[APH] Insults
Title: Insults
Genre: Comedy? Is "insults" a genre?
Character(s): America, England, mentions of France
Pairings(s): None, really.
Length: 1020 words
Rating: PG/PG-13
Warnings: Excessive insulting of France? Also un-beta'ed and unedited.
Summary: America sits at a bar insulting France. England joins in.
Disclaimer/Note: Ok, so hands up. Who watches The Daily Show? *looks around* Right, so I was watching Thursday's show earlier today, and they did a segment on Nicolas Sarkozy's comments on America's health care bill. It was SUCH a USUK moment, I couldn't resist Hetalia-fying it.
There'a a stream for the video in question here, though I don't know if you can view it outside the US. All the insults here are not mine; they were pretty much lifted straight from the video, though I did leave one out. I couldn't make what what John Oliver was saying, and I have the feeling I wouldn't understand the joke even if I did a stupid American is me. If someone could tell me what was said, I'd love to add it in, as that particular section feels kind of thin without it.
*~*~*~*~*
America sat at the bar, scowling. Stupid France. He didn’t have to be so snide about his health care. He’d gotten the bill passed, didn’t he? And France had been sneaky about it too, starting off with compliments, acting like they were best friends (in typical France fashion), and then came the comment about being welcomed to the club of states that don’t leave their poor out to dry. What the hell? He was a hero; heroes never turn their backs on anyone, especially the sick and poor.
After that comment, America had stared at France with an affronted look on his face, said, “Yeah, well, welcome to the club of states where you’re allowed to wear your religious headgear in public. Oh wait, that’s right, you’re not in that club,” and stalked off. Now he was sitting at a bar, glaring at his drink as if France’s image was imprinted at the bottom of the glass.
“Stupid France.” America mumbled. “Like I’m gonna take that kinda shit from someone who’s so far up his own ass, he didn’t realize he shouldn’t be the imperial ruler of Algeria until I had a monkey orbiting the moon.”
Though France was nowhere in earshot and no one else was around to hear him, America felt a little bit better, and continued insulting France at his beer.
“I mean, that statue he gave me? It turned green, like, instantly. Didn’t anyone mention to him that I was going to keep it outside? Where else would I keep it?” Alright, he was on a roll. He was about to open his mouth for another one when a hand suddenly landed on his shoulder.
America just barely suppressed a squeak (though he did jump a bit), and whipped around to see England’s drunken grin.
“Insulting France, are we?” England sat down next to him. Actually, “drunkenly fell down onto it” might be a more accurate description.
“W-what are you doing here?” He didn’t look like a deer in headlights, he didn’t.
“I just smelled some broiled frog wafting my way and thought I’d get in on the fun.” England took a large drink from his glass and smacked his lips.
America relaxed a bit (just a bit; it was never good to let his guard down completely when England was drinking) and snorted. “Yeah, it’s just- what’s with him, I mean, his attitude-“
“Oh please. Trying living centuries just across the channel from that clamshanker.”
America blinked. “Er… I assume clamshanker is a bad thing?”
England toyed with his glass, watching the liquid sparkle. “Oh, it’s not good, I can tell you that.” He lifted the glass and took another long swallow. “Your insults were fairly weak, I must say.”
“Oh, and you can do better?” America snapped, then immediately felt stupid for doing so. England had spent centuries insulting France. Still, he didn’t think his were all that bad.
“This is how you insult France.” After another long and completely necessary preparatory drink, England thunked his glass on the table and turned to fully face America in a posture more reminiscent of a drunken Shakespearean actor than a mere drunken Nation.
“’Hey France, I’m confused again. Is it the geese you force feed while having sex with your mistresses, or is it your mistresses you force feed while having sex with your geese?’”
America could feel the alcohol tickling his brain as he both giggled and gagged at the image of France and geese and mistresses.
England, of course, wasn’t finished, though he had appeared to have stopped talking to an imaginary France. “Seriously, he got outflanked from the same direction twice in twenty-five years. Here’s a clue: THEY’RE COMING FROM BELGIUM.”
America was in stitches now, his booming laugh rising above the clamor of other customers. England was grinning maliciously and chuckling, his cheeks pink from the drinks he’d had.
“Y’know, this is nice,” he suddenly said.
“What is?”
“Drinking together, insulting France like this.” England finished his drink and signaled the bartender for more. “We should do this more often.”
America stiffened, fear quickly suppressing whatever buzz he had managed to work up. “Er, do what?”
“Go out drinking.” England said as the bartender handed him another drink.
“Oh, uh, I don’t think-“
“Think what?” England asked as he smiled expectantly (and drunkenly). America winced, because he knew that unless he was very, very careful, England would lose this unusually good mood and go back to the way he usually acted drunk with America: berating him for all his sins, the Revolution, his founding fathers…
He would really like to avoid this.
Time to pull out those super diplomatic powers of his.
“Well, I don’t really think that’s a good idea-“
“What?” England interrupted, looking incensed. Ah. It had been a fool’s hope after all. “You don’t think it’s a good idea? Really? You?”
“I wasn’t-“ America tried again, only to be cut off again.
“Of course you don’t think it’s a good. What else would I expect from you?” England’s eyebrows had knitted together in anger and his face was getting even more flushed from anger. “You’re so shallow, you steal your reality show ideas from me.”
“Hey!” America cried, deeply offended. “I do not-“
“You would eat snot if it was cooked in a burger.”
“You-!” America’s face now matched England’s, and he was glaring at him just as hard as England was glaring at him.
“You’re so stupid, you left a copper statue outside to turn green-“
“That’s it!” America stood up and lunged at England.
A few minutes later, the two of them found themselves outside, the bartender having the wherewithal to throw two brawling Nations out in the cold (no easy feat, when they’re stronger than the average citizen). America brushed himself off (or tried to, as he was still pretty drunk), declared his freedom and independence from anything European, and stumbled off, presumably back to wherever he was staying. England, after a moment’s thought, went looking for another pub. The night was still young, and there were plenty of other bars he hadn’t been banned from yet.
*~*~*~*~*
My favorite insult was the last one. :D
Also, I have no idea what a clamshanker is. Don't ask me.
If you see any typos or grammatical mistakes, please tell me!
Genre: Comedy? Is "insults" a genre?
Character(s): America, England, mentions of France
Pairings(s): None, really.
Length: 1020 words
Rating: PG/PG-13
Warnings: Excessive insulting of France? Also un-beta'ed and unedited.
Summary: America sits at a bar insulting France. England joins in.
Disclaimer/Note: Ok, so hands up. Who watches The Daily Show? *looks around* Right, so I was watching Thursday's show earlier today, and they did a segment on Nicolas Sarkozy's comments on America's health care bill. It was SUCH a USUK moment, I couldn't resist Hetalia-fying it.
There'a a stream for the video in question here, though I don't know if you can view it outside the US. All the insults here are not mine; they were pretty much lifted straight from the video, though I did leave one out. I couldn't make what what John Oliver was saying, and I have the feeling I wouldn't understand the joke even if I did a stupid American is me. If someone could tell me what was said, I'd love to add it in, as that particular section feels kind of thin without it.
*~*~*~*~*
America sat at the bar, scowling. Stupid France. He didn’t have to be so snide about his health care. He’d gotten the bill passed, didn’t he? And France had been sneaky about it too, starting off with compliments, acting like they were best friends (in typical France fashion), and then came the comment about being welcomed to the club of states that don’t leave their poor out to dry. What the hell? He was a hero; heroes never turn their backs on anyone, especially the sick and poor.
After that comment, America had stared at France with an affronted look on his face, said, “Yeah, well, welcome to the club of states where you’re allowed to wear your religious headgear in public. Oh wait, that’s right, you’re not in that club,” and stalked off. Now he was sitting at a bar, glaring at his drink as if France’s image was imprinted at the bottom of the glass.
“Stupid France.” America mumbled. “Like I’m gonna take that kinda shit from someone who’s so far up his own ass, he didn’t realize he shouldn’t be the imperial ruler of Algeria until I had a monkey orbiting the moon.”
Though France was nowhere in earshot and no one else was around to hear him, America felt a little bit better, and continued insulting France at his beer.
“I mean, that statue he gave me? It turned green, like, instantly. Didn’t anyone mention to him that I was going to keep it outside? Where else would I keep it?” Alright, he was on a roll. He was about to open his mouth for another one when a hand suddenly landed on his shoulder.
America just barely suppressed a squeak (though he did jump a bit), and whipped around to see England’s drunken grin.
“Insulting France, are we?” England sat down next to him. Actually, “drunkenly fell down onto it” might be a more accurate description.
“W-what are you doing here?” He didn’t look like a deer in headlights, he didn’t.
“I just smelled some broiled frog wafting my way and thought I’d get in on the fun.” England took a large drink from his glass and smacked his lips.
America relaxed a bit (just a bit; it was never good to let his guard down completely when England was drinking) and snorted. “Yeah, it’s just- what’s with him, I mean, his attitude-“
“Oh please. Trying living centuries just across the channel from that clamshanker.”
America blinked. “Er… I assume clamshanker is a bad thing?”
England toyed with his glass, watching the liquid sparkle. “Oh, it’s not good, I can tell you that.” He lifted the glass and took another long swallow. “Your insults were fairly weak, I must say.”
“Oh, and you can do better?” America snapped, then immediately felt stupid for doing so. England had spent centuries insulting France. Still, he didn’t think his were all that bad.
“This is how you insult France.” After another long and completely necessary preparatory drink, England thunked his glass on the table and turned to fully face America in a posture more reminiscent of a drunken Shakespearean actor than a mere drunken Nation.
“’Hey France, I’m confused again. Is it the geese you force feed while having sex with your mistresses, or is it your mistresses you force feed while having sex with your geese?’”
America could feel the alcohol tickling his brain as he both giggled and gagged at the image of France and geese and mistresses.
England, of course, wasn’t finished, though he had appeared to have stopped talking to an imaginary France. “Seriously, he got outflanked from the same direction twice in twenty-five years. Here’s a clue: THEY’RE COMING FROM BELGIUM.”
America was in stitches now, his booming laugh rising above the clamor of other customers. England was grinning maliciously and chuckling, his cheeks pink from the drinks he’d had.
“Y’know, this is nice,” he suddenly said.
“What is?”
“Drinking together, insulting France like this.” England finished his drink and signaled the bartender for more. “We should do this more often.”
America stiffened, fear quickly suppressing whatever buzz he had managed to work up. “Er, do what?”
“Go out drinking.” England said as the bartender handed him another drink.
“Oh, uh, I don’t think-“
“Think what?” England asked as he smiled expectantly (and drunkenly). America winced, because he knew that unless he was very, very careful, England would lose this unusually good mood and go back to the way he usually acted drunk with America: berating him for all his sins, the Revolution, his founding fathers…
He would really like to avoid this.
Time to pull out those super diplomatic powers of his.
“Well, I don’t really think that’s a good idea-“
“What?” England interrupted, looking incensed. Ah. It had been a fool’s hope after all. “You don’t think it’s a good idea? Really? You?”
“I wasn’t-“ America tried again, only to be cut off again.
“Of course you don’t think it’s a good. What else would I expect from you?” England’s eyebrows had knitted together in anger and his face was getting even more flushed from anger. “You’re so shallow, you steal your reality show ideas from me.”
“Hey!” America cried, deeply offended. “I do not-“
“You would eat snot if it was cooked in a burger.”
“You-!” America’s face now matched England’s, and he was glaring at him just as hard as England was glaring at him.
“You’re so stupid, you left a copper statue outside to turn green-“
“That’s it!” America stood up and lunged at England.
A few minutes later, the two of them found themselves outside, the bartender having the wherewithal to throw two brawling Nations out in the cold (no easy feat, when they’re stronger than the average citizen). America brushed himself off (or tried to, as he was still pretty drunk), declared his freedom and independence from anything European, and stumbled off, presumably back to wherever he was staying. England, after a moment’s thought, went looking for another pub. The night was still young, and there were plenty of other bars he hadn’t been banned from yet.
*~*~*~*~*
My favorite insult was the last one. :D
Also, I have no idea what a clamshanker is. Don't ask me.
If you see any typos or grammatical mistakes, please tell me!