The Fourth of July
Grillin' out at the end of the world
Not much of a column today. Those of us who aren’t husked out and furious at the willful destruction of the American experiment are gleefully frog-marching our neighbors into swamp camps and consigning our disabled and elderly relatives to misery and early death because we’re gullible rubes. Fireworks and burgers aren’t gonna fix any of that, but they can’t make it worse, so the cookout’s still on.
I wrote this in 2015:
I drove to a neighboring state without stopping at a checkpoint. I said uncensored things into a microphone without fear of legal reprisal. I was reasonably safe and secure during my journey. The food I ate and the water I drank was less likely to make me ill than at any point in human history. I came home heedless of curfew and my home was not being used to quarter any militias. And now I'm going back out to get nachos.
This shit isn't perfect but it's a pretty sweet deal at this time and this place. Thanks, America.
Quaint, huh?
I wrote this yesterday:
If the last five years have proven anything, it's that the American right will stand on a pile of their loved ones' corpses and tell you that what killed them didn't kill them, so don't get too gleeful about the swath of preventable misery that's about to cut through MAGA country like round three of a spelling bee.
The rats have chewed through the wires.
Truth literally means nothing.
A country full of Marlboro Men has rolled over and exposed its belly, eager to lick the nearest boot, and if you're not interned, you'll be ripped off and made sick in the service of giving a couple hundred of the most comfortable human beings in the history of the species a few more helicopters and immortality cleanses.
Happy birthday to a peachy theory and the country full of dumb-dumbs too stupid to give it a real go.
Get some sleep this weekend. We’ll need it.
NP: Dead Kennedys, “Stars and Stripes of Corruption”