"There's a zoo near here," Joe suggested.
The headline declared in bold, black ink: President Obama
"Did anyone vote?" Mali inquired, flicking her thumb across the wheel of her device.
Silence.
"No one?"
"I was going to, but the devil tricked me into prowling across the United States with all of you," Parker snipped.
Gordon shuffled his feet awkwardly, clutching the newspaper close to his face so he could read the article through squinted eyes.
"You don't seem pleased," Joe pressed, looking up from the tattered AAA road map he had discovered in the men's room of McDonald's. It, and thus he, reeked of bleach and grease.
"I'm not un'appy."
An awkward few seconds spent, then Gordon folded the newspaper and stuffed it in his back pocket.
Like most Britons, I don't have any qualms with the man, Barack Obama. I think he'll do right by his country and I reserve my doubts the civilized world will rob Stalin's grave for ideas we already know don't work entirely well. Good show, good show.
But had I voted - and if I thought I could get away with it, believe me mates, I would have - I would have signed my name next to Sarah Louise Heath Palin.
That daffy cunt shoots wolves from helicopters. She goes to a church that still complains about homosexuals. She's keeping the fight against the Damn Reds alive half a century after these Commie pinko sympathizers conceded. God bless her, the bird's daughter is knocked up at seventeen.
That's America, you betcha.
Casey and Mali, giggling and exchanging eye rolls, locked arms and strode away from the group. Joe watched them leave before excusing himself to look for a telephone. Only Parker remained, his arms folded behind his back. He was grinning from ear to ear.
"You're an okay guy, Gordon. I never knew we were so alike." he said.
"I told Mali."
Parker screeched in rage and threw himself at Gordon.
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