Or maybe it’s an allegory. I’m not too good at school stuff…
“Had to get out of Vegas before I committed suicide or had sex with another runaway. Just drove all the way home and boy is my dick tired! But I realized something as I stopped for some tacos and meth downtown. Driving through Downtown LA on the 4th of July must be what it’s like to live on the Gaza Strip. Explosions everywhere in the sky and little brown people running around screaming. Scary.”
Looks like a pretty typical celebration to me.
I’m trying to get a group of people together (including the kid with the car downstairs) to at least drive me the hell off this campus to see some fireworks tonight…
“Dude. I’ve been avoiding so many of my real thoughts and feelings by drowning them in liquor and drugs this weekend that I forgot to give you some 4th of July tips! Real quick- a couple highlights from today were a dealer asking me if I was wearing Tommy Bahama shoes (I wasn’t, she was bummed, so was I) and the time I was using the handicapped stall and an actual handicapped person wheeled up. Boy was he angry! Anyway, it’s not too late to honor America on her birthday– just hope you get this in time. The most important thing to remember is to always stand right over whatever it is you light on fire, staring directly into it until it finally explodes. My friend One Arm Tony taught me that. Just kidding he’s dead. Also remember to scream “We did it!” over and over during the fireworks, and to sing the National Anthem with your pants off as the finale happens. After you eat lots of meat, try eating a couple packs of Pop Rocks and then drink a soda. And don’t turn down a Roman Candle fight if anyone challenges you. Good luck! Oh yeah, and God Bless America motherfucker.”
Some of these suggestions sound dangerous.