stephen held a round of Formidable Opponent, a recurring segment from The Colbert Report, and he may have cheered just a little too loudly.
Jon and Stephen continued to fight for their respective sides, advocating either a call to reason or to fear through debate, giving out fake awards, and song. Their duet on a song called "The Greatest, Strongest Country in the World" had America laughing like a maniac, presumably due to the absurdity of seeing them sing and the glee he felt even at comedic boosts to his inflated ego.
There was a point when Stephen emerged from backstage wearing a very familiar leather jacket. England met America with a questioning look, to which he simply grinned and gave a mysterious wink, and left England wondering what it could possibly mean.
The rally neared its end, with Stephen bringing in a giant puppet of himself dubbed Fearzilla, and declaring the death of Jon Stewart. As Jon vehemently protested his untimely demise, they were joined by another Daily Show regular. John Oliver, The Daily Show's senior British correspondent, made his way onstage dressed like Peter Pan, and tried to involve the audience in a chant to revive the "fallen" Jon. England was amused at first, but soon noticed something very suspicious.
America was biting his bottom lip, and appeared to be blushing. England gaped and then elbowed him in the ribs. In return, America shot him a scandalized look and mouthed "what?" defensively, rubbing his side.
"You would," England hissed loudly.
"I'd what?" America responded, as the noise from the speakers echoed behind him.
England jerked his head to the stage and narrowed his eyes.
"You fancy him," England accused bitterly.
America's jaw dropped. "Do not!" he said, much more loudly than was necessary. Several people nearby shushed him, but America kept his eyes firmly on England.
It was difficult to argue with so much going on around them, so England simply looked away stubbornly. Normally, it was endearing when America became flustered over an English accent. This, not so much.
America seemed assured of his innocence, and wrapped his arms around England possessively, as if to declare it so. Although he didn't entirely buy it, England calmed down once the bit came to an end, and John Oliver dragged Stephen, who had apparently "melted", off the stage.
Jon started to give his victory speech, and both America and England listened to his message with rapt attention. He presented the idea that most people had the capacity to be rational, and that the extremists who argue and fight such vicious public battles in the media do not represent the majority. Despite the efforts of numerous media outlets to turn every political conflict into a crisis, most Americans are just ordinary people trying to make their way through life. That ordinary Americans readily cooperate with one another on a regular basis for the sake of the community, regardless of the conflicting political views they might hold.
Though it was a short speech with a humorous current in it, England found himself being affected by it. Toward the end, he reflected on how it spoke to his own life. He, like many people, had sometimes been guilty of marginalizing people with views foreign to his own.
He caught sight of America's face from the corner of his eye. It was serene, taking in Jon's message, and taking it to heart. England felt an ache in his chest. There had been a time when he'd written America off as nothing more than an overgrown child. At the time, he'd wanted to believe it was true - that America's accomplishments and growing power had come about through pure luck, and in spite of an otherwise deficient personality. He had reveled in the distance between them, trying so hard to convince himself that America was simply a selfish, traitorous, ungrateful brat, rather than a real person with dreams and feelings of his own.
Of course, he had learned better. He'd come to realize, through circumstances beyond his control, that they were capable of cooperating effectively. He had found out that America's citizens were not fiendish monsters, but were, in fact, essentially the same as his own. And he had learned that although America was very obsessed with himself, and unbelievably obtuse at times, the depth of his heart was as vast as the sky above.
America was selfish, embarrassing and arrogant, and England loved him more than he could ever possibly convey.
An eruption of cheering and applause suddenly surrounded him. The rally was over, but he didn't bother to look at the stage or the audience, or anything that wasn't America.
When America finally felt his gaze and looked back, England grabbed the collar of his coat and pulled him down for a fierce kiss amidst the oblivious sea of people. America froze for a moment before giving way, caught by the passion in England's touch.
By the time they broke apart, the crowd was starting to thin out, with people leaving from every side of the rally in huge swarms.
"I think our flags got smooshed together," America said, rubbing his thumb over a stray blue mark on England's cheek.
England chuckled and took America's hand in his own.
"It was bound to happen eventually."
America swept him into an exuberant hug. He seemed so gleeful that England waited an extra moment or two before trying to escape imminent suffocation.
Slowly, they walked off into the crowd hand-in-hand, to spend the rest of the day meeting funny, reasonable people and listening to their stories.
They collapsed against the black coffee table, panting hard enough that it almost hurt. America kissed England's jaw and pulled him close, until they were tangled together on the floor, the moonlight shining on their bare skin. He traced a bead of sweat that slid across England's chest, and his breath gradually began to steady. England found his place against the curve of America's body, stretching out in a leisurely resting position. He nuzzled America's ear as the warm buzz of pleasure continued to circulate through his being.
Time passed and they eventually staggered to the couch after England complained about the probable chance that the hotel floor was riddled with disease. As soon as they were situated, England returned to his position against America's broad shoulders, and breathed in deeply.
"You always smell of cherry blossoms when we're here," he whispered against America's warm skin.
America pondered this, raking his fingertips gently across England's back. "They aren't in bloom," he said with a small frown. "I guess that's cool, though."
England's face was entirely pressed against his arm. "I didn't say it was a good thing," he grumbled.
America pulled away and stared at him, before breaking out into a loud laugh. "Oh man, you're totally jealous! Relax, it was just a gift. You've gotten tons of gifts just like that."
"I am not jealous." He readjusted himself, moving his weight to his hip. "And if I was going to be childish and petty over some silly gifts, I would probably talk about that ridiculous Statue of Liberty you parade around like a trussed up tart. But I'm not going to mention that, because I'm respectful." He grimaced at the very thought of America's iconic statue. Anything that came near to representing a link between America and France made him feel like his blood was curdling.
America groaned and rolled his eyes. "Is this because of John Oliver? I swear I don't have a thing for him. There's no reason to be paranoid."
England hissed out a strained breath. "You were practically glowing when you saw him."
"I was not!" America pouted and shifted uncomfortably. "Look, I love you like crazy. That doesn't mean I'm gonna swoon over every English person I see."
England crossed his arms and glanced away. "So there's nothing you find attractive about my people?"
A light flush spread across America's cheeks. "Well, I mean, there's a few particular qualities I kinda like a little bit. But that's not-"
He was cut short by the look of shock on England's face.
Slowly, England crawled up until his face was level with America's, and whispered a command in his ear, soft but ferocious. "You are never allowed near one of my comedians again. Ever."
America paused and gulped at the severity of England's tone. Just when England thought it had sunk in, America let out a snort of laughter. "Oh. I get it now. You had me going for a second, there."
England leaned back in confusion.
"You're just trying to distract me," America said, pulling England in for a hug. England didn't struggle against it, but was still quite perplexed. "It worked for a little bit. Thank you." He heard America chuckle again. "I can't believe I actually thought you were jealous over something so stupid."
England was awkwardly silent before he let out a nervous laugh. "Right, yes. I was distracting you. Of course I was."
America hugged him tighter, and he decided that it was probably for the best to just keep playing along for the time being. After all, they had managed to re-establish a good amount of trust between them. More than anything, he knew it was John he couldn't trust.
After a while, America loosened his embrace and heaved an anxious sigh. England could almost feel the pressure and strain growing in America's heart once again. He shifted so that he could place a kiss on America's forehead.
"It'll get better," he whispered, stroking the back of America's head.
"And then it'll get worse again." America nudged England's cheek with his nose, obviously seeking solace. It wasn't like him to be so pessimistic, but he was right. It would get worse. No matter how smoothly the government was running, or how bountiful the resources were, or how much there was to be grateful for, people would always find something to fight about. It was simply human nature.
England gave him a quick kiss and started to separate himself from America's limbs. "Wait here, love," he whispered.
America blinked a few times in surprise and nodded.
England went over and pulled the comforter from the hotel bed into his arms. He picked up the digital camera on the side table by its loop and hurried back to America.
They were soon covered by the large comforter. America grabbed his glasses from the coffee table, and started to pull the blanket tight around them like a warm cocoon, until they had just enough room to move their arms.
In a tight bundle of limbs and fabric, England and America looked at the small glowing screen. America's anxiety seemed to melt away once more as they went through their visual record of the day, reliving the excitement and laughter, and their memories of all the people they had met. England leaned back against America's chest, calmed by his rumbling laughter.
He would always be there for America, during times of peace and times of chaos, from days filled with pain to days marked by numbing boredom. He hoped that America would have more peace than strain, but was prepared to stand by his side no matter what.
Most of all, he hoped that America never stopped laughing.