"America, you are a genius!"
England did not say, surveying what might have been a baking soda volcano, or a frothing blob-monster.
"Fuck."
America thought to himself, forgetting to internalize the words and not say them. England Britishly decided to resolve the idea by adding tea and serving the possibly-delicious, only probably- poisonous, Somewhat volcano-ish baking soda blob-monster for lunch. America avoided having his mouth uncharmingly washed out with soap by cleverly disolving into his shadow and disappearing, by which I mean he stepped on Canada's foot and made him yell out in pain, then took off running.
Canada stopped the pain by using an old hockey technique and breaking his nose with a hockey stick to forget about the small ache in his foot, in the true spirit of Tim Hortons. France chose this second to appear from nowhere, if nowhere was England's bedroom, where he'd been replacing all of England's clothes with string bikinis and sexy tight leather. France smiled dastardly as he reached for England's rear, only to scream unsexily as England Politely returned the handshake by snapping France's wrist.
"Good afternoon, frog."
England greeted fashionably, greasing his eyebrows. France did not return England's fashionable greeting because he was very unfashionably sporting a broken wrist. Canada helpfully tried to fix the problem by pouring hot Tim Hortons coffee on the injury, which caused the wound to sizzle and redden very unbeautifully, in a way 3 out of 4 doctors would not recommend. France chose to pass out like a damsel in distress. Seeing as France could not escape, England cheerfully allowed him to taste-test the possibly-delicious, only probably-poisonous, Somewhat volcano-ish baking soda blob-monster that America had made, and France did unhotly found himself at the gates of heaven, while a figure that was blurry in the way you blur out someone's face in the news stood in front of him.
"Could I please go in?"
France asked seductively, turned on by the blurred figure that reminded him of uncensored GerIta fanart.
"No," replied the blurry form magestically, booming a voice and causing France's ears to bleed, and also several nearby angels exploded.
"Why not?"
France insisted, seeing that several angels of the non-exploded sort had incredibly short togas that were unnecessarily attractive.
"Because I don't like you!" the blurred form said snarkily in a somewhat cockney accent.
"Hey. Britannia angel!"
A large and very cheerful demon that may have also been Russia whooshed over cooly, which he could do since Russia is very cool.
"Bollocks."
Remarked the blurred form that now was unblurring, and also looked suspiciously like Britain with wings, a halo, and a very short toga.
"Britannia angel, couldn't you give him to me?"
The possibly-not-a-demon-but-only-Russia requested winteryly, which is naturally the opposite of requesting something summerly-ly.
The almost, but not-quite-flasher Britannia angel scowled much in the way a clown that had choked on an eggshell only to cough it out and discover it was actually fingernails would not do.
The démon that was also Russia helpfully offered Britannia angel some much needed vodka while he deliberating, promoting the benefits of hell as he did so..
"It's a free one trip to the deepest darkest corners of hell, where you can experience fun things like:
*All of your nightmares constantly playing out in front of your eyes over and over until you go crazy!
*being simultaneously the coldest you've ever been, but also the hottest you,'ve ever been, and also your socks are damp on the inside
*slowly descending to an inescapable madness!
And many more!
Free trial for eternity if you sign up today!
*triptopurgatorynotincluded, allfeedbacksubmittedwillbeleftunreadandrunthroughthepapershredder, eternaltormentisnon-refundable
Britannia Angel considered Russa-demon's offer carefully, then smiled at him in the way one might smile at someone they Shared a good joke with, then kneed him in gratefully in the balls and requested a friends and family discount.
Russia, no longer capable of making a family, chose to express his gratitude to his dear kind friend by allowing England a free version of hell. He turned to France, who had pulled Fake bad teeth and a monacle out of somewhere beyond the fourth wall and was lonnytooning his way into convincing an angel he was Britain, not France and it was a mistake so he should go back to earth:
("You Can't!
"I can!"
"You can't!"
"I can!"
"You can't!"
" I can't!"
"YOU CAN-wait what?).
" Get lost! "
Russia demanded, using his metal pipe like a golf club, and France's soul like a gold ball, and Britannia Angle as his unwilling caddy. Frances souls flew back into his soul exactly as fast as snails aren't, and France sat up with a cry that scared Canada into attacking the now-sentient possibly-delicious, only probably- poisonous, Somewhat volcano-ish baking soda blob-monster that America had made with his trusty hockey stick.
The hockey stick was promptly eaten and Canada turned into male syrup and slooooowly ran away.
"France! I'm so happy to see you're alive!" " said England unhappily, making a very unhappy expression.
England mournfully looked at the unfilled coffin with disappointment. France dreamily cried tears into his thigh high socks he was wearing underneath his hoodie-dress. England sneakily detached the chandalier very loudly, clattering it all around, and kindly gave it to France as a hat by smashing it on his head. France chose to skilfully escape by immediatey passing out in a pool of blood.
America funkily reappeared with and old and sad mop with a rope end that looked like how unwashed hair starts to look after several weeks, and also the way that black might lookbif it was mixed with white and several shades lighter.
" I brought a mop-thing dude!"
America shouted loudly without the need for a megaphone, because he had swallowed one when he was quite young and it was still in his throat.
England stopped trying to hide the body and Canada reshaped himself into a somewhat human resembllence of a maplesyrup monster, and America's possibly-delicious, only probably- poisonous, Somewhat volcano-ish baking soda blob-monster-gone-rabid exploded and erased the content of Australia for some reason, even though they were in England.
No one clapped since this was not good.
Thankfully Australia did not disappear, because "continent" was mispelled as "content" so instead Australia just became very unhappy and traveled to England to wombat America, England, syrup Canada, and Dead France on the head. Then they all lived happily after, except France who's corpse was recovered by a suspiciously-similar-to-Russia demon and The probably-not-Russia démon who was offered some of the definitely-not delicious, 100% poisonous, partly volcano-ish, mostly baking soda-blob monster thing that America made, and promptly disappeared.
Britannia angel smiled very, very hard at that, though not as hard as defeating the blob monster would be after it ate America.
The end.
Don't drink and write kids, do something saner like drive.