He started it. He hit first.
Grandad launched an ICBM against some spammers in Chicago.
I called my good friend, Senator Mitch McConnell, and he agreed that a suitable countermeasure would be to divert the missile aimed shoot down the steampunk satellite (suitably old but mysteriously advanced), and instead blow up one of the bogs that Grandad is always sending American tourists to when they ask directions to the village.
It was done. Legislation will be enacted sometime to authorize the strike.
The missile was diverted alright, Grandad reported it struck Bristol. I was totally demoralized. I thought it hit Bristol, CT, where they have the best NASCAR race of the season.
No, it hit Bristol England. Everything on that continent is so close together, that satisfied Mitch and I as “close enough”, so we both slept well (but not together.)
It was done. We won. Grandad eliminated some spammers, we eliminated a “futbol” field.
But not content to protect the French language with the French Language Police (yes they do exist). They are now going ballistic about an Irish Pub that is not “French” enough. [full article here].
Grandad goaded him saying he had bombed the U.S. the chancellor said:
Because of that I had to move fast and declare war on Quebec. I haven’t officially done it yet. But I am getting there.
He says he has tractors from Grandad for his war. I’ve read enough from Grandad to know he’s sending tour buses that he has riddled with bullets.
What ever happened to Vermont seceding from the U.S.?
Here is my proposed solution:
We trade Vermont and Massachusetts Senator Ted Kennedy for Quebec and four “tractors” from Canuckastan. Then we will trade Quebec to Ireland in exchange for Grandad calling a cease fire on tourists buses and agree to run a tourist information booth in town.
Or we get Canuckastan to invade Vermont while speaking French. While they are busy trying to understand how to surrender to each other, life goes on.