Nurse the Hate: 4th of July

I feel a bit melancholy this July 4th. This is the first year in a very long time when I have not been armed to the teeth with powerful explosives. Isn't being buzzed up on domestic beer and lighting Chinese made fireworks what celebrating our nation's independence is all about? Didn't I read something in History of Civilization 2 about Ben Franklin inventing the roman candle? Was that him? No? George Washington maybe? Feeling a bit adrift this summer, I didn't plan ahead and now I find myself sitting on my deck considering exactly what I am to do today.

Looking around my homestead, I don't see any kids running around lighting stuff on fire. What the hell happened to this country? When I was 13, we blew up everything we could get away with from about mid June until the fireworks ran out. The explosions would start around the neighborhood slowly weeks before, and build to hearing firecrackers go off about every 14 seconds by the time you hit the 4th. It wasn't just me that was a pyromaniac. All my friends were. We would tire of lighting the fireworks as intended, and quickly "modified" them into even more impressive (and dangerous) versions. We used to have bottle rocket fights that reminded me of the opening scenes of "Saving Private Ryan".

These kids that live in my neighborhood? Pussies. They put on their little plastic helmets to ride their bikes. By the way, when did that start? In my entire childhood, I don't remember one kid getting seriously hurt on their bike. Hell, I saw some pretty damn good wipeouts over the years. Not one kid cracked his melon open and left their brains on the pavement. Scraped knee or two and back on the saddle was the rule. Yet, here are these little pansies with their bike helmets on while motorcycles thunder by with helmet-less riders. Gotta keep Junior safe...

Our fathers used to give us the fireworks, or we'd make someone's Dad drive us across to the Ohio border and buy for our buddies that had a Mom that ruled the roost. (All men like fireworks. Those that don't, I view with great suspicion.) Yet, these fathers of the kids living around me don't have the same sense of values that their fathers did. They have failed as men. Maybe it's up to me to reinstill the core values that made America great. Maybe it's up to me to blow up some mailboxes tonight, burn my fingers on a short wick, and tie multiple fireworks together into one spectacular dangerous fireball. Maybe it up to me to dress up like Uncle Sam and tilt a mortar so it drops it's payload onto a neighborhood bar-b-que leaving screams and sulfer smoke in its wake. I'll look for something that gives no clue to the actual payload. Something called "Golden Flower of Dragon" or "Lightning Sunshine America Explosion". That shit usually lights up good.

Look, I know what I'm doing. I'm the guy that thought it was a good idea to light an M-200 that had been inserted into a pinanta filled with cigarettes. Oh yeah, it was in a packed nightclub while we were playing when I lit it off. I'm also the guy that blew up a giant tub of peanut butter with an explosive so powerful that birds filled the trees the next morning gorging themselves on peanut butter smeared leaves. I'm a pro. I know what I am doing.

Maybe it's time for me to reclaim America.

Update: A whistler just passed dangerously close to my head. God Bless America!