As the sun rose on Russia one fine morning, as the Russian dictator sat in his expansive, plush closet, pondering his vast empire, he thought back to the days of old when the sun never set on the British empire. He knew this was a difficult achievement… or was it? He considered the Atlantic islands, and the ownership of each. Surely there would be various insignificant rocks that nobody cared to claim. He ordered a council of the people who do the boat thing. Those people did their boat thing and went out to the middle of the Atlantic. According to their calculations, this exact tiny, unimportant rock should be perfect to claim for the Russian empire. They planted a flag, which was so incredibly massive, they thought nobody could surely miss it. They were wrong. They underestimated the Americans. 2 Americans in particular, and their French-Canadian companion. Fishermen by trade, they were men out fishing for trade. And they weren’t paying attention. To quote the brave, resolute, gallant, valorous, strong, meek, forgiving, cunning, gracious, wise, capable, clever, captain: “Whoops”. To quote the equally adjectivally incredible first mate: “Guess we must’ve hit a rock”. I’d quote the French-Canadian, but he was incredibly hard at work studying the inside of his eyelids. For science. Americans they were, and didn’t notice the pieces of red, white, and blue cloth trailing behind their boat. They should have secured their flag better. But now it was swimming with the fishes, and also with the Russian flag now, due to their recent collision. While the Russians went to bed, as they always did, the select few who knew their incredible achievement were proud knowing that the sun would never set on their empire. 30 minutes later, it did.
