There are people who collect jokes, there are people who collect jokes and tell jokes, and there are people who collect people who tell jokes.

It was four P.M. in the Soviet household, thunder booming outside the manor's poorly shuttered windows. Ivan had been out since early in the morning and Toris even earlier, which meant peace for the remaining Baltic brothers. Estonia's greatest worry then was how to start a dinner without the meat Toris was supposed to have brought home already.

The front door swung open with a clamor and Eduard wondered for a moment at why Lithuania would be so loud—

"Hey, Estland," Of course it wasn't Toris. Toris didn't slam doors, or track mud from the entrance to the kitchen, "Have you ever heard why the new Trabant has two exhaust pipes?"

Eduard turned with a sigh, nearly wincing at the grin on Prussia's face—it was that smile, again, "If this is some sort of illegal, treasonous joke against the Soviet doctrine," The tone was flat, words repeated from memory, "I want nothing to do with it."

"Come on, Estland. Take a guess, come on." Gilbert was soaked through, white hair plastered to his head—hadn't he had an umbrella?—"Why, Prussia?" The tone was nervous, as if Russia could walk in the door that very moment and send them all to Siberia—

"So you can use it as a wheelbarrow." He smirked with anger, because that car that Russia's government distributed was completely useless, and he had pushed it half the way home, so fuck it all if he couldn't even badmouth the thing when Russia wasn't over his shoulder.

"It happened again, then?" Now the tone was bored, because Estonia knew at least that Russia hadn't been prepared to jump out of the shadows and kill them all.

"Estland. Did you know the story of the West German businessman, whose windshield wipers stopped working during a trip in the East?" Estonia shrugged, leaning his elbows on the counter. He hadn't heard this one, yet.

"Well, the guy stopped by an auto mechanic and asked if they could fix it—he really needed his car in working order since it'd been raining a lot recently, but he had three days or so to spare in the meantime. So the mechanic said he'd try his best but they didn't have the parts there, and the businessman shouldn't get his hopes up." Prussia paused, Estonia's expression nudging him forward.

"So, three days later, the German comes back and finds his car perfectly repaired, and he's real grateful, so he asks the guy—'I thought you didn't have the parts; how did you do it?' The mechanic smiles:

"'Well,' He says, 'We couldn't find motors for the windshield wipers here, but we were able to substitute two engines from Trabants…"

Estonia chuckled, too guilty to laugh out loud. "You see? They're funny because they're true, anyway—hey, why can't you get any pins in East Germany?"

The Baltic shrugged.

"They're being sold to Poland as kebab skewers!"

"Hey!" Laughter died down between the two blatantly criminal Soviet republics, butt of the joke striding into the kitchen.

"That's like, totally not fair. And Eduard, I'm starving!" The blond clutched his stomach unhappily, drawing out the syllables in Estonia's name, "Isn't there some bread or something lying around?"

Prussia clicked his tongue, a mock display of chastising, "But Polen! It wouldn't be fair if one of us had bread- we need to share the scraps of bread equally!"

Feliks glared.

"You're fat enough already, Prusy." He crossed his arms, directing his attention back to Estonia, "And like, you guys were telling jokes without me again! You know that's totally no fair." Eduard waved his hands quickly- this was blowing out of proportion far too quickly… "Of course not, Poland—Gilbert is the only one who…" And Prussia was shooting him a dirty look.

Estonia sighed, "Well, no one said you couldn't join us, anyway." A grin spread across Poland's face at this, and he glanced between the two of them, conspiratorially.

"Alright, so like, what four factors inhibit Soviet agriculture?" Prussia smirked, counting on his fingers, "What? Russia, Russia, Russia, and Russia?"

"Fall, Winter, Spring, and Summer."

Estonia gaped, Prussia howling in laughter. When the room had quieted, Estonia smiled sheepishly.

"Poland. What's 150 meters long and eats potatoes?"

Prussia snorted, "My d—"

The door slid open, rain pounding outside, and three hearts skipped a beat as Poland looked around the corner for the group, to the entrance hall.

"Not funny. Eduard, I've been out since seven in the morning." Toris took off his shoes by the door, entering the kitchen to set the long awaited groceries on the counter. Poland looked confused for half a second, and Lithuania clarified, "A Moscow queue, waiting to buy meat." Understanding hit his and Prussia's eyes and Toris shook rain from his hair, not quite as wet as Prussia's had been.

"So I was just listening to Radio Yerevan, and one asked, 'Can communism be in the USA, also'?" Toris allowed a moment's pause.

"'B-but then where would we get our wheat?'" Four heads turned to see Latvia, smiling guiltily in the doorway, and Prussia made room for him to come into the kitchen.

"Ah, Latvia, we didn't mean not to tell you…" Estonia started guiltily, but the smaller nation laughed.

"It's okay! I mean, as long as Mr. Russia doesn't find us…and probably kill us… and cut off our heads and put them-..." Toris put a hand over Latvia's mouth, mildly horrified; he usually spoke too much.

"So hey, hey, Liet," Lithuania paid his attention to Poland, dropping his hand when it seemed Latvia wasn't going to continue.

"Like, Stalin was visiting an elementary school way out in Russia, and so he goes and asks this one child, like, 'Who is your father'? And the kid knows what to answer so he says 'My father is Stalin', and Stalin nods—he's like, approving obviously—and asks 'Who is your mother?' So the boy says 'My mother is Russia.' All's checking out pretty well and Stalin smiles, and he asks the little one 'What do you want to be when you grow up?'"

Prussia had gotten himself a glass of Russia's vodka—he hated the taste, but he loved the look on Ivan's face when his stores randomly depleted—and it came through his nose at the words.

"'An orphan.'"

"Feliks, you can't just say that—!"

"When I'm still hungry, yeah." Gilbert was rifling through the storage cabinets, recovered from the vodka, and Toris frowned slightly at him, leaning back against the counter, "Haven't you learned anything, Prusija?—Alright," Poland looked back over from sharing Radio Yerevan one-liners with Latvia and Estonia slapped Prussia's hands out of the cabinet.

"An American and a Russian were discussing the merits of Hoover and Stalin—'Hoover is a great man,' commented the American, 'because he taught people not to drink.'" Toris paused, "'Yes', replied the Russian, 'but Stalin taught people not to eat.'"

When the laughter had died down, Prussia cut in, "Well the asshole's dead, and I'm hungry—Hey, Feliks, speaking of Stalin…?" He looked questioningly at Feliks until the Pole realized and spoke up.

"Okay, so like, what would happen if one of our leaders had a heart transplant, and received a western heart?" There was a moment's silence.

"In theory, nothing. The heart plays no role with our leaders."

Gilbert swung an arm around Raivis' shoulders, offering his bottle, and they shook with laughter, Feliks rummaging through empty cabinets.

"There are still some pelmeni in the freezer, I think," Toris pointed out helpfully, though Eduard cut him off, "We can't risk Ivan coming home while they boil."

"There's no bread?" Feliks glanced back, with his best desperate expression, and Toris shook his head. Poland cursed.

"Bzdura. We never had any problem supplying the rest of Europe!"

"Polen," His attention was snatched by Prussia, who had since released Latvia and retrieved the vodka bottle, "Do you know what would happen if the desert became communist?"

His scowl didn't let up, but Feliks shook his head.

"Nothing, for a while. But then there would be a sand shortage." He got a chuckle out of Poland and Lithuania lit the stove to start dinner, Latvia getting out of the way and making to sit on the counter before Toris swatted him down. Prussia was become more and more uproarious with the increased intake of alcohol, and now slipped in and out of German. Latvia prodded Estonia to get his attention and Prussia quieted to listen, "Eduard," His cheeks were pink as well and the older Baltic realized how much of the vodka he'd gotten, "How would the Soviet government react to a completely hopeless situation?"

"How?" Poland leaned over Toris, who had bent to retrieve a pot. He was the only one who could do such a thing without giving Lithuania a fright.

Latvia hiccupped, "I don't know. They don't give out information on Soviet agriculture."

The kitchen was silent for a moment as the more dangerous joke hung in the air, before Prussia and Poland broke it with laughter and Estonia joined less rowdily.

"H-hey, did you hear about the sheep that tried to leave the USSR—"

The door slammed open, and every inhabitant of the kitchen jumped. Gilbert scrambled clumsily to stow the vodka and Toris jumped away from the stove—the last time he had been caught like this in the kitchen, his hand was pressed to it. From Ivan's footsteps, Eduard realized he hadn't taken off his boots, but he couldn't afford to be irritated about that presently.

"We have been having fun, da?" The kitchen was silent but for rain pattering against the poorly built windows, and Feliks attempted unsuccessfully to hide behind Toris.

"Comrades," Five pairs of eyes watched Russia approach as each of their owners attempted to blend into countertops and cabinets, "A Briton, a Frenchman, and a Russian are viewing a painting of Adam and Eve. 'Look at their reserve, their calm,' says the Briton, 'They must be British.'" He stepped deliberately closer and watched the tension grow, continuing lightly, "'Non,' replies the Frenchman, 'They are so beautiful- clearly, they are French.'" The pot of water behind Toris was going to boil over soon but he didn't dare reach for it.

"'Nonsense,' Says the Russian. 'They have no clothes, no shelter, only an apple to share between them, and they are told they live in a paradise.

"They must be Russian."

Bzdura: Bullshit

Historical Notes:

Soviet jokes became incredibly popular behind closed doors and came out increasingly with the reign of Gorbachev. Nonetheless, these jokes were told long before his perestroika and one could be punished severely for this sort of 'anti-soviet propaganda'. It was said that the Soviet Union was so terrible, it was almost funny, and that is the essence of Soviet Jokes. They each highlight a significant problem in the USSR primarily by mocking it, and some call out specific figures. For example, "What were Mayakovsky's last words before his suicide? 'Comrades, don't shoot!'"

Each region, most notably East Germany, had types of jokes that were more specific to their crises. Fritzchen and Trabant jokes, for example, were popular their (Fritzchen being similar to the US's "Little Johnny" and Trabants being a notoriously horrible East German car.)

Huge queues were pretty typical in the Soviet Union, because of the command economy. Everyone had enough money to, theoretically, buy everything they would need (which is the 'good' side of communism). However, everything they needed was constantly out of stock (the 'bad' side of communism) because the economy doesn't work when everyone lies about their production to make it seem like they're doing a good job, and even the lies wouldn't be enough to feed the millions of people.

Pelmeni were quite popular because they were A: simple to make and B: cheap enough to feed a lot of people with. They can be most simply described as Russian Ravioli, and are usually filled with a type of meat. The dough can be made just with water and flour, which would have been incredibly convenient for someone like Toris trying to cook for a full household, though egg is added sometimes too. They can be frozen and stored for a really long time, which made them popular in (and I believe originated in) Siberia.

Poland and Lithuania were, for a very long time, the bread basket of Europe. They have/had super fertile land great for growing things like wheat, and so one would think that would be a really awesome addition to a giant empire like the USSR, mostly comprised of countries that weren't as well off growing things. Not so, because a command economy with economically unsound dictators just doesn't work. Another popular one-liner among workers in collective farms: "They pretend to pay us, and we pretend to work!"

The sheep that tried to leave the USSR ends like this: They were stopped at the border by a guard…. "Why do you wish to leave Russia?" the guard asked. "It's the secret police," replied the sheep. "Stalin has ordered them to arrest all the elephants." "But you aren't elephants." "Try telling that to the secret police."

Aside from regional jokes, though, I sorted the types to the characters as accurately as I could—for example, Gilbert focused mostly on his own personal problems, and Toris is a huge fan of "The American and the Russian…" ones.

I've got to say, research aside, this was really fun to write. Anyone who reviews will be rewarded with a previously undisclosed joke messaged to them!