"Spank America Decent" WITH A HIGHER WORDCOUNT.
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Like a director's cut. Of nations gone wild. Perhaps someday there will be an NC-17 rated version. Someday~
Title: "Spank America Decent: Remix"
Author: pyrrhiccomedy, djsoliloquy, and wizzard890
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Poland/Lithuania/Lassos, England/France/Blackmail, and Russia/America/Crippling Humiliation
Rating: PG-13. For glitter. And insinuations. And Poland. And England's dexterity. Also, boas. Feather ones.
Summary: In 2005, a nightclub in Moscow hosted an event entitled "Spank America Decent." It was exactly what it sounds like. These are...the mornings after.
And I Care...Why? You guys. You guys. If you can read that summary and not wish that you had been there, well. I weep for you. And, like. It's Pyrrhic and djsoliloquy. Come on. That's a money-back quality guarantee.
+++
"What."
"Why, good morning."
"Oh. It's you."
"How are you feeling, Angleterre? I know when we poured you into bed last night--"
"Nghh, lower your bloody voice…"
"--You were in rather a sorry state…"
"Is it still fucking morning? --What in God's name do you want?"
"Barely morning, duckling, but do listen--I called to ask about the state of your Treasury."
"Sodding empty, like everyone else's, what are you on about?"
"Your credit rating, then, perhaps? Any friendly foreign lenders you may know of?"
"…What are you on about, France?"
"I think you may discover the need for an--unanticipated expenditure over the course of this conversation, and--"
"Oh, fucking hell…Where were we last night?"
"In Moscow, mon petit, don't you remember?"
"I…remember getting a phone call, from Poland, about some...sort of event Russia had going on…"
"Mm-hmm…"
"And…you came to pick me up, and we met with…Poland and Lithuania at the club…"
"Mm-hmmmm…"
"…Oh, God."
"Yes."
"How much do you want for them?"
"Want for what, Angleterre?"
"The--photos, or whatever it is you've got. Just give them to me. Give them to me, and I'll pay whatever you like, and then we need never speak of this again."
"Never speak of--? Oh, you mean this…fourteen second video clip of you shoving what looks to be a…note of rather large denomination into a stripper's thong--"
"Yes that, that is what we need never speak--"
"--A thong which says…one moment, I need to restart the video, all the smoke and glitter makes things hard to read, you know…Yes; a thong which says 'God Bless The US' across the front?"
"…"
"And I have another one, where is it…forward forward forward…yes, here. Of you unsticking a young lady's, ah, sheriff badge? From her star-spangled halter top with your, ah--with your teeth."
"…"
"You're more dexterous than I gave you credit for, duckling!"
"Money, frog. Let's talk money."
"You don't want to hear about the others?"
"Money."
"Because I really didn't think you would get so very into the spirit of 'Spank America De--'"
"I will twist off your head like a bunion if you don't--"
"Yes, yes…you're no fun at all unless you're drunk, do you know that? Well. Meet me in Paris at seven. We shall start with you buying me dinner, and then--if a rather large sum of money changes hands during the course of the meal, why--life is full of such surprises, don't you think so?"
"…And you'll delete your copies of these…videos and pictures and whatnot."
"I promise most faithfully, Angleterre."
"Good."
"I will keep them only for my private enjoyment."
"What--"
"Until tonight!"
*Beeeeep*
“I-yes, hello?”
“Oh my God Liet do you have any idea what time it is? I have been trying to call you for like thirty minutes and it’s just been going to your voicemail which you seriously need to change by the way ‘cause you sound like such a dweeb when you say you’ll get back to me and that’s obviously a lie because I’ve been trying to call you for thirty minutes and-Liet?”
“I, just… can we use our inside voices, Poland? My head’s a little…”
“Yeah, you are so hung-over right now, I can totally hear it through the phone. And you didn’t even have that many drinks last night and they were like, I don’t even know, these little things with umbrellas and they were all red, white, and vodka but maybe that was just the color of the glass and stuff but they were so adorable. I may or may not be drinking one right now, oh my God, can you say addictive?”
“…”
“Liet?
“Sorry, it’s just… did you need something?”
“Yeah! I mean, I don’t even know if we’ll, like, have time now because someone has to sleep in all day, but…”
“It’s eight the morning, Poland.”
“Well yeah, right? That’s what I mean. Half the day, right there. But like, I have all these pictures on my phone? And I wanted to know if you wanted any. Y’know. Copies.”
“What? What pictures?”
“Liet.”
“Yes?”
“Seriously. I’m trying to use small words, but seriously.”
“But pictures, I don’t, what did we… what did we do last night? You called me…”
“I called most of Europe and like half of Asia, but I think they thought it was a joke or something, so it was you and me and France and England, and we got in at this Spank America Decent club thing at Russia’s and you-”
“Oh God. Don’t tell me.”
“…You really let loose. You are like, a hardcore clubber, you know that? Wild. I mean, I’ve got the-”
“You’ve got the pictures. Oh God.”
“Yeah, and France has some video footage, it’s pretty sweet. I saw a bit of it where you and England were really into it, y’know? And I don’t know where you got that feather boa, but it was so cute. And I like this picture a lot, with the lasso and you're kinda under this girl's skirt? Or maybe that's my skirt, but then who's taking the picture...? Anyway, it really brings out your eyes. Which is weird, because it was mostly red-white-and-blue with a ton of gold star glitter? Maybe it was the gold, I don’t know.”
“…”
“Liet?”
“Spank America what?”
Liet, seriously, I feel like you’re not listening to a word I’m saying. And when did you learn how to use a lasso?”
“Why were-why were we at an event called that at Russia’s house?”
“Why wouldn’t we be, are you serious?”
“Stop laughing-was Russia there?”
“Duh Russia was there. In chaps. I totally… wait, let me get it… Oh, here it is, I don’t know, you climbed onstage with Russia for like ten seconds and then England was- Liet?”
“I may need aspirin. Poland, what have you done with those photos?”
“Oh don’t use that tone like I’m gonna be completely irresponsible with them! This is totally To Whom It May Concern material.”
“Just us?”
“And America. And France. There may be a newsletter. We’re playing it by ear.”
“Is this blackmail?”
“No, it’s not blackmail, Lithuania. It’s just that not everyone I want to send it to is on my phone network.”
“And?”
“And if I’m emailing then a proxy might be a good idea. ‘Cause Russia’s not going to be a super happy camper about this. And Estonia wasn’t at the club so I can’t ask him, although that would have been awesome. Estonia, like, puts us all to shame.”
“You want to use my email.”
“Not really? It’s technical. We should totally get breakfast and talk about it and you can help me pick out what picture to send to America and let me know if you want any copies of anything. It’s really hard to pick because they’re all so super awesome? I mean, America’s is gonna be one of the ones with Russia, but I’m not sure between the one with the stick pony or the one where he’s pole dancing-and that’s not a euphemism-play-on-words thing by the way-”
“Poland?”
“Liet?”
“What do I have to do in order to make sure the pictures with me never see the light of day?”
“You could, like… ask?”
“…”
“Like I’d ever give any of those ones away, seriously.”
“Poland, thank you-”
“I mean, these are priceless. When you let your hair down you really let your hair down. And you look superhot in spurs. Breakfast?”
“I-”
“Okay, see you in an hour!”
*Beeeeep*
“Mmph?”
“America.”
“Ngk.”
“This is Russia.”
“Know that.”
“...Were you asleep?”
“‘S seven in the morning.”
“So yes?”
“No shit.”
“Oh. Well. I am sorry. I had forgotten how you like to sleep in.”
“Seven isn’t sleeping in.”
“But now that you are awake, I’d like to ask you a favor.”
“No.”
“I haven’t said what it is yet.”
“Guess you were too busy waking me up.”
“I apologized.”
“Dunno if you meant it, though. I can hear you smiling.”
“I am entirely straight-faced.”
“Bull.”
“My favor, America?’
“Yeah, yeah, okay. What’s up, gorgeous?”
“I wish you would stop calling me that.”
“Is that the favor?”
“You are being deliberately dense.”
“I haven’t had any coffee yet. Gonna get Starbucks soon as we hang up.”
“Mm.”
“Anyway, I’m listening--Oh, wait, hang on, I think I just got a text.”
“What?”
“Nothing. ‘S from Poland.”
“If you open it, I will never speak to you again.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly what I said. Just...don’t open it.”
“The text?”
“Yes.”
“...Is this the favor?”
“Possibly.”
“You wanna drag me out of the dark, here?”
“There are photos. Poland has them. They are...compromising.”
“Wait, photos of what?”
“Not ‘what’.”
“Okay, of who then?”
“It is not important.”
“Yeah, right.”
“You are familiar with the nightlife in Moscow, yes?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa... These are crazy club pictures, aren’t they? Oh man.”
“I never said that.”
“Well, you don’t have to now. C’mon Russia, who’s in them? I won’t even care. It’s you, isn’t it? Oh my God, it’s totally you.”
“I told you not to open them!”
“I didn’t! I guessed.”
“Just get rid of them, all right? Without looking.”
“No way. Look, Russia, you have to think about this from my point of view. You’re telling me that I’ve got photos of you at some swanky nightclub, probably wearing body glitter, just sitting on my Blackberry, and I’m supposed to delete them?”
“Yes, exactly. Except I am not wearing glitter.”
“Heh. Sure.”
“America, please. Let me keep a shred of my dignity.”
“...”
“America?”
“...”
“America?”
“...”
“You looked, didn’t you?”
“Is...Is that a stick horse?”
“I was...holding it for someone else.”
“Uh-huh. Nice ass in those chaps, though.”
“Please shut up.”
“And...wait...What does that--damn, it’s blurry...What does the banner say? Over the stage? Spank America...”
“I am going to hang up.”
“Spank me what, Russia?”
“Goodbye.”
“Nonono, wait! It’s not--not that bad, I mean...It’s kind of flattering.”
“This is...what is that phrase...‘rubbing it in’.”
“I mean it. It’s...um. It’s nice that you’re, uh, you’re...thinking about spanking me.”
“What?”
“Thinking of me! It’s nice that you’re thinking of me.”
“I would like not to talk about this anymore.”
“Yeah, okay. I-I don’t think it’s that big a deal, honestly. Except that, um.”
“Yes?”
“You are wearing glitter.”
“No. I am not.”
“It looks like Tinkerbell sneezed on you.”
“Goodbye, America.”
“Or maybe Ziggy Stardust.”
“I am pushing the ‘end’ button.”
“Or Glinda the Good. Or a My Little--waitwaitwait hang on I love you--”
*Beeeep*
+++
You guys, if photos of this existed online, you can bet that I'd have them here in a New York minute, complete with zoom-in technology. But they were in a magazine. One that only Pyrrhic has seen. She's like Sir Galahad, if the Holy Grail had been photos of drunk Russian kids.
If you don't know what a magazine is, you are too young to be reading nationporn. It was like an Internet with twenty pages, and papercuts. And fewer gratuitous pictures of boobs.
THERE IS ART! IT ROCKS SO HARD!
+
Like a director's cut. Of nations gone wild. Perhaps someday there will be an NC-17 rated version. Someday~
Title: "Spank America Decent: Remix"
Author: pyrrhiccomedy, djsoliloquy, and wizzard890
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Poland/Lithuania/Lassos, England/France/Blackmail, and Russia/America/Crippling Humiliation
Rating: PG-13. For glitter. And insinuations. And Poland. And England's dexterity. Also, boas. Feather ones.
Summary: In 2005, a nightclub in Moscow hosted an event entitled "Spank America Decent." It was exactly what it sounds like. These are...the mornings after.
And I Care...Why? You guys. You guys. If you can read that summary and not wish that you had been there, well. I weep for you. And, like. It's Pyrrhic and djsoliloquy. Come on. That's a money-back quality guarantee.
+++
"What."
"Why, good morning."
"Oh. It's you."
"How are you feeling, Angleterre? I know when we poured you into bed last night--"
"Nghh, lower your bloody voice…"
"--You were in rather a sorry state…"
"Is it still fucking morning? --What in God's name do you want?"
"Barely morning, duckling, but do listen--I called to ask about the state of your Treasury."
"Sodding empty, like everyone else's, what are you on about?"
"Your credit rating, then, perhaps? Any friendly foreign lenders you may know of?"
"…What are you on about, France?"
"I think you may discover the need for an--unanticipated expenditure over the course of this conversation, and--"
"Oh, fucking hell…Where were we last night?"
"In Moscow, mon petit, don't you remember?"
"I…remember getting a phone call, from Poland, about some...sort of event Russia had going on…"
"Mm-hmm…"
"And…you came to pick me up, and we met with…Poland and Lithuania at the club…"
"Mm-hmmmm…"
"…Oh, God."
"Yes."
"How much do you want for them?"
"Want for what, Angleterre?"
"The--photos, or whatever it is you've got. Just give them to me. Give them to me, and I'll pay whatever you like, and then we need never speak of this again."
"Never speak of--? Oh, you mean this…fourteen second video clip of you shoving what looks to be a…note of rather large denomination into a stripper's thong--"
"Yes that, that is what we need never speak--"
"--A thong which says…one moment, I need to restart the video, all the smoke and glitter makes things hard to read, you know…Yes; a thong which says 'God Bless The US' across the front?"
"…"
"And I have another one, where is it…forward forward forward…yes, here. Of you unsticking a young lady's, ah, sheriff badge? From her star-spangled halter top with your, ah--with your teeth."
"…"
"You're more dexterous than I gave you credit for, duckling!"
"Money, frog. Let's talk money."
"You don't want to hear about the others?"
"Money."
"Because I really didn't think you would get so very into the spirit of 'Spank America De--'"
"I will twist off your head like a bunion if you don't--"
"Yes, yes…you're no fun at all unless you're drunk, do you know that? Well. Meet me in Paris at seven. We shall start with you buying me dinner, and then--if a rather large sum of money changes hands during the course of the meal, why--life is full of such surprises, don't you think so?"
"…And you'll delete your copies of these…videos and pictures and whatnot."
"I promise most faithfully, Angleterre."
"Good."
"I will keep them only for my private enjoyment."
"What--"
"Until tonight!"
*Beeeeep*
“I-yes, hello?”
“Oh my God Liet do you have any idea what time it is? I have been trying to call you for like thirty minutes and it’s just been going to your voicemail which you seriously need to change by the way ‘cause you sound like such a dweeb when you say you’ll get back to me and that’s obviously a lie because I’ve been trying to call you for thirty minutes and-Liet?”
“I, just… can we use our inside voices, Poland? My head’s a little…”
“Yeah, you are so hung-over right now, I can totally hear it through the phone. And you didn’t even have that many drinks last night and they were like, I don’t even know, these little things with umbrellas and they were all red, white, and vodka but maybe that was just the color of the glass and stuff but they were so adorable. I may or may not be drinking one right now, oh my God, can you say addictive?”
“…”
“Liet?
“Sorry, it’s just… did you need something?”
“Yeah! I mean, I don’t even know if we’ll, like, have time now because someone has to sleep in all day, but…”
“It’s eight the morning, Poland.”
“Well yeah, right? That’s what I mean. Half the day, right there. But like, I have all these pictures on my phone? And I wanted to know if you wanted any. Y’know. Copies.”
“What? What pictures?”
“Liet.”
“Yes?”
“Seriously. I’m trying to use small words, but seriously.”
“But pictures, I don’t, what did we… what did we do last night? You called me…”
“I called most of Europe and like half of Asia, but I think they thought it was a joke or something, so it was you and me and France and England, and we got in at this Spank America Decent club thing at Russia’s and you-”
“Oh God. Don’t tell me.”
“…You really let loose. You are like, a hardcore clubber, you know that? Wild. I mean, I’ve got the-”
“You’ve got the pictures. Oh God.”
“Yeah, and France has some video footage, it’s pretty sweet. I saw a bit of it where you and England were really into it, y’know? And I don’t know where you got that feather boa, but it was so cute. And I like this picture a lot, with the lasso and you're kinda under this girl's skirt? Or maybe that's my skirt, but then who's taking the picture...? Anyway, it really brings out your eyes. Which is weird, because it was mostly red-white-and-blue with a ton of gold star glitter? Maybe it was the gold, I don’t know.”
“…”
“Liet?”
“Spank America what?”
Liet, seriously, I feel like you’re not listening to a word I’m saying. And when did you learn how to use a lasso?”
“Why were-why were we at an event called that at Russia’s house?”
“Why wouldn’t we be, are you serious?”
“Stop laughing-was Russia there?”
“Duh Russia was there. In chaps. I totally… wait, let me get it… Oh, here it is, I don’t know, you climbed onstage with Russia for like ten seconds and then England was- Liet?”
“I may need aspirin. Poland, what have you done with those photos?”
“Oh don’t use that tone like I’m gonna be completely irresponsible with them! This is totally To Whom It May Concern material.”
“Just us?”
“And America. And France. There may be a newsletter. We’re playing it by ear.”
“Is this blackmail?”
“No, it’s not blackmail, Lithuania. It’s just that not everyone I want to send it to is on my phone network.”
“And?”
“And if I’m emailing then a proxy might be a good idea. ‘Cause Russia’s not going to be a super happy camper about this. And Estonia wasn’t at the club so I can’t ask him, although that would have been awesome. Estonia, like, puts us all to shame.”
“You want to use my email.”
“Not really? It’s technical. We should totally get breakfast and talk about it and you can help me pick out what picture to send to America and let me know if you want any copies of anything. It’s really hard to pick because they’re all so super awesome? I mean, America’s is gonna be one of the ones with Russia, but I’m not sure between the one with the stick pony or the one where he’s pole dancing-and that’s not a euphemism-play-on-words thing by the way-”
“Poland?”
“Liet?”
“What do I have to do in order to make sure the pictures with me never see the light of day?”
“You could, like… ask?”
“…”
“Like I’d ever give any of those ones away, seriously.”
“Poland, thank you-”
“I mean, these are priceless. When you let your hair down you really let your hair down. And you look superhot in spurs. Breakfast?”
“I-”
“Okay, see you in an hour!”
*Beeeeep*
“Mmph?”
“America.”
“Ngk.”
“This is Russia.”
“Know that.”
“...Were you asleep?”
“‘S seven in the morning.”
“So yes?”
“No shit.”
“Oh. Well. I am sorry. I had forgotten how you like to sleep in.”
“Seven isn’t sleeping in.”
“But now that you are awake, I’d like to ask you a favor.”
“No.”
“I haven’t said what it is yet.”
“Guess you were too busy waking me up.”
“I apologized.”
“Dunno if you meant it, though. I can hear you smiling.”
“I am entirely straight-faced.”
“Bull.”
“My favor, America?’
“Yeah, yeah, okay. What’s up, gorgeous?”
“I wish you would stop calling me that.”
“Is that the favor?”
“You are being deliberately dense.”
“I haven’t had any coffee yet. Gonna get Starbucks soon as we hang up.”
“Mm.”
“Anyway, I’m listening--Oh, wait, hang on, I think I just got a text.”
“What?”
“Nothing. ‘S from Poland.”
“If you open it, I will never speak to you again.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly what I said. Just...don’t open it.”
“The text?”
“Yes.”
“...Is this the favor?”
“Possibly.”
“You wanna drag me out of the dark, here?”
“There are photos. Poland has them. They are...compromising.”
“Wait, photos of what?”
“Not ‘what’.”
“Okay, of who then?”
“It is not important.”
“Yeah, right.”
“You are familiar with the nightlife in Moscow, yes?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa... These are crazy club pictures, aren’t they? Oh man.”
“I never said that.”
“Well, you don’t have to now. C’mon Russia, who’s in them? I won’t even care. It’s you, isn’t it? Oh my God, it’s totally you.”
“I told you not to open them!”
“I didn’t! I guessed.”
“Just get rid of them, all right? Without looking.”
“No way. Look, Russia, you have to think about this from my point of view. You’re telling me that I’ve got photos of you at some swanky nightclub, probably wearing body glitter, just sitting on my Blackberry, and I’m supposed to delete them?”
“Yes, exactly. Except I am not wearing glitter.”
“Heh. Sure.”
“America, please. Let me keep a shred of my dignity.”
“...”
“America?”
“...”
“America?”
“...”
“You looked, didn’t you?”
“Is...Is that a stick horse?”
“I was...holding it for someone else.”
“Uh-huh. Nice ass in those chaps, though.”
“Please shut up.”
“And...wait...What does that--damn, it’s blurry...What does the banner say? Over the stage? Spank America...”
“I am going to hang up.”
“Spank me what, Russia?”
“Goodbye.”
“Nonono, wait! It’s not--not that bad, I mean...It’s kind of flattering.”
“This is...what is that phrase...‘rubbing it in’.”
“I mean it. It’s...um. It’s nice that you’re, uh, you’re...thinking about spanking me.”
“What?”
“Thinking of me! It’s nice that you’re thinking of me.”
“I would like not to talk about this anymore.”
“Yeah, okay. I-I don’t think it’s that big a deal, honestly. Except that, um.”
“Yes?”
“You are wearing glitter.”
“No. I am not.”
“It looks like Tinkerbell sneezed on you.”
“Goodbye, America.”
“Or maybe Ziggy Stardust.”
“I am pushing the ‘end’ button.”
“Or Glinda the Good. Or a My Little--waitwaitwait hang on I love you--”
*Beeeep*
+++
You guys, if photos of this existed online, you can bet that I'd have them here in a New York minute, complete with zoom-in technology. But they were in a magazine. One that only Pyrrhic has seen. She's like Sir Galahad, if the Holy Grail had been photos of drunk Russian kids.
If you don't know what a magazine is, you are too young to be reading nationporn. It was like an Internet with twenty pages, and papercuts. And fewer gratuitous pictures of boobs.
THERE IS ART! IT ROCKS SO HARD!
+