I LIKE CONFRONTATIONS, I DO. I GET THIS THRILL OUT OF SAYING WHAT’S TRUE.

I’m an American.

You’re an American.

We’re Americans.

It’s kind of like that maybe God exists and he’s got a bastardly sense of humor. Communion becoming hot dogs and beer in paper cups, forgiveness a four letter word. Father, forgive me, I have sinned.

We’re Americans.

What if there is a heaven and when we die and get ready to enter the pearly gates, God points his finger at us and says “HA! I got ya!”? Wouldn’t that be perfect? After all of the time spent worrying about the nature of God and meaning of life, all he’d have to do is point his finger at us and laugh. It’s a great cosmic joke.

It makes a lot of sense to me. It truly does. And I’m an American.

I was drinking at a bar the other night, talking to a 70 year old man. He was smoking camel filters and drinking vodka and tonic.

Do you want to know what he said to me?

He said, “I’ll never live to be as old as my father. I just don’t take care of myself.”

He was 70 years old. He had a grandfatherly smile, and a hearty laugh. He seemed to be a very gentle old man. I bought him another drink and we talked about storming the beach at Normandy.

Before you can ask, no he wasn’t there. He was not a veteran. We were talking about storming the beach at Normandy for a second time in history. A follow up as it were.

As it was.

As it will be forever and ever Amen.

I’m an American.

I say that the same way I say “I like coleslaw” and “this room is cold.”

It’s not an oath. It’s not a statement of pride. It just is.

And I just am.

Isn’t it funny that people created God, the assumed creator of people? People created Mickey Mouse. People created Bugs Bunny. The only difference is that no one gave them any credit.

God damn, God. Is that even possible?

I’m an American. TAG! YOU’RE “IT”!

If you could have any terminal illness of your choice, which would you choose? I’d want something brought on by too much sex and too many drugs. That way, at the very least, I could reflect on the fun times I had.

I’m an American.

Charlton Heston resigned as President of the NRA. He has Alzheimer’s. I have a hard time remembering how to spell that word, an irony which I assure you, does not lose itself on me. Let’s just save the confusion and call it “Old Timer’s”. It makes sense after all. The thing that frightmens me the most is that perhaps Charlton Heston won’t remember what he’s shooting at.

That makes him very dangerous.

I’m an American.

I shoot first and ask questions that are not the correct ones for the occasion.

I’m an American.

I’m a small time con-artist at the unemployment line.

I’m an American.

I hear voices in my head.

I’m an American.

I voted for Tony Blair.

I’m an American.

I drink beer from paper cups.

I’m an American.

I refuse to quit trying, because I want you to start paying attention.

I’m an American.

You’re an American.

We’re all Americans.

“HA! I got ya!”

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.