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It’s a dark night in a game that knows how to put its players to sleep, but in the Oval Office of the White House, one lone equine politican is still trying to play this god-forsaken game. A late-game election winner, Derphoof… President of the United States.

It was a March evening, and Spring had just sprung from the icy winds of the Winter. The Japanese cherry blossoms had been blooming in the warming sun, making for beautiful DC days. However, this was not one of those days. This sunset was anything but beautiful. The skies had turned a muted shade of gray, blocking the sun, as the clouds opened up to to share a light drizzle with the people of Washington. As the rain tapped on the windows of the presidential office, a subtle knock pierced through the white noise…

“Moshi moshi,” a meek voice uttered from behind the doors.

“Come in, you weeaboo f***,” I shouted from behind the desk, propping my feet up on its frame as I leaned back in my chair.

A pale, red-haired anime fanboy appeared as the door swung open.

“Do you actually have something interesting to tell me?” I asked, expecting absolutely nothing.

"Well… in this state of the game, define interesting”, Yui said.

"Something unexpected, maybe? I’m not too sure anymore.”, I said, trying to remember the last time I was enthralled with action in eRepublik.

“Well I’m sorry to disappoint you”, Yui muttered

"Its okay, I’m used to it by now.”, I stated. "What’s the news?"

"I received communication from our commanders, combatting the Canadians. Seems some compatriots have been confined by Canadian communists in our Castle of Capitalism”, Yui rattled off.

"Castle of Capitalism?, I asked.

"The Mall of America, sir. Armed with clubs and cleavers, those communists continue to contend a cocamamy cry that we champion corrupted convictions aimed at capturing our citizen’s cash for our own contemptuous consumption, Yui exclaimed.

"So, to convey their conniption over our capitalist creation, Canadians are conceptually charging our comforts? Wasn’t this conflict for kicks?" I asked.

”Correct, but they contend “kicks” to be a capitalist contrivance to call away the craniums of the crippled citizens from their crazy commissions to keep them in compliance, Yui explained.

”That’s crazy.”

"A common characteristic in Canadians. They’re not commended for their caliber of cognition", Yui reminded me.

“That clarifies this condition. Can’t will just kill those Commie Canucks?", I mumbled.

“I conjecture that’d clear up our conniption", Yui concluded.

"Call Orik to carry out the command”, I communicated.

I got up and escorted Yui out of my office, considering the concerns our soldiers must be enduring, trapped in the comfy confines of the world’s largest construction of consumer capitalism.





With barely a thing to do, I decided to call up Wild Owl and asked him for a flight to Minneapolis, to check out the situation for myself. After all, Canadian aircraft aren’t not known for their combat skills, or their ability to fly at all, really. We should be safe, in any case.

Walking out to the Presidential Owl-Pad in the Rose Garden, I climbed aboard the resident owl, buckled myself in, and gave him a pat on the head to let him know I was ready for take off.

Flying over the region, I could see the fires outside the mall from miles away.

“Dear Dio above,” I whispered.

“Isn’t it absolutely disgusting?”, Wild Owl said.

It was like some bizarre tribal event was going on in front of the mall. Having seemingly smothered each others bodies in poutine, the Canadians were dancing around in a drunken stupor, raising their hockey stick in one hand, and bottles of whiskey in the other.

Hearing what seemed to be a familiar voice, I pulled out my binoculars as we got closer.

“Bring me in a bit lower, Owl”, I said.

To my amusement, there stood Phil Harmony, donning a megaphone, and leading the frenzied Canadians in a protest chant.

”America is unfair!
Dirty Elites are in there!
Gathering in session!
Plotting our oppression!

THE GENTLE LABORER SHALL NO LONGER SUFFER!”

Chuckling to myself, I call up Orik and tell him to make sure they pick up Phil before opening fire.

I tell the owl to take me back to the White House, as I hear the sweet sounds of bombs and gunfire begin in the distance.

“Do you think he made it out?” asked Wild Owl.

“Eh, who knows? I’ll just check the Congress sub-forum for some ranting in the morning.”


It’s a dark night in a game that knows how to put its players to sleep, but in the Oval Office of the White House, one lone equine politican is still trying to play this god-forsaken game. A late-game election winner, Derphoof… President of the United States.