Happy 4th of July Peeps! (I roll my eyes a little and it is coated thick with sarcasm but that is the great thing about writing, no body language or facial expression can expose my true emotions.)
Why you may ask, Miss Obvious, do you not love hot dogs burning, beer cans opening, crowds of sweating hot hairy people cheering for the U.S.A.?
Well, if you didn’t ask, I still am going to tell you.
It’s not just July 4th, it is almost all the holidays, so I do not discriminate.
Except for Christmas and Halloween, I get a little irritation, like a bad itch you can’t scratch, for most of these national Holidays.
Thanksgiving annoys me because it is built on a total lie, and yes, it had to be my child who dressed like a pilgrim told her teacher that Indians had not been our friends, that this was a rewritten day in history, a gaslight attempt to brainwash generations of children into believing we shared corn and a turkey to distract them from the fact we stole, murdered, and raped land that was never ours to own in the first place. Thanksgiving should be the day we donate a dollar at Kroger for the “Trail of Tears” day, but would all the Native American Indians even want a day off while bitter entitled grossly overweight Americans bitch the one day that year we acknowledge the truth of our ancestors?
God forbid “Heavenly Ham” go out of business.
No, we would rather get even more fat, bitch and moan in traffic to get off work to watch our even more overweight kids pretend to be Indians as we clap and clap, ready to eat in reminder of how wonderful we were to the Indians, who were our friends.
So, wave a flag, today is July 4th.
Maybe it is the Champion, the personality type Thelma read me, the idealist who hates conformity, who from Gandhi to Riots, is the perfect trail blazer type, must question authority and convention at all cost.
Or maybe I just got out of an elevator, a lover of people I truly am, but people, I got stuck for two whole minutes with “Americans,” meaning full blown “AMERICAN” people.
I was getting my mac fixed, in a hurry, am a huge hater of malls, a debt infested flea market for empty starving souls called “Shoppers,” all my shopping is online or Target, to live is to be free of American people roaming the mall, in my opinion.
The mom, 100 pounds overweight in her mom jeans under her saggy boobs was a blinking flag, seriously. If the power had gone out in the building, the woman could have powered the city of Atlanta in her flair alone, bright blinking flag earrings and vest, wristwatch with red and blue diamonds in the shape of a fucking FLAG, people. Her husband, checked out and gazing at the buttons like he were in a logic puzzle, had on his matching “Independence Day” get up.
No. I’m riding a pony to deliver a letter from Paul Revere to the government who by the way, would never lie to your beautiful 100 pound baby with chocolate all over his face, with American flags even attached to the stroller with get this, duct tape.
What is more American than that?
The baby dropped it’s ice cream, began screaming for the government approved baby killer unnatural and toxic treat, bought from people who are responsible for cancer and breast growth in six year olds, but hey, It’s America.
This is while the ten year old fat kid in tight shorts and man boobs began jumping up and down, shaking the elevator, making the baby scream louder.
The mom, or the fattest Statue of Liberty I ever saw, began ripping through her purse like a terrorist had just been announced over the mall intercom system, which in Georgia, I bet they have a 10,000 dollar tax exempt sprinkler service instead.
The kid got louder, the boy jumped harder and the mom got better and better “treats” out of her purse, bribery the kids knew too well, slapping gum out of her hand, only stopping for her iphone with literally, American flags bedazzled on to the phone case, a “you know how it is” look given, the kid throwing it on the ground right as the door opened.
Damn. I was behind them.
Two full minutes later as they shuffled their fat asses and shopping bags out the elevator, the epiphany comes.
“Dear God, you really took an elevator to go one floor?“
One trip real quick to the mall and all brain cells evaporate, really?
I had not noticed, or even questioned the absurdity of it, until fifteen minutes later, I squeezed my way into the Mac store, given an electronic waiting number, video games, angry tired children crying, blinking lights, 100 blue tooth talking motherfuckers later, I am just glad to be alive.
I don’t know if I want to be watching fireworks with these people, but my kids are always the interest at hand, and fireworks they love, so I guess I am grateful to be out of the mall alive, to be stuck back in traffic, with more road rage, failing gas prices, and more shopping malls building per millisecond.
Last year I was on a lawn with 100s of people singing the National Anthem leading right into Killing in the Name, the best Phish 4th of July party ever.
“Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me!” was the sound system of freedom and truth ringing in my ear, people gathered to dance and yell, hug and shout, all in unity, rhythm, and love.
You can celebrate the freedom of what this country represents, or speak of the atrocities of what it has done, but either way, wave your flag or blast Rage Against the Machine, Happy 4th of July, America.
God Bless all of the blind, rich, intolerable, overindulged, self righteous, sheep of America, myself included, for the land of the brave, and the home of the free.
Instead of Amen, we should all let out a loud, Bahhhhahhhhahhha.