I’ve always tried to be a good American. I’ve lived each and every day by the words of the good book: the Declaration of Independence. It guides the deeds I do, the words I write, the kicks I wear.
But every Fourth of July, I get stuck. I got parties to plan! Barbecues, decorations, fine beers, crap beers, fireworks, big cars, big cars full of beer. So much to think about! What do I do? The Declaration never mentioned how we should celebrate its own damn self.
But this year, things are different. Because this year, I found something really special. That’s right: The Declaration of Independence, Part Two. Read it and weep, beleaguered patriot partiers, and may tiny American flags spring up where your tears touch the soil.
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that not all barbecue foods are created equal, because some of them are really freaking gross. Like frozen hamburger patties, you know, those little red saucers that look like fossilized poop when you cook them. Don’t you have 20 minutes to make some yourself? Or is it too gross to rub raw hamburger all over your hands? That’s how we beat King George, you know. He was the raw hamburger, and we were not afraid to rub our hands all over him. Be like us. Celebrating America means crushing your enemies into tiny patties and grilling them over hot coals.
… That they should keep among them Standing Armies of Awesome Fireworks. Especially those ones that go “bang” and then “… wwhhbang!” and then kinda “ffzzhh ffzhzhh zhhht.” Those are great. And they should be big, like, really big, like illegal-in-whichever-state-you-happen-to-live-in big, which is another good reason why states shouldn’t have rights. And when you set them off, they should kill and cook next year’s Thanksgiving turkey.
We, the Representatives of the United States of America, in General Congress, do, in the Name, and by Authority of the good People of these colonies, have a lot of trouble picking some appropriate tunes. Unless somebody happens to write something patriotic on a boat somewhere, oh, say, 38 years from now, maybe just make it something funky. Like, “Brick House,” or something.
In every stage of these Celebrations we suggest blue, white and red decorations, because those are the national colors of France, our friend and ally which is primarily responsible for our Independence. Did I say Primarily? I meant “completely.” Seriously, before those dudes showed up, we were a bunch of muddy yokels wearing dead animals for hats. The French basically made America everything it is today, and so we are declaring the Fourth of July to be National French Appreciation Day. Revel appropriately.
Well, there you have it. Straight from the Founders’ mouths. Take heart these wise words, and look for me when the 4th rolls around – I’ll be the one with the ten-gallon beret.