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Siberia

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Pedro the Italian Opera Singer and the Communists

Once upon a time in a land far, far away there lived a girl named Tori. She had blonde hair and blue eyes and a charming smile. Tori loved to laugh—she finds nearly everything funny. However, everything changed the day her entire family was killed in an arson fire started by the Communist party of Kansas. Tori was sent to live with her great aunt Maude in Wasilla, Alaska…

Pedro Mallini was an Italian opera singer from the well known port of Ostia. Castrated at birth, Pedro felt an unnatural abhorrence of the opposite sex, and devoted all of his time to develop his voice. With a love for watermelon and frosting, Pedro was severely overweight, and was often shunned by his classmates in Wasilla High. But Pedro didn’t mind, because he knew that in just two short years he would back in his homeland, pursuing his passion, and performing for millions…

Tori rushed to her first class, Modern Literature, running late. It had not been her fault that her alarm clock had failed to work, she spent fifteen minutes wandering around Wasilla trying to find the elusive High School, and then had been forced to wait patiently as the principal attempted to adjust her schedule and simultaneously convert her to Taoism. They had put her in Deer Hunting V. And that was so not going to happen. “Sorry I’m—” Great, just great. No one was there. They schedule had said room 112, and as she double checked the sign, this was room 112. Her hand fell limply to her side as she sighed, wondering just what she was going to do. “ARE YOU LOOOST?” Tori spun around to find a large, flamboyant boy barreling toward her. “Um, yeah,” Tori answered, eyeing the boy with distaste. He hair was combed into faux hawk, the tips of his dark, Italian hair dyed blue. His electric yellow pants were actually electric—sparks of light shot up the seam with every step. Coupled with a pink, polka-dotted shirt, his stood out against the beige walls of Wasilla High. “WHAT IS YOOURR NAME, YOUUUNG ONE?” He announced, throwing his hands up in a dramatic gesture. “Tori. WHYY ARE YOOU TALKINNG LIKE THAAT?” She asked, mimicking his style of pronouncing each word loudly and in song. “I WIISSH TO BEE AN OPEERA SIINGERRRRR!” He belted, smiling down at her. “NIICE TO MEEET YOUUU, TORIII. I AMM PEDROOO.” “Uh, nice to meet you, Pedro,” Tori said, finding a sudden fondness for this Italian, opera singing, boy. “Listen, do you know where modern literature is?” “We here don’t have no dern litareture in this heh parts. We shoot deer. Sarah Palin! Don’tcha know?” A new voice said, and Tori looked past Pedro to see a skinny boy in a flannel jumpsuit amble towards her. It was the Kansan Communists! “Hola. Mi nombre es Victoria Maria Isabela Juanita Rodriguez Chestera. Mataron mi familia. Prepare to die.” And then the Communists attacked with Communist weapons (beefy pasta) and then they all died an equal, classless death. Sarah Palin!

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