Nea Fane – Un Biet Român Pripășit în America / A Hapless Romanian Stuck in The US

Ladies and gentlemen, Christmas is right around the corner, and The Local Romanian is putting on his game face. The American neighbor is out there too, cranking up the fire pits and creating a ton of smoke, even if the City declares “no burn days.” The American neighbor doesn’t care, he knows better. The whole block smells like a bad, toxic campfire, hitting you right in the feelings and bringing back all kinds of memories.

But the Romanian isn’t about to get played. He pulls a power move and drops the “sarmale” scent bomb (for three hours, oven on low, vent on max). The whole neighborhood is shaken. The grills start humming. The American hits back and is flipping burgers, but the Romanian comes in hot and throws some homemade sausages on the Blackstone. The neighbors are stumbling, and when the Romanian slides a loaf of fresh bread into the oven, they just straight-up pass out.

The American takes a massive breath, raids the Fireworks tents, slams about fifteen Bud Lights in one evening, and, two hours before 2026 even hits, does what he does best: a full-throttle extravaganza with explosions, fireworks, and gunshots.

The Romanian throws in the towel: he’s been in bed since 10 PM, hoping to ring in the New Year beneath the covers, but now he is petting his dogs and trying to keep them from tripping out.

On the news, the cops are failing miserably at explaining gravity: “Listen up, folks, what goes up has gotta come down. Stop blasting your guns into the sky!”