Good day to you, fellow patriots. I, the most American American by happenstance of birth will graciously share with others how to best celebrate the independence of the United States from the British evil Empire, the only country to ever do so–I assure you, please don’t look it up. You doubt my Americosity!?! I ignore South, Central, and upper-Northern American Americans when I say “America,” that’s how American I am.
To celebrate this 4th of July (the only day where I mistakenly say the day before the month like some driving-on-the-left-hand-side-of-the-road-Euro) I have prepared for weeks to celebrate my American-God-given independence. This involved me drinking American-brewed beer like Fosters, and obtaining funding for my Americanly Americanish project. Which means I applied and received a financially-crippling student loan. This allowed me to purchase a Chinese immigrant to be my sub-minimum-wage assistant as well as a Hispanic immigrant to stand there while I blame all of my problems on him.
With no time off from my job where they have me work 60+ hours a week but classify my as a contract worker so that they don’t have to offer me medical insurance, I, like a true corporate-worshipping American, replaced myself with a machine, boosting profits and CEO bonuses while reducing labor costs, and reducing my own humanity by calling myself “labor costs.”
With my assistants, whose immigration I condemn, in tow, we jumped on a train to soak in the true Americania permeating the purple mountains and amber waves of grain. While on the train, I would shoot buffalo for sport. No, we wouldn’t eat them, we only dine on fried corn syrup.
When we got to our destination, an Indian casino blatantly named Morongo, we disembarked and I immediately declared the land mine. My labor force went about relocating the Indian residents…mainly by shoving them forcefully outside the boundaries of my new land. Some of the Indians on the reservation did not take kindly to relocation, and being the gracious hosts, thankful that these Indians stewarded the land before I was able to claim it as God willed it, we gave those ornery savages some blankets. I’m not at liberty to say if there were any diseases associated with those blankets.
The casino was making a lot of money that I promptly hid in tax shelters overseas. Most of my dealers in the casino were just video screens manned by people in sweat shops around the world with the cards shooting out of a slot in the screen. This allowed me to emancipate my Chinaman (slipping in casual racism is super-American). With all the money I was making, I opened a pharmaceutical company. Don’t worry, I don’t condone animal testing, we only test on homeless people and however many dark skinned people we could wrangle.
All of the money I made by making pills that only partially work on the elderly, I sank it into a rodeo/racetrack facility as well as a little left over to buoy male college athletics, in particular football. I will only support the most concussive sports. That’s where the problems started. I was sued by college athletes for removing safety restrictions. Then I was sued by an audience member at a NASCAR race I hosted after she went deaf and dumb…and I mean she was made stupider for being there, not that she was mute. A rodeo clown sued me for creating an event expressly where bulls are unleashed in an arena with just untrained clowns. Apparently, Bulls Revenge is not an event that will be sweeping the nation. There were also a couple of lawsuits from the disenfranchised Indians, both the Indians from India working at my casino and the American Indians whom I kicked off my God blessed land. Then throw in a few more patent lawsuits for good measure, and I was forced to declare bankruptcy and liquidate all of my Manifest Destiny acquisitions.
I entertained a political run there, but I couldn’t find any backers with my history of dabbling in Satanism, Atheism and Scientology. So, I had to find another, easily replaceable position in the financial industry. Best of luck to my formerly indentured Hispanic traveling companion whom I had beaten and deported.
That’s how I celebrate being an true American American. Now, if you’ll pardon me, I have to ride my Harley-Ford-Truck-Cycle to the Hot Dog Eating Contest.