Happy Borntday America.

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America. “Happy birthday” in the context of calendar years, the years are showing on you ol’ boy. Adolescence, of course, never wore well on you. You seemed to define purpose with dignity, spreading democracy at the expense of dispelling citizens to acquire ground, marching freedom in designer duds, gun barrels glinting like beetle shells, bypassing the enslaved. Hell. That was war, or something similar. We tend to disregard morality if the end goal is visualized as proper. Hell. With God challenging a father to murder his son how could we not challenge the definitions as improper? I consider it a patriotic investment to fill up at a local gas station labeled Freedom. Within the rectangles of its signage are stars & stripes galore, offset by the familiar Red & Blue symbolic of blood and guts. Freedom gas station is the City On a Hill, towering above the plainly constructed gas stations with their prototypical research driven color scheme and all around P.R. founded aesthetic. This is how America functions…as a fuck you. Freedom confiscated the invaluable symbols of America’s majesty and adopted its essence and used it to market gas and sundries, subtlety was never the forte of a democratic society, anyway. It’s the loudest and proudest candidates that get the votes and Freedom is caterwauling something fierce. I’m not saying you shouldn’t be proud, America, it’s your BIG DAY. Firework displays will be bountiful tonight, consider the night sky your cake and the dyed gunpowder your candles. Make a wish as your citizens ohh and ahh like good Christian children during Christmas. We’ve come to celebrate your birth…it’s all for you…because we know that soon enough you’ll take it all, anyway.

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