Edward Snowden, An American Werewolf in Russia

Why Does My Girlfriend Go Into Labor At The Absolute Worst Times?

"Seriously, I need a hospital!"

We both leave the apartment immediately, and attempt to hail a taxi. We don't have time to be picky, so long as we get her somewhere, somehow.

As I travel the roads, looking for someone who will perhaps hear our spiel, I start to cry out "Hey! Does anyone have a taxi that can get us to the closest hospital!"

As I travel the roads, looking for someone who will perhaps hear our spiel, I start to cry out "Hey! Does anyone have a taxi that can get us to the closest hospital!"

No response.

"Seriously, my girlfriend is totally pregnant, and we need to take her to the closest hospital! Her water totally broke right now!"

"Okay, millennial," says an older-looking man pushing a cart and taking a look at me.

I say nothing, but merely scowl at the sick bastard.

No taxi. Looks like we'll have to walk.

Thankfully, the hospital isn't very far from here. In fact, it's a 20-minute walk at most. But when you're supporting your pregnant girlfriend, it feels far, far longer.

As if that isn't enough, my phone rings off, just when I finally get to the hospital.

I drop everything to check out who it is. My parents? No, they can't pay that much for international calling (that's why they want to come back home.) My girlfriend? No, it's kind of hard to call your boyfriend when you're pregnant and giving birth. Obama? No- he may be well-equipped for international calling, but he certainly couldn't be bothered with a guy like me, like, ever. Jeremy? No, he hates me and wants me dead.

Which only leaves...oh god...VLADIMIR PUTIN! I don't even bother responding to the call. He could fry me in fire for all I care right now.

I drop my phone once I see her giving birth. Doing my duty as a husband/boyfriend, I hold onto her hand to reassure her she's going to be okay.

As she heavily pants and breathes, I see a little baby popping out of the covers. He may look like a shriveled-up raisin, but to me, he looks absolutely beautiful. When you're someone like me, you treasure all of life's little blessings.

"Hey, there, little guy," he says. "It's me, your daddy. Don't worry. I know things are kind of scary right now, but I'll be there to protect you."

Then suddenly, a bunch of men who appear to be cameramen come out of nowhere. That's odd, so odd. I don't remember hiring a bunch of guys to invade our privacy.

"Seriously?" asks my girlfriend. "I look like a corpse, and here you are, filming me at every angle!"

"But of course we'll be filming you, Mrs. Edward Snowden," says a guy with a very thick Russian accent. "Your husband is the most famous man in Russia, after all."

Most famous man in Russia? Crap, this is not something that I signed up for.

"Um, guys?" I say. "Can you get the hell out of here? My girlfriend is trying to become a mom here."

They can't be bothered. Hard work taking pictures, I guess.

"Honestly, she'd prefer to give birth in peace," I tell them. "So, can you leave, please?"

Still no response. And, of course, my body isn't building up enough stress to transform.

"That's it!" I check my phone. "I'm telling the President!"

I immediately take a look at my missed call in an attempt to return it. As it turns out, it wasn't Putin. It was Obama.

I decide to respond to the call anyway. Even if he's pissed off at me, as I with him, I figure that there's only one worst case scenario, and it doesn't sound very likely anyway.

"Oh, hi, Obama!" I say somewhat awkwardly. "Didn't expect to hear from you, dude!"

I can tell from the phone he's not amused.

"Mr. Snowden," He says. "I have an extradition order for you. Please come here immediately."

"Um..." I say. "Well, as it turns out, you won't be seeing me much in the country anytime soon. I haven't been, um, you see, well, they revoked my passport here in Russia-" (Of course, for me it's just a thinly-veiled excuse to not confront Obama after all that's happened, but it's not like I could've gone back to the states anyway.)

"We can do a teleconference," says Obama. "Don't worry, they're quite easy to do. In fact, one day the entire country will be doing this!"

Crap, there is really no way out of this.

"Sure, right," I say. "Look, I can totally explain what happened-"

"Save it for the conference," he tells me. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll have to yell at my vice president to stop feeding Bo cat food."

And with that, he hangs up. Not another word.

"Hey, Edward?" says a voice. It's my girlfriend in bed, cuddling my baby. "There's a little someone here who would like to see you."

As I take the baby, a ton of thoughts rush through my head concerning the upcoming teleconference. Will it work? Or would Obama humiliate here? And show my family?

But, right now, I'm focused on my adorable little bundle of joy.