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“I celebrate the 4th like any other red blooded American; tacos and beer at the Mexican post.“ -JB

It was that time of year already; the special day of exhilaration and contempt. Not because of the actual day. We’re as patriotic as the next guys. The fourth of July is when we wear our American flag t-shirts and yell at those yuppie bastards driving their Priuses. What country is this you shyster bastard? It’s America. I demand 6 miles to the gallon and where are those damn styrofoam containers my burgers used to come in? Instead it’s because the prolific drinkers slowly exit their homes one by one. Some carefully tanned by computer screens, “I saw a picture of the sun on Tumblr, man”. Some baffled by their own gigantic guts. Say pal, how far are you along? 40 years and half a 30 pack. Congratulations, I bet she’s going to be beautiful. Today is special though. I have to remind myself. to put aside all our differences to celebrate independence through a mix of drunken revelry, and ruthless carelessness for fingers, toes, and friendly acquaintances too close to our personal fireworks display.

This years saving grace came in the form of Wednesday; natures fire extinguisher on the sparklers. Work impeded celebration and taking two days off would be a dim decision. Still, it didn’t stop a lot of people and drinking ensued. I can’t claim to understand the reasons behind what we witnessed, though JB swears alcohol, Clutch claims bath salts and our newest writer Xandra Love (Advice from a b*tch) claims, “Men, typical.”

In an act of patriotism and celebration a man stopped in the middle of Ben Franklin Parkway, placed his hands behind his head, and gyrated his torso to hail a cab. The Ravishing Rick Rude dance, if you’re familiar. A few ladies whistled; a couple of men cheered. It was reminiscent of Clutch at Mad River. I was thankful he didn’t see. It would have become a competition to see who could hail a cab quicker with some twists, shakes, and shimmies.

This is exactly what it looked like. Copyright WWE©.

Later, a man on an electric wheel chair zoomed down the street with streamers blowing in the wind. He shouted in tongues, “WOO HAAA WHOOOO”. Curiosity always got the best of me. I made my way closer. “SOMEONE STOLE MA BIKE SEAT!!!” he shouted. Confused I looked around, no one was in sight. JB shrugged his shoulders and then pointed. The strange old man had a bike seat in the basket of his wheel chair. We slowly backed away. “Bath salts, I’m just saying,” mumbled Clutch.

After a fine fireworks display, a guy shouted at another man because he was wearing a Mickey Mouse shirt. No, nothing happened before hand. There was no accidental bump, no stealing of women, just pure and simple debauchery. We stopped to watch as it quickly escalated. Mickey Mouse shirt ripped his off. Turned out he was pretty ripped, and he started screaming back at the guy. A few shouts later the first guy quietly walked away. Wisdom is a funny thing.

Holidays give amateur drinkers an excuse to explore. If you stuck to backyard barbeques with family and friends, then we salute you. As for the rest of you…we’ll see you when we’re stuffing our gullets with turkey and remembering the time the Indians gave us corn and we gave them disease; we laughed, we loved, and then drank firewater.

The bottom line:

Stick with your backyard parties. The crazies love holidays. Happy Independence Day.

 

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