In a move that critics called inevitable and publicists called Tuesday, a ‘Forrest Gump’ star announced plans to leave the United States, declaring the nation a spectacle that upgrades every day from matinee mess to midnight catastrophe. The announcement arrived via a heartfelt video recorded on a bench that has seen more plot development than Congress.

The actor, whose on-screen jogging once inspired a generation to buy sneakers and avoid emotional intimacy, said their new life goal is to live somewhere the news cycle doesn’t arrive with an airhorn and a banana peel. “Life is like a box of chocolates,” they noted, “but ours keeps getting stored in a sauna.”

The farewell tour allegedly includes one last cross-country sprint, three ironic parade appearances, and a ceremonial tossing of a feather that immediately landed in a pothole big enough to be zoned for condos. Witnesses say the feather then applied for a zoning variance and won.

In Washington, lawmakers responded with a thoughtful panel discussion titled “Should We Be Worried?” followed by thirty-six hours of arguing if worry is woke. A think tank released a report concluding that America is fine, provided you define “fine” as a high-speed blender without a lid.

Packing, sources say, was surprisingly simple. The star reportedly fit everything into a hard shell spinner luggage set, including a bench-sized shawl, a travel-sized ping-pong table, and two jars labeled “Hope” and “Backup Hope.” Airport security waved them through after the jars were declared nonflammable and mildly aspirational.

To prepare for the flight, the actor practiced deep breathing, scrolled headlines with oven mitts, and purchased noise-canceling news headphones. “They mute every push alert except the ones about otters,” said a representative, “because science shows otters are the last bipartisan consensus.”

Friends say the destination is “a place with fewer press conferences and more functioning crosswalks.” The new country, eager for free publicity and non-chaotic vibes, promised to stamp the passport with a tiny running person and the words “No sequel, we swear.”

Back in Hollywood, a streaming service greenlit Leaving America: The Feather Strikes Back, a 12-episode docu-mocku-therapy series narrated by an emotionally exhausted GPS. The season finale reportedly ends on a cliffhanger where everyone politely minds the cliff’s boundaries.

Economists rushed to quantify the migration’s cultural impact, estimating the nation will lose two heartfelt monologues, one iconic bench, and 17% of its collective ability to remember who invented shrimp. Advisors recommended an immediate investment in neighborliness and an expat tax survival guide ebook, because patriotism spikes when spreadsheets cry.

Fans are split: half wish the actor well and half demand a court order requiring inspirational narrations at random bus stops. Meanwhile, the feather signed with a talent agency and will play a recurring role as “Recurring Symbol That Has Done Enough, Sweetie.”

The actor’s final U.S. statement was short: “I just felt like running.” The country, out of breath from sprinting in place, asked if walking briskly toward the common good would also count, or at least earn points on a civic rewards card.

As the plane lifted off, a familiar box of chocolates rattled ominously, revealing each piece labeled with a new catastrophe and a coupon for therapy. The feather drifted past the window, wagged like a tiny disappointed finger, and whispered, “Next time, try editing the script.” Callback: bench still available, slightly used, emotionally overqualified.