It’s that time of year again: Independence Day. This is the day good ol’ ‘merica commemorates our Declaration of Independence from Great Britain, as adopted by our founding fathers.
Every other day of the year, we celebrate potential fathers.
What better way to say “nanny nanny boo boo, wankers,” than by donning the colors of our Stars & Stripes and celebrating gratuitously with parades, carnivals, picnics, concerts, baseball games, family reunions, getting drunk, playing a game we’re proud to call cornhole, and taking explosives far less seriously than one should ever take explosives?
Nothing says “I’m proud to be an American” like launching a bottle rocket from your pride-hole.
I think we’ve made it abundantly clear how proud we are to be American. This year, let’s celebrate what it really means not to be British. What they have in dialect that makes Andrew Dice Clay sound like poetry, we have in pop culture superiority (case in point: Andrew Dice Clay). I mean, besides Wham! and David Beckham, what have the British done for pop culture lately?
Nope, she’s ours, too.
In a case of art imitating the art they tried really hard to imitate, Oasis sparked almost as much controversy when their guitarist/vocalist claimed they’d be bigger than The Beatles as John Lennon himself did when he remarked they were bigger than Jesus. In most cases I’d say The Beatles cancel out all other Britpop offenses, but “Wonderwall” is too great a crime to pardon.
We’ve also made far greater advances in unwanted-facial-hair removal. Game: America.
I can’t help but feel the British gave us Tilda Swinton for the sole purpose of haunting our dreams forever. But they also gave us David Bowie, so in this case it does cancel out, on account of they’re the same person.
Has anyone ever seen Tilda Swinton and David Bowie in the same room at the same time? The defense rests.
A well-known fact is that any and all strains in the UK-US alliance can be attributed to one individual: Russell Brand. Brand was shipped across the pond to entertain us with his
heroin addiction sex addiction alcohol addiction comedy, and all he did was taint our very own Katy Pe– eh, never mind.
Ever notice how proud the British are to lay claim to The Office, even though nobody’s ever seen it? Admit it, you’d have never heard of their version if not for ours. And if you had, you didn’t understand a word they were saying, anyway.
We’ll give you credit for The Office, Brits, as soon as one of you claims responsibility for this:
Please maintain the orderly conduct you’re known for as you line up, now.
Don’t get me wrong, the British aren’t all bad. They certainly know their way around a muffin, and without them we wouldn’t have Kate Moss to remind us, when we feel like maybe we’re not doing all we can for humanity, that we could be doing a lot worse.
“Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.” Except food, Kate.
And don’t think for a second that, while we’ll be forever grateful for David Beckham, we’re not bitter over the fact that we can’t have him without having to tolerate this:
Can’t blame the sourpuss. It must be hard being completely insubmersible.
If nothing else, I’d say we’re way better athletes than they are, hands down, and I can’t wait to beat their limey arses this summer, in the ultimate competition of national greatness.