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Monday, July 4, 2016

'Merica

*Note:  I am well aware that I have not written a post on my son's birthday this year.  I assure you that this is not because I have forgotten.  In fact, I have not and the only reason I got out of bed that day was because Alexis had dance (Nationals, baby!  Though by the end of this week I was so done and wished that her team sucked so we didn't have to go to the invite-only Big Show at the end of the week...), and in case you missed it, I am apparently a dance mom.  In keeping with the spirit of last year, I have decided to again write a post with the usual inanity and bluntness and propensity to offend as I usually do.  Enjoy!


It's Independence Day Weekend, bitchez!  Let's celebrate 'Merica!  For those of you not from the U.S.A, this is the weekend that we celebrate the mistaken notion that the Declaration of Independence was signed on July 4, 1776 (it was actually just officially adopted on this day, thus showing that U.S'ians aren't bothered by things like historical accuracy or fact checking.)  There are a lot of traditions that go along with this, and most of them are as fucked up as all get out, so of course I am going to dissect them here.

First, let's start off with a tradition that is not necessarily limited to the Fourth (capital F, bitchez, cause it's a goddamned government sanctioned holiday and we don't get mail that day.  It's THAT important.).  Catching lightning bugs.  You may know these as fireflies.  Who thought up the good idea of releasing small children out into a yard to catch these poor mothafuckers who are just trying to get laid, to either be squeezed to death in a toddler's hand and smearing their yellow glow shit all over the fucking place, or they go into the jar of death and torture.  There are a lot of variations on this jar of death and torture, FYI.  When we were little, it was a margarine tub with fork holes stabbed in the top.  Some people perpetuate the whole American consumerism thing ('Merica!) and purchase a special receptacle to capture those things.  My kids get a mason jar with holes stabbed into the lid, which I then superglued to the ring.  Cause nothing says 'Merica like being inventive.  But seriously, once those little guys are in the jar, they are desperately trying to climb out to get their freak on, and the kids are pounding on the lid to get them to fall to the bottom...and let's not even talk about the ones who inadvertently get smooshed a'la that scene in Scream where the girl gets all tangled up in the garage door.

Then there are the sparklers.  Let's give children hot pieces of wire that shoot sparks and let them run free, in the dark.  Cause nothing says Independence Day like being branded by your five year old after sundown.  Plus all that smoke inhalation and fumes from the sparklers, year after year after year, surely can't be healthy for you.  But hey, this is America, land of the free!  Health care is not seen as a right, yo, so no need to treat the lung cancer from the smoke inhalation!

Fireworks.  OK, in Ohio, they are illegal to shoot off in your backyard.  People do it all the fucking time.  Which is great until the cops show up, or someone loses an eye.  Plus, does no one see the irony in firing off something that is going to remind the combat veterans of this country of combat in celebration of the freedom that we have, that was earned through combat?  Be respectful of the vets, bitchez.  They are the reason your dumb asses can shoot that shit off.  And the dogs, too.  I imagine that more Valium is consumed by the canine population this week than any other.  And there are the stupid "fireworks" too, like the snakes and those popper things that you throw at people's feet, while screaming "Dance, mothafucker!  Dance!"  (At least that's how I do it...)  We had some pretty interesting ones tonight, like a pooping dog and a chicken blowing up a balloon.  Cause, 'Merica!






Nothing says Independence from Oppression like sparks blowing out your ass.

Parades are also kinda fucked up if you think about it.  First of all, let's take the emergency response vehicles and have them drive at 5 MPH down the road with their sirens blaring.  Cause hearing is just an extra sense to have, doncha know?  And who cares if there is an actual emergency.  There's a parade, dammit, deal with it your own fucking self.  Then let's let the perpetuation of misogyny come with the princesses being paraded down in sports cars.  And of course it's the middle of July so it's usually like 90* with 99% humidity in Ohio, so their make up is slowly melting and I am sure that they are silently cursing whatever possessed them to run for Little Miss whatever.  Then there are the floats, wherein people throw candy into crowds for children to get.  This usually involves them having to run into the streets, because by god if the obesity won't get them, modeling running into the street surely will.  If, that is, they did not get an eye taken out, either during the parade from the errant Tootsie Roll or from the fireworks and/or sparklers from the night before.

Apple Pie...ok this is one thing that we got right (is it American?  IDK, to be honest, because like most Americans I am unconcerned with things like fact checking or historical accuracy.  At least about my baked goods, that is.).  Sweetened apples, baked into a flaky crust, served warm with ice cream on it.  Great huh?  No, we have to fuck things up royally here in 'Merica and even the innocence of apple pie was corrupted by an infamous movie scene where a young boy let himself loose on a poor unsuspecting pie.  That is just a bacterial infection waiting to happen there, folks.

And now I want pie.  The innocent kind, not the corrupted movie kind.

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