Friday, October 26, 2007

Ukrainian Politics: Part 2

Continued from Part 1...

The protesters stared at me. They could obviously tell my nationality, even before I called them loony foreigners and advised them not to mess with Texas (though they probably didn't understand a word). They could smell America on me, the unwavering patriotism pumping through my veins, the dripping sweat from a hard day's work in a commercialized dead-end job. Like primal beasts, they could smell the ferocious, yet righteous, dominance of the greatest country in the world!

"You smell like burnt cheese," one of the protesters shouted out with a heavy accent.

I sniffed myself and said, "That's no reason to protest!"

Another guy spoke up, "Ignore him. That's the only English he knows. We are protesting the globalization of American junk food franchises."

"Hey, you're kind of smart," I said. "How'd you learn those big words here in the Ukraine?"

"I studied US Politics in school."

"They have schools here?" The Haitian started coming out of the McDonald's, "Hey," I said to him, "did you know they have schools here?"

"Yes. We have them in Haiti too." He replied.

"No way! But these are third world countries!" I shot back.

"Thirdish," the Ukranian smart guy corrected. "I think you'll find that most countries you know nothing about are as civilized as yours, probably more so."

"I don't know about that. We're pretty civilized."

"Ever have a female leader?"

"Ha!" I laughed. "I said we're civilized, not brain dead."

"How's crime in your country?"

"It's doing great!" I smiled. We definitely had this snooty Ukranian beat in that area, some thanks to yours truly.

"That is a bad thing," The Haitian rained in on my parade.

"And what about health care?"

"What about it? We have it, most of the time the problem is cured or successfully ignored."

"And this is free?" he asked.

"No, but if they kill you, you can get a huge settlement!"

Suddenly, I heard a horrible sound of ripping metal. I turned to see the other protesters pushing over the giant McDonald's sign with a bulldozer.

"You!" I yelled at the smarty pants Ukranian. "Were you just distracting me this entire time so your friends could perpetrate democratic justice?"


I punched him in the face. "Hollow him out," I told The Haitian, "Give him a Big Mac obsession. We'll see how much he hates America when he's a fat food-addicted slob!" Then I turned to deal with the bigger problem. The protesters had nearly succeeded in destroying an icon of America's dominance: the McDonald's golden arches.

"Stop!" I yelled at them. Unfortunately, it was too late. The signpost had snapped at the bottom and the once beautiful glow went dim. The tall trademark began to plummet toward me.




Shayla said...


Run Benn... Butler! Run!

West said...

Meh. Only robots eat that junk anyway.

And what's the deal with the Haitian? Is he, like, the Captain America of Haiti or something?