Chapter Text
“Ah yes, another military victory for mat pppppp!” Perry shouted as he removed his hands from the foosball table. His loudass voice reverberated throughout the log cabin, causing a few of his treasured pictures (like the time he tried to lubricate his penis by rubbing a beehive of honey all over it) to fall to the well crafted, wooden floor. Raising two muscular fists in victory above his sweaty jet-black hair-covered head, his well-defined facial features blushed from exhaustion. Although the cozy fireplace created a warm atmosphere, there can be no doubt the game of foosball caused his sweat from high exertion. Getting tired from playing kiddy games was a common affliction among Americans, and Commodore Matthew Perry was one of the most American people you will ever meet. He was also a high-ranking army officer so that I have more exposition to write. As Matt added another point to his score list made of 100269 meiji chocolate wrappers, the opponent Lord Elgin sap (sipped? sapped? succ?) his Earl Grey tea from his flowery porcelain cup yelling, “Bloody hell Matthew why the fuck are you so good at this?” Elgin, on the other hand, was a significant British supporting character person who held a high rank in society, but a low score in this foosball game. “Enuf questions! Remember the unequal bet we made, bitch?” Matt bragged. The bitch British man got up as he sadly poured his tea in the harbour and agreed to fulfil his wager with the Commodore.
As Matthew slowly shut the door behind him, he took a step towards the oak bed. He unfastened his shirt button by button, while staring at the horny Lord Elgin in the bed. He took another step. Throwing his shirt onto the mahogany office chair, he shot Elgin a sexy look of satisfaction while simultaneously licking his lips. Dry lips aren’t very good for smooching, after all. He seemed to be approaching the bed. Removing the Calvin Klein belt holding his trousers up, he grasped one end of the belt tightly and forcefully swung it up and down, taking no notice of the plush eagle and American mug that had just been knocked off the lone shelf in the room, preparing Elgy for the kinky whippings to come. The Commodore’s large dong stood erected, though not the most impressive Elgy has seen. “I’ve seen larger nuts in Asia,” he thought, wondering when he could leave the room and resume trading British peanuts. Finally, he sassily boarded the bed with his shoes on (American savages), with his wistful eyes gazing longingly into the British man’s eyes. Finally, he spoke, “You know, Americans haven’t been this close to the British since the Declaration of Independence.” Elgin, on the other hand, would have responded with a snide remark had he not been restrained to the bed with reflective silver duct tape. Under normal circumstances, Matthew Perry would have been thrown in jail for rape of Lord Elgin, but was not because Elgin agreed to all the terms of this wager (or at least his lawyer did). As he shuddered and struggled, Lord Elgin wondered how he turned from a respectable British lord to a humping post.
During this horrific scene, blotches of white liquid splashed all over the terror-stricken Brit as he suddenly felt a hard piece of wood being stuck in his ear. Two hours into this ruthlessly gay shit (Matthew didn’t really enjoy gay sex, but was obliged to due to the legally-binding contract which required 2 hours and 10 minutes of gay sex to be fulfilled), the cum seeped all over Elgin’s already white body, and into the gaps of the duct tape. The piece of tape eventually slipped off as Elgin spit on the floor, wanting forget the salty taste of semen. With his mouth free to yap, Elgy suddenly remarked, “You know what, America? Your country sucks.” Matty P, in defence of the best damned country in the whole freaking wide world, almost grabbed his gun, which is not banned by the state laws, while the British man said “I’m just saying you have yet to colonise many people. We just took the Singaporeans in 1819, and they are so happy they are unlikely to ever leave us lol.” Matt’s face turned as red as bacon as he stared at the calendar. The current year, 1852, was a long time after 1819, yet the only thing nationwide accomplishment of America was getting rid of Native Americans (but that was a bit racist)(I’m serious they really did that). America looked to be doomed in terms of changing the world.
A day later, something that would change the entire world happened. On that day, Matt was yet again at the log cabin doing his favourite recreational activities, although without Elgy, who was seeking therapy for last night’s shit. As daylight penetrated the windows, one could clearly tell, Matt was desperate for something to do. A foosball table lay broken and on its side, probably from a flip out of frustration (“I know! I’ll play single-player foosball!” “Fucking red team is not moving their knobs! I’m pretty sure I turned on the AI!”), half-eaten marshmallows lay on top of the stove (“Chubby Bunny isn’t fun! *spits), and finally, an idiot thrashed about the lodge, waving his black glove-wearing hands around while bumping into various pieces of furniture. That idiot is Commodore Matthew Calbraith Perry trying out his new VR goggles, playing the game, Safari Simulator: Panda Pandemonium. “Damn it all to hell! Can you fucking pandas just mate for once? No, don’t fall from the tree! You bloody bastard! My panda population just decreased by one because of you! Fine, I’ll do it myself!” Matt fumed as he violently pressed two invisible objects together with his hands, forcing his virtual pandas to mate. The entire town of old grandmas should be banging down his doors for the excessive cussing and loud noises, except that none of them were in their houses, but instead at a luxurious shopping trip to Target. Ideal for sending a secret message, a messenger keenly observed as he hovered above Perry’s village. Identifying the target, the blue uniform-wearing postman swooped down on his giant, mutated bald eagle to send a message of freedom. The bird’s feathers stuck up as it cawed majestically, with its green eyes focusing on its target too.
“Hoo boy, now this is more fun than panda sex,” Matt thought as he jumped to avoid a rock on the road, dashing on the spot to continue his progress in his other game “Rainforest Run”, an adventure game for rich people to explore the jungle but not really. Raising his right and left arms one by one to swing from the vines, Matt panted as he continued to dash towards the next obstacle, which was a sand storm. Running into the storm, he spat sand from his mouth, excitedly thinking, “This game is so realistic! I can’t believe that was not sand!”. However, all good things must come to an end; Matt’s fun came to an end when he heard someone knocking on the door. Throwing his goggles onto the sofa, he quickly put on his pants (Whaat? Taking off your pants to run faster is good advice.), and opened the entrance. On the doormat stood a handsome young man no taller than he was, with his brown hair contained within a cap and his teeth contained in a nervous smile. “Sorry about the sand in your house. Bald eagles don’t land smoothly,” the young man apologised. Finally realising what the sand-like substance from the game in his mouth was, Matt spat again. The awkward young man pulled a concerned look as he continued, “Sir? Are you alright?” With a sickening cough, Matt nodded. “Alright sir, I am an USPS agent and I have come to bring you to President Fillmore.” Without a moment to consider, the messenger boy yanked him onto the majestic eagle and pushed off.
Cold wind brushed forcefully against his face. The feeling was normally familiar to the usually sea-faring Commodore, but was now a new experience considering the fact he was travelling at 700mph in the air. Matt was simply dumbstruck by the fact he was soaring high above the land, and barrelling to dodge the clouds. He laughed with excitement as the eagle did a loop, feeling like the most carefree man in the world. He was so carefree he forgot that he left the stove on at home. The USPS boy, the pilot guiding this beautiful beast, yelled to Matt over the loud wind, “We are going to land! Make sure that you are tightly fastened to the seat and that your tray tables are stowed!”
“What tray table?” asked the confused Commodore.
“Just kidding! I don’t stow my tray tables either. I had to ride this bald eagle ever since I got dragged off the plane for not stowing it!”
“What plane?”
“All of them!”
Just as Matt was about to open his mouth in response, the eagle-flyers experienced a mild turbulence. Oh wait, that was just the USPS boy jacking off. Finally, as they exited the cloudy sky, Matt was amazed by the grand sight which befell his eyes. They were flying along a stream of clear, shimmering water in the middle of a busy street of Washington. Amagnificent bronze statue of George Washington stood in the middle of the pool, with fountain jets splashed around him. As his gaze fell upon a couple of Youngsters pissing in the water, Matt forced himself to look elsewhere, which led to him admiring the tall buildings surrounding them. From old ladies happily walking out of Target (Ah, there they are), to a multi-coloured tank top wearing-exercise club jogging to the grass patch, to a loving couple rolling a baby pram across the sidewalk, the vibrant city and its marvellous sights sparkled in Matt’s eyes.
Setting the bird down next to a tree, the USPS boy patted its head and fed it a bucket of “freedom” as a reward, he beckoned the still-in-awe Commodore to follow him into the White House. Inside the White House, Matt saw [REDACTED][READER IS NOT ALLOWED TO VIEW DESCRIPTION OF THE CONFIDENTIAL WHITE HOUSE THAT THE WRITER WAS TOTALLY NOT TOO LAZY TO WRITE]. Remembering the spectacular sights of the newly-renovated White House, he could not believe how unforgettable the wondrous place was. Finally, he followed the USPS boy into a dark room, so dark that Matt could not see anything (allowing me to not describe the room). Finally, a yellow lamp clicked on. Matt was slightly startled by the sudden appearance of the cheeky President Fillmore, who was wearing a brown coat on his white shirt and red bowtie. “Good to see you again, Matthew. Hope you weren’t reading those scary stories to bed like last time. Speaking of which, the entire room is in the dark because last time, you yeeted a piece of garlic at the ceiling light because “you saw a ghost”,” the president chuckled. Matt’s life was pretty boring when he first read scary stories to bed, but now life is never a dull moment when a killer clown could pop up your bathroom drain at any given moment. “Anyway, I told Tom here,” Fillmore continued as he gestured towards the USPS boy, whose name was apparently Tom. “to bring you to the White House to hear about a secret mission. But first, I presume you know Commodore John Aulick?”
“Yes, of course,” Matt replied, wiping sweat off his brows as he remembered that he owed John $20.
“And you know what he was doing while you were goofing off on vacation?”
Matt shook his head, vaguely remembering the last time he saw Aulick, which is when John said, “C u soon, Per Per. IM guing offfff 2 Jiapun.” Turns out drinking mixing alcohol and some kid’s bubble gum makes your memory shoddy.
“Well, Matthew, he may have told you he was heading to Japan to negotiate the opening of the country. After I searched him up on Wikipedia, I discovered he has been in conflict with some Brazilians, and was involved in a Martian car salesman scandal. And because of how reliable Wikipedia is, I fired him on both accounts. Which is where you come in.”
Matt pried his eyes from his iPhone -2s, wanting to end the conversation quickly so he could continue playing Fruit Ninja.
“Yes, you see, what I need you to do is OH GOD MATTHEW CALBRAITH PERRY WHEN I SAID COME IN I DIDN’T MEAN FUCKING MY MAHOGANY TABLE!”
Retracting his dick from the cup holder and stuffing it back in his pants, Matt stood there in front of the table and began whistling "Wrecking Ball" as if nothing had happened. Clearing his throat, Fillmore continued, “Yes, hem, anyway, I need to inform you of your mission. Japan has been closed since the 17th century, which positions it as possible free real estate for us. So we need you to open it up."
Hearing about this task, Matt whined, “But president Fillmore, I was going with the Mediterranean Squadron to kill some people!”
“You can waste time with your friends when your chores are done. Good luck, and happy hunting! On a side note, no killing anybody!” Of course, by the time Fillmore had finished his warning Perry had already walked out.
*insert epic Matt researching about Japan montage
To be continued...