Happy Birthday, America

Ammmmmmerrrrricccca!!!!!

Girl, you crazy bitch. How are you?! We haven’t seen each other in…what?…No…Has it been? Well you know me, I never miss a birthday. Happy birthday Girl!  How old are you again? …WHAT! Damn, you do not look your age at all. Two-hundred and thirty seven? Crap. That is olllllld. Is it the botox? It’s the botox.  Don’t give me that horsecrap about clean living – I’ve seen your emissions tests. Well fine, you don’t have to say, it’s your birthday. Be that way. I get it. When I turn 237 I’m not saying boo to a goose. You go Girl! You tell ’em how it’s done!

Any big plans for tonight? Yeah. I know that drill – warm watermelon and hot dog water. Yum-Not. Who wants that? Girl, you remember that one year when we snuck out for your birthday and went out to Applebee’s and got hammered on blue lemonade with maraschino cherries? AHHHHH!!! Yes!!! Oh man, that was a crazy night. We ate screaming eagle nachos until it gave us beer bellies and then you got up on the bar and sang Garth Brooks until they dragged you down, kicking and screaming. You were all, “You can’t stifle my freedom of speech! Don’t you mess with my civil rights! I will pound your butt, you haters!” and they were all “Calm your ass down, America. This isn’t the time.”

Good times. Good times.

Look, okay, I’m just going to say this. I know we haven’t been as close in recent years and I want to clear the air. You know how got ticked off I got when I found out you were wasting my tax dollars on stupid crap. I know, I know, you are using it to clean up stuff. I get that now. Thing is, look, I don’t judge you for having chronic yeast infections, I judge you for not seeking proper treatment in the first place. Because Girl, you know what Dr. Oz says? If we don’t each take care of our innards, it’ll start affecting our outards. Did I say that right? Outards? Okay, you get it. I am an Outard. Your well-being affects me, and I want you to take better care of yourself, okay?

Here is the thing, America. I know you know how to party but I want you to act a little less slutty. Why must you hit on every oligarchy with crude oil? It’s gross. You know they only want one thing. And here is another thing; I want you to start taking care of your kids at home before you take care of your dealer at Monsanto. I want you to quit watching Fox News and start reading a newspaper once in a while. I want you to quit stirring up fights when you go to out of town parties, okay? Because I didn’t want to have to tell you this America, but everybody is talking about it behind your back and I like you enough to say it to your face: Nobody like an imperialist, America. Nobody. That might have been cute in the 90’s but that won’t fly anymore.

You are so much better than this, America. You are amazing. You are the land of opportunity! Innovation! Industry! Diversity! Free Wi-Fi! You have so much going for you. You have given me so much and I love you for it. It just breaks my heart to see you this way. It’s like I want more for you than you want for yourself. Don’t be like this. Can’t we hang out again like old friends?

Girl, I really mean that. I really do. You have such a pretty face and you don’t even know it. Okay. That’s all I’m going to say. It’s your birthday and I don’t want to rag on you, you crazy bitch you. You are awesome and you deserve a fabulous birthday party. You can bet I’ll be there with flags and fireworks just like everyone else!

So here is to you, America. First blue lemonade is on me!

Peaches