Have a Blast

The Fourth of July is a date…not a season. On this one day, fireworks happen, stuff explodes in the sky and kids burn down their parents’ garages with sparklers. Then on the fifth of July, everything is quiet again. Yes, that’s right…”fifth” is not capitalized because it’s NOT a holiday. And neither is the third, by the way.

Your neighbors are under no obligation to allow you to torment their dogs, babies and veterans before or after Independence Day. (Notice it's "Day"...singular, as in ONLY ONE.) You turn their house into a pyrotechnic trauma center on any other day and they have every right to find out how many smoke bombs they can fit in your dryer vent.

While we're on the subject, how 'bout keeping your Omaha Beach party on your own side of the fence, m'kay? It's totes adorbs that Duhwayne is lighting his very first bottle rocket before he's even in first grade, but I'd prefer if it wasn't pointed at my kitchen. And yes, I'm sure it was a giant thrill to score those pro-grade bad boys out of that guy's trunk up on the highway, but I guarantee your neighbors will be less than stoked when your drunk cousin torches their trees.

So, stop to trying to turn a one-day event into some month-long ‘Nam flashback. It doesn’t make you patriotic - it makes you an asshole.

Speaking of asinine injuries...