The 1'st Annual Countries of the World Banquet and Roast 

(C) By Ian Wolff

Reservations had long since been made and the smartly attired Geneva Theatre, complete with its newly decorated and amenity rich dining hall, now sat fully prepared and with great anticipation, awaited the arrival of its highly celebrated guests. France, smartly dressed as always and smelling of far too much cologne arrived first, and quickly set-about complaining over the undercooked chicken.

    "But we haven't served anything yet," said the confused waiter.

    "Late as well!" barked France, who then rudely elbowed past the waiter and plunked down in a nearby chair.

    "I'm sorry," said the waiter. "But this seat is reserved."

    France cast an angry glare at the waiter, arose from its table and bellowed, "You bring my chicken late and undercooked, and now you have the sheer audacity to tell me where I may or may not sit?"

    "It's reserved by Germany," said the waiter.

    "I'll move," said France, who quickly dashed headlong for the other side of the banquet table.

 

    Scotland arrived next, and immediately began haggling over the menu prices.

 

    "I haven't shown you a menu yet," said the waiter.

    "Doesn't matter," said Scotland. "It's too much, whatever it is. And why does it smell like I just stuck my head in Coco Chanel's casket?"

    The waiter covertly motioned across the table towards France.

    Suddenly there erupted a loud and obnoxious cacophony from the lobby.

    "Excuse me," said the waiter. "I think America has arrived."

    The waiter quickly scurried into the lobby and confronted America, who, surrounded by numerous large accompanying big-business moons, was busily browbeating several members of the theatre's staff.

    "What seems to be the problem?" asked the waiter.

    "Doesn't anybody here speak English?" belched the large unruly beast.

    "This is Switzerland," said the waiter.

    America turned and confronted the largest of its big-business moons.

    "What does that mean?" it whispered.

    "It think it means they speak Swiss," replied the Coca Cola moon.

    "Is that legal?" asked a puzzled America.

    "I'm afraid so," replied its AT&T moon.

    America turned and confronted the waiter.

    "Yodel for me then," it demanded.

    "Excuse me?" said the waiter, somewhat confused.

    "You know," said America. "Ricoooolaaaaa!"

    "Excuse me?" repeated the waiter.

    "Please?" America persisted. "Otherwise we're leaving right now."

    The waiter took a deep breath and emitted a halfhearted yodel, which resulted in uncontrollable giggling from America and its entire entourage. The waiter then showed the group to its assigned places at the banquet table, entered the kitchen and promptly topped-off America's carafe of Chardonnay by urinating in it.

    "Good evening," said Scotland, extending its hand to America.

    "Good evening," replied America, taking Scotland's hand and shaking it vigorously. "I believe you know my friends?"

    "Standard Oil," said one of America's moons, while extending its hand and accidentally knocking over a large decanter full of salad oil in the process, which then spilled willy-nilly into Scotland's unsuspecting lap.

    "Ye clumsy bastard!" yelped Scotland, as it leapt to its feet.

    "I'm terribly sorry," said Standard Oil. "But don't worry, I'll pay for the clean-up. Waiter!"

    The waiter rushed from the kitchen.

    "Bring us two-ounces of Club Soda and a paper napkin," ordered Standard oil. "And put it all on my tab."

    "What's that smell?" asked America.

    "Must be France," quipped AT&T.

    "That's a stereotype," admonished America. "And you know how I hate stereotypes."

    "Sorry," said a sullen AT&T.

    The theatre's PA-system suddenly burst to life, "There is no cause for alarm," said the voice. "But we've just arrested someone who was attempting to gain illegal entrance by climbing over the back security gate."

    "Must be Mexico," quipped America.

    A janitor suddenly burst from the nearby men's room and shouted, "Does anyone here speak Russian?"

    "I do," announced recent arrival, Afghanistan, who then followed the beleaguered janitor into the men's room.

    "They're all mine!" hissed Russia, as the two approached cautiously.

    "It's alright," whispered Afghanistan, in badly broken Russian. "We don't want to take them away. You can keep all of them. Come now," continued Afghanistan, taking Russia by the arm. "Come and join the others."

    "They're soft," cooed Russia, as it exited the men's room, carrying twenty-seven rolls of toilet paper.

    Ireland and England arrived next, and stood side by side in the lobby, waiting to be seated.

    "Nice weather," said England.

    "Lovely," replied Ireland. "Watch my bags?"

    "Pardon?" said England.
    "I'm off to the john," said Ireland. "Could you please watch my bags for me?"

    "Certainly," chirped England.

    Several minutes passed before Ireland finally returned, only to find a pale and perspiration-laden England.

    "To be honest with you," said England, as it wiped the sweat from its brow. "I was afraid they'd explode."

    "That's funny," replied Ireland. "Because to be honest with you, I was afraid you'd steal them."

    The arrivals soon escalated in frequency until the entire banquet hall was ultimately filled to capacity, and every country in the world, now seated and accounted for, was adequately represented.

    "Is everyone happy with their seating arrangements?" asked the head -waiter.

    "Stop touching me!" shrieked Kuwait.

    "I wasn't!" lied Iraq.

    "Come and sit next to me," said America, a request to which Kuwait happily complied.

    "Can I please move?" asked Israel, while motioning with its eyes towards France.

    "Come sit next to me," said Germany, a request to which Israel summarily ignored.

    "And fluffy too!" came the shout from the far end of the table, causing all to gawk confusedly at Russia, who was busily erecting a small toilet-paper replica of the Kremlin around it's place-setting.

    Dinner went off without a hitch, with the exception of Poland's complaint over Germany and Russia having split its sausages down the middle, without offering the slightest compensation in return. There was also a slight incident concerning Czechoslovakia, which was quickly mediated by England and France, ultimately resulting in the Czechs' entire meal, including dessert, being turned over to Germany and Italy. Other than that, and a curious complaint by America about salty tasting Chardonnay, the meal was a complete success, and all attention was now turned towards the roasting part of the evening's proceedings.

    The stage roared to life with a brilliance of incandescent white lights, and Cuba, the evening's master of ceremonies, erupted with a flourish from behind the curtains and stepped to the microphone.

    "Before we begin," it said. "I would like to make a speech."

    "Oh God, no!" shrieked several South American nations in unison.

    "Just a short one?" begged Cuba, whose request was quickly met by a toilet paper roll to the left temple.

    "Get on wit it, mon!" yelled Haiti, while busily shoving several large pins into a heavily bearded doll.

    "Okay, okay," said Cuba, while clutching at the sudden stabbing pain in its spleen. "Not even with background music by Gloria Estefan?"

    "No!" screamed the crowd.

    "Fine," relented Cuba, who then reached into the nearby hat that sat perched upon the stage's stool. "Our first speaker is," it continued, while unraveling the slip of paper. "Australia!"

    Australia, accompanied by a smattering of applause, rushed to the stage, took Cuba's hand and said, "G'day ye wanker. Love your Sheila's, damnably lovely shags."

    Cuba looked towards its translator, who simply shrugged in dismay.


    Australia then reached into the hat, pulled out a slip of paper and read aloud the name of the evening's victim.

    "It's Canada!" came the cry, causing the entire hall to fall silent.

    "Merde," whispered France, as it crumpled and tossed the reams of paper containing its Germany jokes to the floor.

    "Canada?" said England. "I was rather hoping for Ireland."

    "Canada?" pined Canada. "I was rather hoping for America."

    "Canada?" winced America. "I was rather ho- where is that?"

    The evening thus ended on a somber note, as all the countries of the world silently went about the business of returning home. No one, as it turns out, had adequately prepared for the roasting of Canada. Not even Canada, who aside from one lukewarm moose-droppings joke, had otherwise totally disregarded the eventuality.

 

    All was not a total loss, however, as Ireland and England shared a cab ride to the airport, and bid each other a fond farewell on good terms.

    "The world is a very funny place," said England to the cabbie, as the vehicle headed towards the terminal where England's British Airways jet stood at the ready. "Just when you think you can't trust your fellow man, they up and prove otherwise."

    "No truer words have ever been spoken," replied the cabbie, as he brought the vehicle to a dead stop, exited, and walked briskly away.

    England lit a cigarette and watched somewhat confusedly as the cab driver ensconced himself behind a nearby building. The subsequent horrible revelation hit England; unfortunately one entire split-second too late, that Ireland, upon exiting the vehicle, had never actually removed its luggage from the cab's trunk.