Kate. Because, you know, patriotism The girl and I are back in the US for the 4th, and while I originally planned to post a report of our travels in Mexico for my regular Monday offering, it seems vaguely unpatriotic to do so on this, the 240th anniversary of our nation’s founding. So let’s examine the state of the Union on this day of fireworks and hot dogs, from the perspective of a wannabee expatriate.
The nation that was founded in rebellion, fought to rid itself of slavery and saved the world from fascism has now seen fit to advise its citizens against eating raw cookie dough. This breakthrough in the war against flour, eggs and sugar is brought to you by the country that ended the Soviet Empire and helped hang Saddam Hussein. The FDA has recommended you not even touch the stuff, let alone lick the mixing spoons. All this in the interests of public safety, because 42 people got sick in 21 states from eating contaminated flour. Some people consider this a government overreach. I say not. I mean, if we changed the national motto from E Pluribus to E Coli, that might be going too far.
In the meantime, 50 people got shot dead in a gay bar in Orlando and the government might consider not letting suspected terrorists buy all the guns and ammo they want.
It looks like not, though—some of our elected officials are concerned that some people on the terrorist watch list are on there by mistake, and these innocents might be denied the purchase of the AR-15’s they really, really want for their birthdays, anniversaries or Christmases, if we move to restrict the sales of automatic weapons in any way whatsoever.
Speaking of gay, some people tried to promote Heterosexual Pride Day while I was out of the country. This attempt at celebration went over like a dead guppy in an egg salad sandwich, which was all to the good. What are we heteros proud of? Our inability to develop fashion sense or tastefully decorate our own homes? It’s true that many of humanity’s accomplishments have been the result of hetero work, but so have most of the disasters. In the meantime, gay people have continuously and assiduously worked on keeping things nice. And neat. Let them congratulate themselves without we hetero types getting all wounded about it, I say.
Congratulations are also in order for this hero marksman, who saved a bald eagle who was stuck in a tree by shooting it free with 150 shots from a .22 rifle. I don’t know what your first reaction to hearing this story was, but mine was WHAT KIND OF BALD EAGLE GETS STUCK IN A TREE? A piss-poor excuse for a bald eagle is the answer. An eagle getting stuck in a tree would be like me getting stuck in a beer hall, or my girl getting trapped in a department store. It's our natural habitat, for God's sake.
Nonetheless, this young eagle was unable to free itself from the tree until military veteran Jason Galvin figured out the only way to save it was to repeatedly fire bullets at the branches and twine holding it captive. When the eagle dropped to freedom, everyone cheered, except perhaps the ghost of Darwin, who slapped his forehead in consternation at that particular eagle getting back into the gene pool.
Two observations here—First, I never want to be in a situation where firing 150 bullets in my general direction is the only way I can be saved, and secondly what if we passed one of those laws which says you have to show ID before buying bullets? If Jason had had to produce a driver’s license before buying a couple boxes of shells, that eagle might still be hanging there, so if eventually the government does restrict ammo sales to people who can prove who they are, there needs to be an exception for people rescuing eagles. So if you burst into a gun shop and yell “THERE’S AN EAGLE NEEDS A-RESCUING!” nobody there should hesitate to sell you as many rounds as saving that national symbol requires, whether you have ID on you or not.
And Jason, we thank you for your service. And so do the eagles.
In the meantime, we’re settling down for a traditional 4th repast. This year we’re having a big bowl of cookie dough and some burritos from Chipotle, and washing it all down with 44-ounce sodas.
God bless America.
The nation that was founded in rebellion, fought to rid itself of slavery and saved the world from fascism has now seen fit to advise its citizens against eating raw cookie dough. This breakthrough in the war against flour, eggs and sugar is brought to you by the country that ended the Soviet Empire and helped hang Saddam Hussein. The FDA has recommended you not even touch the stuff, let alone lick the mixing spoons. All this in the interests of public safety, because 42 people got sick in 21 states from eating contaminated flour. Some people consider this a government overreach. I say not. I mean, if we changed the national motto from E Pluribus to E Coli, that might be going too far.
In the meantime, 50 people got shot dead in a gay bar in Orlando and the government might consider not letting suspected terrorists buy all the guns and ammo they want.
It looks like not, though—some of our elected officials are concerned that some people on the terrorist watch list are on there by mistake, and these innocents might be denied the purchase of the AR-15’s they really, really want for their birthdays, anniversaries or Christmases, if we move to restrict the sales of automatic weapons in any way whatsoever.
Speaking of gay, some people tried to promote Heterosexual Pride Day while I was out of the country. This attempt at celebration went over like a dead guppy in an egg salad sandwich, which was all to the good. What are we heteros proud of? Our inability to develop fashion sense or tastefully decorate our own homes? It’s true that many of humanity’s accomplishments have been the result of hetero work, but so have most of the disasters. In the meantime, gay people have continuously and assiduously worked on keeping things nice. And neat. Let them congratulate themselves without we hetero types getting all wounded about it, I say.
Congratulations are also in order for this hero marksman, who saved a bald eagle who was stuck in a tree by shooting it free with 150 shots from a .22 rifle. I don’t know what your first reaction to hearing this story was, but mine was WHAT KIND OF BALD EAGLE GETS STUCK IN A TREE? A piss-poor excuse for a bald eagle is the answer. An eagle getting stuck in a tree would be like me getting stuck in a beer hall, or my girl getting trapped in a department store. It's our natural habitat, for God's sake.
Nonetheless, this young eagle was unable to free itself from the tree until military veteran Jason Galvin figured out the only way to save it was to repeatedly fire bullets at the branches and twine holding it captive. When the eagle dropped to freedom, everyone cheered, except perhaps the ghost of Darwin, who slapped his forehead in consternation at that particular eagle getting back into the gene pool.
Two observations here—First, I never want to be in a situation where firing 150 bullets in my general direction is the only way I can be saved, and secondly what if we passed one of those laws which says you have to show ID before buying bullets? If Jason had had to produce a driver’s license before buying a couple boxes of shells, that eagle might still be hanging there, so if eventually the government does restrict ammo sales to people who can prove who they are, there needs to be an exception for people rescuing eagles. So if you burst into a gun shop and yell “THERE’S AN EAGLE NEEDS A-RESCUING!” nobody there should hesitate to sell you as many rounds as saving that national symbol requires, whether you have ID on you or not.
And Jason, we thank you for your service. And so do the eagles.
In the meantime, we’re settling down for a traditional 4th repast. This year we’re having a big bowl of cookie dough and some burritos from Chipotle, and washing it all down with 44-ounce sodas.
God bless America.
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