Earlier today, I issued a challenge:
Mash up Edward Snowden and the Wild Kidz (Justin Bieber's bucket-peeing, Clinton-hating gang).
If you haven't kept up with the news, or if you read this long after the events in question were forgotten, Edward Snowden is the serious former NSA agent who revealed secrets of (possibly un-Constitutional) spying by the US government before fleeing the country; he is currently in the international section of a Moscow airport. Justin Bieber is a young singer, who hangs with a gang of people who call themselves the "Wild Kidz."
So here's my mashup. If others contribute, their contributions will be found here.
It was a bright, sunny morning at Simón Bolívar International Airport. Despite its distance from Caracas, a crowd of tens of thousands had arrived at the airport to meet the historic flight from Havana.
To many of the Venezuelans at the airport, the arrival of the flight was a source of national pride, and a true indicator of the fact that Venezuela was its own nation, capable of making its own decisions, and not subject to the whims of its rich foreign neighbors.
To many of the U.S.-based press at the airport, the arrival of the flight was a meal ticket. News networks, blogging empires, and newspapers all wanted to be present to record this flight, and the arrival of its famous passenger.
Rather than proceeding to the gate, the plane stopped in the middle of the runway. A podium had been set up on the runway; within a few minutes, President Maduro would make a speech from that podium, welcoming the distinguished guest to the country. The podium was surrounded by some metal chairs, a few tables, and a trash can. None of the dignitaries had yet arrived; the only person by the podium was a border control officer, responsible for performing a (ceremonial) inspection of the arriving passenger's papers.
In Tattoo-like fashion, the crowd began yelling, "The plane! The plane!" Sure enough, an airplane landed on the runway, and taxied toward the podium, stopping 50 meters away.
The door opened, and a man appeared at the door, blinking into the sunlight. The man, who was instantly recognizable to the crowd at the airport, blinked in the sunlight, then started to walk down the steps.
But he was not alone.
Anderson Cooper, in a studio in Atlanta, Georgia, couldn't believe his eyes. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe that the person behind Edward Snowden is Julian Assange, the famous head of Wikileaks. We had believed that he was still holed up in the Ecuador embassy in London, but it appears that he was on this plane, and is now deplaning in Venezuela."
Similar chatter was heard on the other networks, and in the crowd. The British secret agents who had infiltrated the crowd were dumbfounded.
With all of the attention directed at Snowden and Assange, no one noticed the other four men who disembarked from the plane, and no one noticed the fact that all six men were wearing identical hoodies and jeans.
Near the podium, the six began a conversation that only the entire world could hear.
"DUUUUUDE! We made it!"
"Party in the Caribbean, dude!"
"Uh, just a minute." Edward Snowden, who was either the face of whistle-blowing of the face of treason, depending upon your point of view, currently had a pained look on his face. He stood there for a second, and then walked toward the trash can. As the world watched, Snowden unzipped his pants and relieved himself.
The other five laughed uncontrollably.
"DUDE!" said Assange. "You're peeing!"
One of the other guys yelled a question. "Who are we?" he asked.
The other five responded, "We're the Leaky Kidz!"
Some of the network cameras had already picked up the "Leaky Kidz" emblem on the back of the six mens' hoodies.
As everyone laughed, Julian walked up to the podium, which was adorned with a picture of Venezuelan President Maduro - the man who would provide asylum to Snowden, and the man who would provide Assange himself with safe passage to Ecuador.
Assange threw his Red Bull at the picture. "F@@k Maduro!" he yelled.
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