Not too long ago someone asked me the question, “What does America mean to you?” At the time, I wasn’t really sure how to answer, and, to be honest, forgot about it. That is until today. With the Fourth of July mere hours away, I revisited that question this morning and gave it a bit of serious thought.
Then I got bored and started drinking.
But, after spending all afternoon plowing through an entire case of beer, I gave it some more thought, and ultimately decided that America can’t be summed up in just a few words.
America to me is more like a feeling. Like something that always comes through in the clutch…
America to me is like a tied baseball game in the bottom of the ninth inning with the bases loaded. Muhammad Ali is on first, Hulk Hogan on second and Abraham-Goddamn-Lincoln on third.
Hitler is on the mound trying to close out the game when Jesus steps up to the plate.
He’s got a thick ass wad of Skoal under his lip and fire in his eyes. He carries with him not a bat, but an AR-15. He digs his sandals into the dirt and points the barrel of the rifle to deep center field.
Hitler throws a vicious 98 mph two-seam fast ball, but Jesus’ swing is pure. He hits the ball with stock of the gun rocketing it past the outfield, over the weeping eyes of Osama Bin Laden and the entire 1980 USSR Hockey Team.
Over the stands it goes further. Out of stadium, the parking lot, the stratosphere. The ball hits the Death Star and it explodes.
The entire stadium erupts in cheers. Men begin to weep at the pure beauty of the moment while all the women start making out with each other.
Jesus fires off a few celebratory shots before he slams two cans of Miller High Life together and douses himself in beer Stone Cold Steve Austin style.
Someone then tosses Jesus an electric guitar and he begins to shred the Star Spangled Banner as he trots the bases.
As he passes third base, Jesus gives the finger to Hitler who is sobbing uncontrollably. Urine soaks the front of Nazi brown pants, the entire stadium laughs at him.
F-16 fighter jets flying in a victory formation scream over the stadium and fireworks fill the sky as Jesus is met at home plate. He is then given a champagne and Mountain Dew victory shower before riding off the field on the back of a giant bald eagle.
…While I’m aware that description doesn’t really answer the question, I also reserve the right not to give a fuck. After all, if I cared what anyone thought, I couldn’t in good consciousness call myself a good American.
With that being said, Happy mother fucking Independence day, y’all.
Written by Daniel Oliver.