Germany just kept working and working, the poor guy. Still, Italy needed a job and France needed to taste his own yucky medicine.
“Italy, get that one over there!” I barked. He brought down his hammer on another cuckoo clock in the corner.
“Isn’t this wrong?” he asked in a pout, “Mister Germany takes such good care of me and we’re destroying everything he worked so hard to make!”
“Relax!” I replied in a sing-song voice. “This is payback on France for beating us down! Germany would be proud of us!” Just then there were heavy foot steps fast approaching down the hallway and I ditched out the window. “Sorry, Italy! You’re on your own!”
The last thing I heard was Italy’s girly, virgin cries of pain and agony.
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