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Land of the Free
By Succubyss
Independence Day. The Fourth of July. The day the United States of America celebrates it’s freedom from Britain’s ruling monarchy. An historic day in the annals of history, when the original dead rebels decided to get off their asses and stop being pushed around by arrogant elitists that lived in a big house. Maybe we need to take a look at how this fine country is being run now – maybe we need some live rebels to get off their asses.
And now... a quote:
"Whenever any form of government becomes destructive of these ends (life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness), it is the right of the people to alter or abolish it, and to institute new government."
Thomas Jefferson (1743-1826),
from the Declaration of Independence
Thus ends the political portion of our program.
What I really want to talk about is the celebration part of Independence Day. I share with you, another quote - from the Virginia Gazette on July 18th, 1777:
"Thus may the 4th of July, that glorious and ever memorable day, be celebrated through America, by the sons of freedom, from age to age till time shall be no more. Amen and Amen."
That, my friends, is a license for an eternal party. Rock on ‘till time shall be no more. Hell, yeah!
The downside of parties is that you have to invite people. The foundation of our country says that all men are created equal. How equally smart, entertaining and polite are YOUR collection of family and friends? They aren’t. Everyone has dumbasses, smartasses, know-it-alls, drunks and sluts in their collection. Holidays such as the 4th provide a wonderful opportunity for them all to get together at YOUR home. What you also get is cheap, mayonnaise-slathered food left to sit in the sun, burnt hot dogs and lots of alcohol. And the BIG BONUS of the Fourth of July? FIREWORKS!!!
Fireworks are a traditional part of any Independence Day celebration. But I’m not talking about the big, public displays here. Oh no, I’m talking about the boxes that are bought across state lines. The boxes that have an assortment of powder-laden products with names like, “Dyno-mitey” and “Thunder King”. The boxes that are gleefully ripped open at dusk by ham-handed, drunken louts who are now “gonna show y’all what REAL fireworks are.” In your yard, with your dogs and children running around.
But the fireworks show up near the end of the day and you have to get through the rest of the day first. This means your husband’s best friend, the Southern bred bigot, has to sit across the table debating politics with your British-born stepfather. One drinks Rolling Rock and shots of Jack, while the other sips rum and coke with lime. It could be a disaster, yet somehow they both agree that women should be kept in the kitchen, middle-aged white men should rule all countries and it’s a shame Benny Hill isn’t on Channel 11 anymore.
Hell... Maybe all men are created equal after all.
Then you have “The Mothers”. One mother is a white trash, frosted hair, tight-bright-high-heeled Peg Bundy. The other is a Boston-bred, anal-retentive Republican. Trashy Mom throws back Miller Lite, wine coolers and other people’s mixed drinks. Boston Mom brings her own merlot. Trashy mom drips mustard down her shirt and Boston mom asks for a “real” plate. There is much eye-rolling between these two, but thankfully, they remain polite. They know each other’s types well and after lunch, move to opposite ends of the yard, Boston Mom picking her way among the dog crap piles and Trashy Mom drinking from stranger’s glasses as she goes.
Kids come n go all day and your husband keeps a watchful eye on the cooler. He just knows they’re trying to steal his beer. He guards it with his life, while continuing to roll hot dogs on the grill.
When you go inside for more plates, you find your sister-in-law hiding in the pantry, drinking your good tequila. Apparently, she promised her husband that she wouldn’t drink any hard liquor today. Meanwhile he’s outside trying to score some coke from your brother, who brought some “just in case” and telling him not to tell his wife. On the way back out the door, your dog bites some kid on the ankle that was sneaking down the hallway with your pack of smokes. Back in the yard, your neighbor has started to yell about the Def Leppard blasting on the boombox and is soothed with a hot dog and a beer. Poor guy, he just wanted to be a part of the festivities. After another beer, he starts white-man-dancing on the patio with your other sister-in-law, whose husband is passed out in a lawn chair.
Finally, dusk. It’s the end of a long day; everyone is drunk, tired and looking forward to wrapping this party up. The kids get sparklers, stink bombs and those black things that make ashy “snakes” that will leave charcoal stains on your driveway forever.
The men rip open their “Rainbow Thunder” and “Yellow Dragons”.
There is only one thing left to say. The one thing that everyone celebrating our fine freedoms needs to know and remember on this very important day:
LIGHT FUSE, GET AWAY!!!
Happy 4th.
