Lay Low, Those Without Accents.

So we had to write a satire in English over the weekend. If you don't know, a satire is a story that makes fun of human weaknesses, such as greed, celebrities, the war, ect. I decided to combine a bunch and this was the outcome. Justin thinks I should take this story to Bush (along with someone who can read it to him) so he can see what is to come of the world.

Jonathon was tired. He’d been running for days now. He’d tried to stick to wooded areas, but there was so little of it left that he often found himself exposed. Exposed to what? Any number of things. The coldness. Celebrities behind the wheel of a car. A really fat guy, capable of eating John, if he could catch him. Someone spotting him, an American, and deporting him. From America. Oh, how the world had taken a turn for the worst in the last ten years. He thought back. Back to a time where everything was how it should be. Where Global Warming was only a myth. Where only 60% of Americans were obese. Where only a couple celebrities were getting DUI’s a month.

As the rest of the world watched, America had slowly gone down hill. Due to MTV, MTV 2, MTV 3, MTV 4, VH1, and multiple reality shows, Television began pumping more and more celebrities out, who all took part in a new “fad” of getting drunk and driving. At the same time as this was happening, Al Gore was growing in popularity. His views on Global Warming spread. Due to the success of his film, “An Inconvenient Truth,” he made a sequel, “A Fairly Convenient Lie.” This new film, being a lie, was viewed by more triple the people who saw the first. What happened next was truly unbelievable. Due to the rising obesity in America, food companies started building huge factories EVERYWHERE. These factories pumped out so much pollution, Global Warming got a jump-start. Slowly but surely, a new ice age ensued. Surprised by the fact that Global Warming was real, Al Gore, riding on his wave of popularity and truth, ran for President and won, with Arnold Schwarzenegger as Vice President. Apparently, “I Told You Guys So!” is a great campaign slogan, especially when said in an Austrian accent. During all of this, the attention of illegal immigration was somewhat deterred. The entire Mexican nation saw this as a great opportunity, and made a giant migration into America. Slowly, due to the lack of jobs, Americans slipped into poverty and died. They died of the cold, they died by being hit by a drunk Paris Hilton wannabe, they died of starvation, they even died by being eaten by other starving obese people. Slowly but surely, Americans became the minority. Those that were left headed for the only place suitable to live in. The only place that was use to the harsh, cold weather. The only place polite enough to accept them. The only place where celebrities fled from, instead of to. Americans fled to Canada.

That’s where Jonathon was headed. He dreamed about it at night. He’d even started saying “eh” while talking to other refugees he met up with, as to fit in better upon his arrival. He went from camp to camp, a sort of secret Underground Railroad. Hispanics who were legit US citizens held them in their basements overnight. It was nice in there. They had TVs, with old DVDs of Lost and Family Guy. All that was on TV nowadays was rap music videos, news, and Spanish game shows. He rarely slept peacefully, though. Most nights were spent in an old abandoned Weight Watchers building, or something of the sort. Now the sun was rising-day time. That was always a challenge.

He was coming to the end of the forest he was in. The sound of a highway had steadily grown for the past few miles. Now he was upon it, crouching behind a bush, waiting to cross. About fifteen minutes later, he got a break. He bolted for the other side. He’d just made it halfway across when he heard the horn. He glanced left right before a drunken Dakota Fanning hit him with her new BMW. Luckily, she was driving in a school zone and wasn’t TOO wasted, so she was only going around 50 MPH. He awoke some time later.

The smell of smoke is what woke him. He sat up, rubbing his head. As his thoughts cleared, he became aware of the immense pain in his leg. It was surely broken. But another thought was controlling him right now. Where was he??? It was very dark, but he knew he was no longer on the road. He looked around, and noticed a campfire in the distance. He assumed-or rather hoped-it was a refugee camp who had picked him up. Suddenly, he was aware of movement coming his way. It was coming fast and hard. Just as it cleared a bush not ten feet from John, it was shot. He tried to look at what it was in the dim moonlight, and figured it to be a polar bear. They’d become common in these parts, crossing over ice bridges and traveling south for better hunting.

Then John realized what’d just happened. The Polar bear had been shot. Shot. Guns had died out, as they’d become too unreliable. These days, people just used dart guns, which injected a virus into their target, killing it instantly. But the polar bear had been killed by a gun. He’d heard it. He could smell the smoke. He looked behind him, and a man stood, leaning against a tree. “Hey kid. Awake, I see. How’s that leg feel?” Ignoring the question, John started to interrogate the man. “Who are you? Where’d you come from? Why’d you save me? Where did you get a gun??”

“What, this old thing?” The man held the gun out. It was a revolver. A classic. As he stepped into the moonlight, John examined him. He had grey hair, and hadn’t shaved in a few days. He was wearing blue jeans and a white shirt. And he was smoking a cigar. He was an old-timer.

The man continued. “Well, I was just passing by, and saw you get hit by that over-paid drunk, so I pulled you off the street and looked after you while you were out. Now that you’re up, I figure I’ll be on my way. I’m heading north to Canada, but I guess you are too, huh?” Jonathon slowly nodded. “Well, I reckon you can tag along if you like. I wouldn’t mind having someone to talk to about the way things used to be. About how they should be.” John thought about this a moment, and finally agreed. “So what’s your name, old man?”

“Ah, back in the day, they used to call me Mr. Clinton. But you can call me Bill.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m John.”

It looked like John had found himself a traveling partner. And he seemed to be one who knew what he was doing.