On America’s birthday, England “fondly” remembers the “best” memories of his “son.”
Did we want him back?
That was the question everyone wanted to know in the aftermath of the war. Over time I started to understand that people weren’t asking if we wanted to reclaim a rebellious colony. What people wanted to know was… if we missed him.
To decide whether one misses someone, one has to determine whether there was anything to miss. But, you see, never in his centuries of existence has America ever done anything to make him worth missing. In fact, he’s often made me want to disown him.
I could easily think of five hundred abhorrent things America has done (and then there would be five hundred more repressed memories lying in wait to be unearthed through the therapy I will soon surely need). But to spare us both, I will talk about only five.
Today marks the day I went from being Britain’s bitch to being the (objectively) greatest country in the world. But you guys probably already know all about that. So instead of giving you a history lesson, I’m gonna give you five reasons why July 4th is the best holiday of the year.
Guest post written by the United States of America. He implores you to follow his Twitter and like his Facebook page if you love yourself.
Happy birthday to me!
[Cue trumpets blaring the Star-Spangled Banner as a flock of bald eagles soar over the White House]
It’s ya boy, the United States aka: Land of the Free, Home of the Brave, America the Beautiful, Great Satan, Yankee Bastard, Thicc N Creamy, Mr. Melting Pot, Capitalist Extraordinaire.
Today marks the day I went from being Britain’s bitch to being the (objectively) greatest country in the world. But you guys probably already know all about that. So instead of giving you a history lesson, I’m gonna give you five reasons why July 4th is the best holiday ever.
Loud music about partying and patriotism played through speakers all over the house while guests–mostly Europeans who sort of didn’t want to be there but sort of did–drank, danced, and tried to talk over the tunes. Hissing and exploding fireworks added to the auditory clutter, but at least they were pretty to look at.
Inside, America was filling his plate with hamburger sliders when he noticed Russia chatting up Canada near the punch bowl. He watched them with scrutiny for a few seconds, then decided to ruin the moment–but not before grabbing a couple of patriotically decorated popcorn balls.
“What’s up, guys?” He asked, trying to sound chummy as he somewhat obnoxiously interrupted their conversation. “What’cha talking about? Russia, you’re not trying to turn my sister against me again, are you?”
“What do you mean?” Russia asked with a lilted voice and a grin, but immediately leaned into Canada. “You know where to find me,” she whispered. Then, after making sure to meet and hold America’s gaze for for long enough to acknowledge his displeasure, she bounced off to find someone else with whom to mingle (and probably make uncomfortable).
With a half smile, Canada shook her head. “We were talking about dogs.”