Book One: Initiation
"What the hell do you want?" said the immigration officer, staring across the desk at the man before him.
"I'd just like to say that you're the first American I've ever spoken to," said the foreigner, enthusiastically shaking the officer's hand.
"Do I win any money?" asked the officer.
"Uh...no, I'm sorry."
"No money? Then why the hell should I care? And let go of my hand, you're getting your European grease all over it!
"Sorry. My name is Boris, by the way."
"Why the hell should I care what your name is? Dammit! Here's your goddamn visa. Welcome to the United States of friggin' America."
Boris felt excitement building inside him. Was it really this easy? He had taken a boat across the sea from his homeland over a year ago, then spent several months in the harbor, building up the courage to walk into the immigration office. And yet, it had only taken a few seconds to get his citezenship! Citizenship, I mean! Stupid typos.
Anyway, Boris clutched the visa to him like a precious newborn baby. This was his passport to the American Dream. Boris was ready to chase his American Dream.
Boris had grown up on a small farm in Europe, but had spent all his life dreaming of America with its factories, expensive hospitals, and most of all...its homeless people. For this was Boris's American Dream. His lifetime ambition. He longed for homelessness. He wanted to live in the street with nothing but a cardboard box, maybe even without a cardboard box if he got REALLY lucky.
As he wandered the city street, excitement built up within him, like pressure building up inside a volcano. He was here at last! After all those years of laying awake at night dreaming of the fumes of city buses, the constant noise of traffic, the blood-stained sidewalks, and all the other glories of homelessness, he was now closer than ever to living the life he had longed for since infancy.
Book Two: Adjustment
But Boris did not yet feel ready to reach for his dream. This was a strange new land to him; before reaching for his dream of homelessness, he should voyage forth into the city and get to know American culture first hand.
He knew from the internet research he had done that the capital of America was McDonald's. He also knew that the President of the United States was Superman. Perhaps he would get to meet Superman one day.
Suddenly, Boris's eyes fell on a gorgeous site: a McDonald's restaurant. It was enormous, plastic, and the sidewalk outside was riddled with dead chickens--in short, it was everything Boris had dreamed of!
He walked up to the restaurant, tentatively. Would they let a humble foreigner such as himself into the restaurant? He had never so much as tasted a big-mac. But the doors opened for him, and he entered nervously.
"Welcome to McDonald's," said a pregnant girl who was sitting behind the cash register. "May I take your order?"
"Oh my God!" screamed Boris, "Oh, the years I have dreamed of hearing that phrase! It's more beautiful than I ever could have imagined!"
"Whatever dude," said the teenage girl, stuffing a syringe into her arm, "You gonna order or aren't you? I'm getting off in five minutes, and me and my friends are gonna get together and light ourselves on fire. I don't want to miss it."
"Uh...forgive me," said Boris, "I'm a bit excited. I just arrived in America, you see... "
"WE'RE WAITING!" screamed a fat woman who was standing immediately behind Boris. Her entire body was drenched in ice cream. "I HAVEN'T GOT ALL DAY, YOU KNOW. I have my weekly liposuction procedure and I don't want to miss it."
"Sorry," said Boris. "Okay...can I have a Big Mac?"
"Okay dude," said the girl behind the counter, "Wait...I'm giving birth."
She stood up on the counter, removed her pants, expelled a baby onto the floor below, then looked at the cash register. "Where's the friggin' big-mac button?" she said, punching the cash register.
"What's wrong?" said a seventeen year old boy who stepped out from the kitchens, smoking marijuana.
"This stupid cash register," she said, throwing it across the room. It exploded spectacularly, sending money scattering across the floor where it was eagerly gathered up by several small children.
"Yeah, I hate that thing. Whoa girl, did you have your baby?"
"So...that means I could have sex with you now?"
"If you want. Here, let me get this apron off."
Boris watched as a crowd of restaurant goers gathered around to cheer as the young couple climbed onto the counter. "But what about my big-mac?" he said, a little dissapointed.
"Shut up," said a fat woman next to him, "Sex is the only thing in this world more entertaining than food."
Boris wandered out of the restaurant. His disappointment was gradually being replaced with a kind of thrill. He had been assimilated. He was American.