The Fourth of July. It’s possibly the greatest holiday that has ever existed. Some guys signed a piece of paper that brought the United States of America into existence, and more than two centuries later we commemorate that day in the most American way: grilling, getting belligerently drunk and watching things explode. I love July Fourth because I’m a big fan of America. It’s pretty much the best country I’ve ever lived in.
This is the country that gave the world sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll, and I plan on showing how much I appreciate it by going all out this Sunday. I’ve decided to share some of my plans with you because I’m sure there are some of you out there who are interested in knowing what I’ll be up to (or, bored in class).
First, I’ll be replacing all the chicken at my barbecue with bald eagle meat. What better way to enjoy America then tasting the succulent flesh of our national bird? Yes, you party pooper, I know it’s illegal to do that, because it’s an endangered species.
To that, I ask: Where is your American spirit? You think the Boston Tea Party was legal? What if the Redcoats said they were an endangered species? We’d all be drinking tea at 4 p.m. every day instead of beer and placing extra u’s in words where we don’t need them. (One special tip for cooking bald eagle: Throw some olive branches on the grill with it. You thought that bird was majestic to look at? One bite of an eagle wing, and that flavor will make you stand up and salute Old Glory.)
To further spice up my Fourth, I’m breaking out the big guns – literally. As part of my fireworks extravaganza, I’ve refurbished an actual cannon that was used in the Revolutionary War and plan on firing it along University Avenue (weather permitting).
I love the Fourth of July because we get to smack talk the British all we want. Hey, England! You suck at soccer, just like you suck at maintaining sovereignty over your colonies!
I’d like to wrap up this week’s column by giving a special shout out to the new freshmen starting Summer B this week: Hey guys, what’s up? Quick tip: There is no secret pool on the roof of your dorm. You know where there is a pool, though? My house. I’m over 21, too. Hit me up on Facebook, ladies.
