SoupNazi
Global Moderator
- Feb 6, 2010
- 27,684
- 18,656
Juan stood proudly outside a Ukrainian military recruitment office, holding his newly crafted plushie eagle, Mr. Freedom, aloft like a battle flag. The plushie had been stitched together during the train ride to Kyiv—its stuffing uneven, its stitching sloppy, and its face slightly lopsided. Yet, to Juan, it was a masterpiece of patriotism and courage.
“I’m here to do my part,” he said confidently to the skeptical soldier manning the desk. The man raised an eyebrow and looked Juan up and down.
“You?” the soldier asked, unimpressed. “You want to join the Ukrainian army?”
“Yes,” Juan replied, puffing out his chest, which only made his shirt ride up over his belly. “I may not know the language or how to use a gun, but I’ve got heart. And this!” He thrust Mr. Freedom forward.
The soldier leaned forward to examine the plushie. “What is… this?”
“This,” Juan said solemnly, “is Mr. Freedom. He represents hope, resilience, and the indomitable spirit of liberty. He will inspire the troops!”
The soldier blinked. “It’s a stuffed bird.”
“Not just any bird!” Juan shot back. “Mr. Freedom is a symbol. A talisman. A beacon of light in these dark times!”
From the corner of the room, Brenda and I watched the exchange unfold. Brenda was munching on a cold slice of lasagna she’d smuggled in her purse, while I buried my face in my hands.
“This is going to end badly,” I muttered.
“Nonsense,” Brenda said between bites. “Juan’s got charisma. And Mr. Freedom’s got star power. This could be their big break!”
Back at the desk, the soldier sighed heavily. “Do you have any military experience?”
“No,” Juan admitted. “But I was in Boy Scouts. Well, I didn’t make it past Tenderfoot, but I did sell the most popcorn in my troop one year.”
The soldier stared blankly at him.
“And,” Juan added, “I can make balloon animals. That’s gotta count for something.”
“I see,” the soldier said, deadpan. “And your plan is to… inspire the enemy with this ‘Mr. Freedom’?”
“No, no!” Juan said, shaking his head. “Mr. Freedom is strictly for our side. He boosts morale. Picture this: soldiers in the trenches, weary and downtrodden, but then—bam!—I show up with Mr. Freedom, and their spirits are lifted. Victory is assured!”
The soldier pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sir, I appreciate your… enthusiasm. But we do not need your stuffed bird. Or your balloon animals.”
“But—”
“Next!” the soldier barked, cutting him off.
Dejected, Juan shuffled back toward us, clutching Mr. Freedom like a wounded comrade. “They don’t appreciate visionaries,” he muttered.
Brenda patted him on the back. “Don’t worry, Juan. We’ll find a way to get Mr. Freedom on the front lines. Maybe we’ll start our own battalion!”
“Please, for the love of God, don’t,” I said.
But Brenda was already scheming, and Juan had perked up at the thought of leading a plushie-inspired military unit.
“I could be General Freedom!” he exclaimed, holding Mr. Freedom high.
“Let’s focus on not getting arrested again,” I said. “That should be the real mission.”
Brenda ignored me and started brainstorming slogans for their imaginary battalion. I groaned, realizing this was only the beginning of yet another bizarre adventure.
“I’m here to do my part,” he said confidently to the skeptical soldier manning the desk. The man raised an eyebrow and looked Juan up and down.
“You?” the soldier asked, unimpressed. “You want to join the Ukrainian army?”
“Yes,” Juan replied, puffing out his chest, which only made his shirt ride up over his belly. “I may not know the language or how to use a gun, but I’ve got heart. And this!” He thrust Mr. Freedom forward.
The soldier leaned forward to examine the plushie. “What is… this?”
“This,” Juan said solemnly, “is Mr. Freedom. He represents hope, resilience, and the indomitable spirit of liberty. He will inspire the troops!”
The soldier blinked. “It’s a stuffed bird.”
“Not just any bird!” Juan shot back. “Mr. Freedom is a symbol. A talisman. A beacon of light in these dark times!”
From the corner of the room, Brenda and I watched the exchange unfold. Brenda was munching on a cold slice of lasagna she’d smuggled in her purse, while I buried my face in my hands.
“This is going to end badly,” I muttered.
“Nonsense,” Brenda said between bites. “Juan’s got charisma. And Mr. Freedom’s got star power. This could be their big break!”
Back at the desk, the soldier sighed heavily. “Do you have any military experience?”
“No,” Juan admitted. “But I was in Boy Scouts. Well, I didn’t make it past Tenderfoot, but I did sell the most popcorn in my troop one year.”
The soldier stared blankly at him.
“And,” Juan added, “I can make balloon animals. That’s gotta count for something.”
“I see,” the soldier said, deadpan. “And your plan is to… inspire the enemy with this ‘Mr. Freedom’?”
“No, no!” Juan said, shaking his head. “Mr. Freedom is strictly for our side. He boosts morale. Picture this: soldiers in the trenches, weary and downtrodden, but then—bam!—I show up with Mr. Freedom, and their spirits are lifted. Victory is assured!”
The soldier pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sir, I appreciate your… enthusiasm. But we do not need your stuffed bird. Or your balloon animals.”
“But—”
“Next!” the soldier barked, cutting him off.
Dejected, Juan shuffled back toward us, clutching Mr. Freedom like a wounded comrade. “They don’t appreciate visionaries,” he muttered.
Brenda patted him on the back. “Don’t worry, Juan. We’ll find a way to get Mr. Freedom on the front lines. Maybe we’ll start our own battalion!”
“Please, for the love of God, don’t,” I said.
But Brenda was already scheming, and Juan had perked up at the thought of leading a plushie-inspired military unit.
“I could be General Freedom!” he exclaimed, holding Mr. Freedom high.
“Let’s focus on not getting arrested again,” I said. “That should be the real mission.”
Brenda ignored me and started brainstorming slogans for their imaginary battalion. I groaned, realizing this was only the beginning of yet another bizarre adventure.
time in DC !
