The War On Independence Day

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By Charles Bukkake I am Colonel Samuel “The American” Jonas (Co. Jones for short) and I am the hero this country needs.

You know, I ain’t nobody special. No siree, I am a red-blooded, tax-paying, law-abiding, upper middle class, caucasian, heterosexual, apple-pie lovin’, football watchin’, truck buyin’, American-speaking American and what I do? It’s just a job. Just like everybody else, I gotta work for a livin’, you know? I gots ta put food on my nieces and nephews tables (kids these days, the lazy shits, when I was 6 years old I used to work in the factory and granted it gave me a collapsed lung, it was work and I was more of a man because of it).  

Now people like me, that is to say true Americans, wake up extra early on that special day on that there red, white, and blue calendar there. If you’re a true native-born American then you know the day. That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, Independence Day™. Just like everybody else I get up, pray to the good Lord, kick open my front door, punch one of them witnesses of Jehover it or whatever and buy myself a big ol’ beef patty. Of course, there’s about 17.76 metric tons of explosives in the back of my four by four because ain’t nothin’ like celebratin’ The Good Day™ by lettin’ off a lil’ steam, you feel me?

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Now normally around this time I gotsta take my pills (and believe me, I do try not to. After all, it jus ain’t natural to put anythin’ in the body that The Good Lord™ didn’t intend to). They says I go all crazy and act like some hybrid of Clint Eastwood and Bruce Willis (God bless ‘em) and I say that’s just a load o’ horse manure. Anyway, I don’t really remember what time it is right now as I write this entry to commemorate the fallen forefathers that gave their rights to me, or however it goes. Feels like December but just like my good man Reagan said, “To republicans, every day is the 4th of July. To democrats, every day is April 15th”. People go and try to tell me its December and I just flick my cigarette at their hippy faces and make my own way, mindin’ my own business.

Today I did my bes’ in continuing the routine, thanking my lucky stars that I done survived one more day. After all, life is a jungle out there, and I’m the man that’s gonna tear it down. I was about to meet at the rendez-vous point to legally acquire some heavy-duty explosives but found that I had already accomplished the objective ahead of time. I must be going senile but I have no time to reflect on this; I have a country to save. I managed to work up an appetite and to my disappointment, there is a grave lack of food rations in the humvee. I drove a few miles south and found civilization. I’d tell these citizens to evacuate promptly but I needed food and fast. I tightened my combat boots and made my way inside a good ol’ fashion American diner.

My people, those I have sworn to serve and protect, I see them eating breakfast like Americans should. I shouted at a waitress for 4 orders of steak and eggs and consumed them, one after the other, with no breaks, the way that every true patriot should. On my way out, I gave the attractive female standing at the register a Jackson (one of our finest presidents in my humble opinion) and told her to “Keep the change”. Right then, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted what I thought I had eradicated so many years ago.

“Commie!” I shouted, diving towards the family of four. The sick fuck was eating a falafel. Not “Not in my country you don’t,” I hissed, like an American snake. I smacked that stupid sandwich out of his hand and restored balance to traditional democratic ideals in this classic American mom and pop shop. I looked down and shook my head, chuckling to myself. Another job well done.

“Thank me not, citizens. I am just your average Joe who’s name is Sam. I do this not because I want to, but because it’s my job; it’s what I do. Carry on with your beautiful consumerist ways and remember…” I said, now putting on my sunglasses. “See you on the flip side.”

I drove away feeling like a hero. It was difficult not to feel like one. I smiled and waved at every pedestrian while driving and crashed my car into a flower shop.

“Right on time.”

I went over to that tree-hugger flower shop owner and punched him right in his square face.

“Hey! We don’t have room for no hippy flower children around here.” God it felt good to be an American.

I was about to drive away but I crashed my car so that wasn’t possible. That’s when the Boston Baked Beans sank in.

“By George!” I shouted. “It’s Independence Day!”

I looked around and saw no American pride. What a disgrace.

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“It’s December, you psycho! The fourth of July is-”

“What did you say to me, you filthy commie?!”

I stopped that Charlie right in his tracks.

“I-I...I said that it isn’t even the fou-”

“What is this War on Independence Day™? Who are you trying not to offend, you red? This is my country. This is America, therefore we celebrate goddamn Independence Day and speak American while we do it!”

It made me sick, the creeping feeling that society has become hyper-sensitive and is even so far as to be ashamed to refer to such a beautiful and momentous holiday as just another day of the year, just a “fourth of July”. Trump wouldn’t be elected until next year, so I needed to act fast. That handsome business American couldn’t save us this time, so I had to take matters into my own hands. I had to make America great again.

I busted out my Desert American Bald Eagle and pointed the barrel at his stupid commie face.

“I see your insides match your outsides now,” I said, being that his nose was bleeding.

“Now I suggest you pursue happiness real quick, because I’m about to declare independence on your ass by the people and for the people.”

He didn’t budge, mostly because he was currently experiencing anaphylactic shock. He needed his inhaler, I guess the American air just wasn’t good enough for him. He was no coward, I can respect him for that. I can’t respect him for ruining my country and my masculinity, though.

I was sweating and I don’t know why and while I was halfway through squeezing the trigger, I turned around and pointed this unregistered beauty at the explosives I had in the back of my truck.

“Four score blaze it, mother fuckers.” Plumes of red, white, and blue shot into the air. It worked out well seeing as I only bought blue and white fireworks but there was sufficient people nearby who became one with America to make those finishing crimson streaks. The blast radius was exactly four hundred and twenty seven miles wide, exactly as Lincoln would have wanted it.

We did it, Reagan, we finally did it.

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--

“So? What do you guys think? Thoughts? Feelings? I’m looking for constructive criticism here. This script took a lifetime to write but I’m feeling good about it!”

The executive sat before me on a floor cracked from the impact of his unhinged jaw colliding against it. This is good news; he must be awe-stricken by this masterpiece.

“Clint...I…”

“Well?”

“Just...get the fuck out of my office.”

I swore I heard him wrong. Only a backwards bulldog would refuse this dimepiece. Hurt and in no mood to argue I got out of there as quickly as I could.

I stood there, staring pensively out the window. There was no denying now that it was time. I had an important call to make.

“Bush, it’s time. We gotta start Project Frankenstein, collect the body and make preparations right away; we’re bringing him back...you know exactly whom...that’s right...Nixon.”