So here's your brief (read: useless) culture lesson. Acid house is a subgenre of electronic music popularized in London in the late 1980's at raves in abandoned warehouses. It is insanely repetitive. Airag is fermented horse milk and drank with a frequency in Mongolia. Brennivin is also the national beverage of Iceland. Its nickname is black death and it's vile. I also make no claims to know Finnish. Speakers, feel free to correct.

Sunday morning came right on time, 8:08 as promised by the weather lady in Helsinki. She had also predicted clouds and near-horizontal sleet due to heavy wind. "And whatever you do, don't sleep outside." She added kindly. All of this punctuated by a frowning sun attempting to shove past cumulonimbus in a cute little animation. Unfortunately for Finland, his weather lady was usually spot on.

Finland's eyes snapped open and he sat up with a start fearing that otherwise, he'd choke on his own tongue and drown in ice. He immediately regretted his action. It felt as though an Acid House Party featuring 24 of London's finest DJs played to a crowd of 500,000 within the confines of his skull. This in itself was a bizarre occurrence. When asked directly, he would nod his consent that Denmark's alcoholism was tame when compared to his. One of the hidden benefits of being perpetually drunk was never, ever being hung over. To make things infinitely worse, whatever he imbibed, foods, drinks, or otherwise were racing through him like Draino.

Of a will not entirely his own, Finland raced into his house and prepared to spend the next few hours worshipping the porcelain goddess. The last time he'd experienced an awakening this rude was back in 1939, when Russia decided to roll a tank into his living room at 3AM. At least he had plenty of time to think…

Clearly, it went down last night.

Last night…

Finland blocked the door while Sweden knelt before him. "Look," Sweden begged, "it's not that we're not going to come back. We all just want something to drink besides Estonian vodka and whatever your sister brews in the cauldron under a full moon. Food would be good too, something besides bread."

Under Åland's recommendation, Finland allowed them to leave. This worked out well, as it gave the cousins ample time to remove valuables and sharp objects from the common areas. Åland also took the liberty of stashing the all purpose whip and rope in his room, but didn't bother explaining why.

The others returned with a spread Finland hadn't witnessed since the last UN meeting. Guinness from Ireland, Russia's vodka, America's rum, Mongolia donated some airag, and Japan, sake. It was like 'It's a Small World After All' in poison format.

Now, all those drinks haunted his mouth like a caraway-flavored poltergeist. Finland coughed and hauled himself to his knees. From the window, he could see Denmark's bike, Iceland's and Sweden's cars, and Norway's bear sleeping on the hood. Ironically, the only vehicle not there was his. It seemed like as good a time as any to start believing in that God guy so he could pray they didn't see him snaking his way around the house WWI style because he couldn't yet find the will to stand.

"Yes, that's exactly-" Denmark stood on his toes, his finger wagging centimeters from Finland's chin. "Hold on a sec," he dragged over a case of beer and stepped on top of it. Finland took a swig from his bottle and waved Denmark away," unless you drink like ah... a… saatanan runkkari!" The pressure in the room increased tenfold, the other Nordics fearful of breathing.

Finland stopped dead and returned Denmark's steely gaze. He learned a number of things in that brief exchange. Firstly, that Denmark was a lot smarter or stupider than what he originally thought. Secondly, that he would do everything in his power to ensure the Dane didn't live through the night. His hand transformed into a well-manicured claw as he extended a trembling finger towards the kitchen table.

Vaguely in the distance, Iceland asked Sweden where Denmark picked up Finnish profanity and what it meant. Sweden was too horrified to translate. Iceland shrugged and snapped a picture of Finland, his eyes redder than two embers fetched from Hell.

Åland placed two beers adjacent to each other. "Come on Denmark! You can kick his ass! I believe in you!"

"Aye… Denmark." Norway warned.

Norway sighed, downed his beer in three gulps and messaged his temples with his free hand. Denmark breezed past him "Don't worry Norway, I've already had plenty of beer. I'm invincible."

That gave Finland The Brilliant Idea. In capital letters. The Brilliant Idea that would make all previous human innovation look like dumpster fodder. He'd play Denmark's game as long as he invented the rules. Beer was a mere 4.0% alcohol by volume, hardly a real man's beverage. Russia taught him that beer was for the proles. Finland shoved the beers into Åland's and Sweden's open palms. Iceland snapped another picture of their confused faces and handed Finland a bottle of Brennivin.

And then… then he woke up in the sleet, barely a meter outside his front door.

Finland faced Error 404- a large vacuous hole in the chain of events. At that exact moment, he only knew two things- if Denmark wasn't dead, he planned to hack him in half before sundown and that he needed coffee before he could make any solid plans for 1st degree murder.

Finland counted to kolme and hauled himself to his feet. The common space looked as though not a thing had occurred, nor was anybody present. He removed his hat and gave his head a vigorous rub, grateful at least he wouldn't spend the day cleaning. He set out to locate some coffee, which he liked the same way he pictured Åland in his fantasies- ground up and in the freezer.

Three cups later, as he whiled away the latter half of morning, his phone buzzed against his thigh. Denmark. Finland rejected the call and twitched. Denmark…

Finland texted him back, calling him horrible things. Horrible things he would never, ever say in person. When he ran out of horrible things to say about Denmark, he switched to saying horrible things about Denmark's mother. Then Denmark called back. For the time being, he set his phone to silent and glanced down at his shirt, which sported a stain from either blood or chocolate judging by the color and smell. He threw some extra coffee in the brewer for Sweden and Åland and sent Sister Sweden a text begging her to spare some time for a lowly slug such as he. Then he headed upstairs for a shower and new clothes. The day was salvageable yet.

On the way to the bathroom, Finland moseyed past Åland's room. He shuddered with his face pressed into his hands. There was a sock on the door handle and a line of hakarl decorated the floor. Finland tried desperately not to think that Sweden and Aland were sleeping with each other and separated from him by mere 9.5 millimeters of wood and drywall. Granted, he couldn't complain too much. Other countries had living situations that were much, much more precarious than his- China and Tibet, Russia and Chechnya, America and Texas.

Finland took consolation knowing that his day would be infinitely better than Denmark's. At least that's how Finland placated himself until he checked his phone once again. Denmark had called him again. Twice. And Sister Sweden returned his text. 'Sunday is Masturbating Day. You already know that.' Finland's eyes went wide in shock. This went far beyond the standard drama involving threats of global warming and nuclear wars. In spite of his current amnesia, he remembered one particular moment with Sister Sweden vividly.

He lay chained on her bed; next to him sat a spatula and tissue paper. That woman knew how to work magic on him with anything. Then she spoke. "Finland sweetie, I just want you to know that you will always, always be better than Masturbating Day…"

Finland was crestfallen. Something happened in the past 12 hours. What it was he hadn't a clue. He wracked his brain for further information and came up empty. But Iceland had spent a hefty portion of the time taking pictures. That very same Iceland that left his car keys by the coffeemaker. Finland took a few deep breaths. Somewhere in the distance, the theme from 'Unsolved Mysteries' played.

More to come...