In Soviet Russia...

    I always thought that the stories were nothing but jokes. Cheap laughs for sweaty, unoriginal interneteers. And so I had never thought that when I did visit Soviet Russia and went to my rented car, it would indeed drive me.
    The black Sudan smiled at me and spoke in a murmur by lifting its hood; "finally. I've been waiting for days." Then it snatched the keys I were holding, stuck it in my mouth and jumped on my back.
    It was strange at first, but I quickly got used to it. The car wasn't as heavy as people said it was and it was actually quite nice. It told me to turn by gently pulling at my ears and always sang along to the radio (which, by the way, only played Boney M.'s "Rasputin" on constant repeat). Along the way I saw mostly strange sights, feeling like quite the tourist. A short bulldog was taking its owner for a walk, and a new Kickstarted company was advertising its slogan; "Machine Programs You!"
    After a while, it got slightly tired. My legs started hurting from carrying the car and although some aspects of Soviet Russia were nice (God prays you, taxes pay you), I was beginning to feel like I was working again. Taking orders from a (slightly) more metallic boss and muscles hurting as much as they did on a normal Monday. I was beginning to fear that I could never return from my vacation. And don't even get me started on my fears for what I would do after my taxi service was finished (in Soviet Russia, does my food cook me?)
    Luckily, just as my Sudan had begun texting carelessly on my back and a car was rushing towards us I remembered that all of this was incorrect. My ex-girlfriend lived in Russia, not Soviet Russia. In fact, I realized that Soviet Russia did not even exist anymore, and as I did, the impossible world ceased to exist, (after all, it had never existed in the first place) and I found myself suddenly inside the car, hands on the wheel, whistling to Boney M.'s deep, sexy voice.
    Huh.