July 5th is a Smelly, Smelly Day

Yesterday, millions of Americans all over the country exploded, or something like that, I wasn’t paying too much attention. I was watching a Star Trek: The Next Generation marathon on BBC America. Nothing says, “Patriot” like watching the British Broadcast Company airing back-to-back episodes of a show that calls your country a barbaric mess in the first episode. I guess, from what my twitter timeline tells me, while I was watching Captain Jean-Luc Picard be somehow both British and French while kicking alien ass, the rest of you were planting small explosives all over the place. Sulfur filled explosives planted by the truckload. That has left me, and everyone else, in a post Independence Day soup made entirely of a Fart Miasma… and blown up trees.

For those of you outside of the United States, July 4th is our National Independence Day. This is the one day a year set aside for everyone in the country to act like Tea Party Republicans. We celebrate the official birth of our country by blowing up large chunks of it. Most of my life I have been excited by this ritual. Who doesn’t like fireworks? Well, it turns out that I’ve learned something this year.

I don’t like fireworks.

Apparently most of my friends could care less about them as well. Starting at about 10:00 last night (prime fireworks hour) and running until Sunday, I saw a plethora of friends announcing, “Ok, It’s September Already, stop with the fireworks, I have to work in the morning.”

I’m not sure if this is a new, never before heard of phenomena. Perhaps a newly developed 2013 Anti-Fireworks backlash created because of the Save the 4th on the 4th movement. The other possibility includes the fact that my friend base is moving into their 30s and older. It is possible that age causes you to loose your interest in cheap booze and explosives. I don’t want to believe it, but it is a possibility.

One thing is certain, despite all of  the Facebook and Twitter bitching about fireworks, enough of them were set off to turn Missouri into a fairly accurate representation of a war zone, as always. Large hunks of land have been blown from every lawn. Trees have been knocked down and singed by the explosive ordinances and bursting mortars. The air is thick with the rotten stench of burn sulfur still wafting across the streets in places.

This is the 5th of July in Missouri. This is the smell of America’s Celebration.

Hangover Farts.

So, if you are out and about today and you happen to smell something like greasy ass wind, don’t worry, America dealt it. For Freedom.


Or something.


Besides, this is just the tip of the Iceberg. Now, with the 4th officially over, the fireworks tents are going to drop their prices dramatically low to clear inventory. Since it’s just now Friday, I suspect that we have two more nights of deathly explosives and soupy stink gasses.


Enjoy, America, Enjoy.

You’ve earned it.