"Come on, Matty... why are you so slow all the time?" America complained as he dragged Canada by the arm down the sidewalk toward the coffee shop. "I really want to get one of those fresh cinnamon buns while they're still hot."

"Geez, all right, Al," Canada groaned. "I'm not THAT slow." He continued grumbling for a few minutes, then commented, "I wonder what else they'll have for today?"

"Anything ya want, as long as it's got Spam in it," America screeched, making Canada roar with laughter. He was a recent Python convert too, having come to visit America during his many watching marathons, and now, the two young nations constantly traded quips, much to England's dismay. But hey, the older nation couldn't complain- it was a way for them to bond a little, and at least the two lads appreciated good comedy, even if they went a little overboard with it.

When they reached the front of the coffee shop, America noticed Ellie the pastry lady putting out a tray of cinnamon rolls with steam rising off of them... and he immediately started drooling. "Mmmmm..." he mumbled, eyes glued on his prize, when...

"Like, hi! If it isn't the North American twins!" Poland was blocking the walkway, dressed in a flannel shirt, denim miniskirt, knee-high boots and a knit cap. A sheepish looking Lithuania stood on the sidewalk behind him, smiling uncomfortably, Estonia and Latvia on either side of him. America groaned. He normally liked the chatty nation, but now... there were cinnamon buns to be eaten...

"Hey, Feliks!" Canada exclaimed, glad that Poland had acknowledged him. "I like your shirt," he added. America groaned again. Canada loved flannel shirts. Which was okay, sure... but if anyone made the slightest comment about any article of clothing that Poland wore, he'd begin a dissertation on where he got it, what it was made of, everything he did the day he bought it, and so on.

"Oh you like it?" Poland replied, grinning.

"I do," Canada answered enthusiastically.

"Yeah, you would," America muttered, still salivating at the cinnamon buns torturing him through the plate glass window.

"Dziękuję!" Poland exclaimed. "It's totally one of my favorites! Liet says I look like a lumberjack when I wear it."

Canada frowned. "Really? I think..."

Poland interrupted, "Nie, nie, it's all right! I, like, totally love lumberjacks!" He grinned and motioned for the Baltics to come forward, and they did so, looking embarrassed. To America and Canada blinked in surprise as Hungary stood up from a sidewalk table and came over to stand at Poland's side. "I would totally love to be a lumberjack! It would be fabulous..." The two brothers stared as Poland began to sing, accompanied by the Baltics. Hungary stood beside Poland beaming...

Poland: "I'm a lumberjack and I'm okay, I sleep all night and I work all day."

The Baltics:"He's a lumberjack and he's okay, He sleeps all night and he works all day."

Poland: "I cut down trees, I eat my lunch, I go to the lavatory.
On Wednesdays I go shopping And have buttered scones for tea."

The Baltics: "He cuts down trees, he eats his lunch, He goes to the lavatory. On Wednesdays he goes shopping And has buttered scones for tea... He's a lumberjack and he's okay, He sleeps all night and he works all day."

Poland: "I cut down trees, I skip and jump, I like to press wild flowers. I put on women's clothing..."

America whispered to Canada, "Is this happening or am I just imagining it?" The Baltics, who had been singing along merrily, began looking confused as Poland's lyrics got weirder. Even Hungary seemed baffled...

"No, I'm seeing it too," Canada replied, eyes huge. Poland didn't seem to notice that anything was amiss, continuing to sing: "I cut down trees, I wear high heels..."

"You're so weird, Feliks," Lithuania muttered. Turning to Estonia and Latvia, he said, "Let's just go home." The other two nodded their assent and followed him, quickly putting some distance between them and the crazy blond nation.

"I wish I'd been a girlie just like my dear papa..." Poland was now standing on one of the tables warbling at the top of his lungs... Hungary gaped.

"I thought you were so rugged!" She cried in exasperation, and just like the Baltics, hurried away, trying to downplay any association between the two of them.

"I'm a lumberjack and I'm okaaayyy.. I sleep all night and I work all day!" Poland finished his musical number and opened his previously closed eyes, blinking in confusion when he noted he was all alone. "Like, where is everyone?"

"I don't know whether to laugh or cry," America told Canada as they made their way back to America's apartment, cinnamon buns long forgotten in their haste to get away. "That actually happened, didn't it?"

Canada nodded. "I think I'm scarred for life," he answered.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Aww, I thought Lumberjack Po was fabulous! Yeah, I could have used one of the macho guys like Germany or something, but... I think everyone does forget that Poland is a tough guy too, despite the wicked hipster pink shirts and six-inch heels... I mean, who else will stand up to Russia?

I still own nothing here. I have two more chapters planned for this fic: a take on "Dead Parrot" and "Argument Clinic". Also, to the anonymous reader who requested something from "Holy Grail": I couldn't make it fit here, but I am going to do a one-shot on that subject.