In my new country of Shitkanistan, everyone will drink sauerkraut juice and wear comfortable shoes. Gooseliver and onion sandwiches will be popular. Women will wear men's socks and large competent brassieres.
Shitkanistanians shall be tolerant people. If the hockey people want to come over and throw octopuses around, they shall be welcome to do so. If Sarah Palin travels to our shores, the National Choir of Shitkanistan shall sing a stirring rendition of the Shitkanistan National Anthem upon her arrival. Then we shall offer her heaping platters of jellied pigs' feet and pickled eggs.
I shall name the capitol Rublinka. I shall live in the shining city of Rublinka, in a great palace with one hundred onion-shaped roofs, each swirled in shimmering stripes of gold and scarlet and azure blue.
Shitkanistanians shall enjoy certain entitlements, wondrous parks through which our swaddled tots may run and play, public steam rooms and mud baths, and free hair removal kits and breath lozenges.
Your Loyal Royal Hostess,
Princess Erin of Shitkanistan
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