I usually blog just for my dog friends but today I am blogging for their stupid Mommies and Daddies and their stupid friends. What is your freaking fascination with fireworks?
Every single municipality has to have their own fireworks display. Heaven forbid we don’t have fireworks. If not then the mindless lemmings couldn’t go and sit on the grass (and really when do your Mommies and Daddies ever sit on the grass except at a Jimmy Buffett concert when they smoke their “doobies,” their “Maryjane”? Their “reefer”?) and look up at the sky and say “oooooh, look at the green ones, oooooh look at the yellow one, oooooh look at the blue ones!”
You want to see something green, look at the grass, you want to see something yellow, look at the sun, you want to see something blue, look at the sky. Walk outside on a summer day, look up, look down, there’s your fireworks display.
“Oh it lights up the sky just like it’s daytime,” the humans say. Yeah? You know what we got lots of during the summer? Sunlight. There is more danm sunlight on the fourth of July then just about any day. So they all go rushing off somewhere just as daylight is flickering it’s last, sit down, look up at sky, and wait until it’s lit up again. You could have been looking at a lit sky for the last 17 hours ya bunch of dopes.
And the noise! Here is a brilliant idea for humans who are afraid of terrorists with guns, unruly teens with guns, urban youths with guns, post menopausal grannies with guns, lets take something that sounds exactly like all those things we’re afraid of and have it echo for miles.
For every village throughout the world there is no worse sound that being surrounded by gunfire knowing you and your neighbors can’t get freed as slowly the vice of violence squeezes the life from all of you. But when Daddy took me out on July 4th our neighborhood sounded exactly like that.
But the worst part of fireworks is any fiddlehead can get their hands on them and set them off not at the local high school but right next door to ours houses. Thanks to states like South Carolina where they kill good puppies and they are ruled by the handsome and desirable McGuvy anybody who can strike a match can put on a fireworks display that will make anything going off over the Charles River look like baby boomers holding up cell phones begging for the third encore at a Billy Joel concert.
So, in conclusion, of all the silly, crazy, worrisome, senseless things humans do, none are as silly, crazy, worrisome or senseless as celebrating their nation’s founding by trying to extend the endless day just as night has put the light to rest; ohhhing and awwing over primary colors that cannot match one brief glimpse of a rainbow as they pop and sizzle; as they shake our doggy beds, our crates, our houses, our neighborhoods, with the same fury that used to send neighbors grabbing their belongings and scampering for safety; and speaking of neighbors, my Rube Goldberg squirrel obsessed neighbor and drunk off his rocket naked neighbor Franks and Beans could find a hot Latino on Craig’s List, get a thousand rockets from a Governor who keeps his agenda in his pants and blow up my building in a drunk squirrel hating rage; and for all these reasons I move that you work fire no more, that you leave the uses of working fire to the Gods, and you give your patient, loving, always faithful friends’ ears and nerves a well deserved rest.
Every single municipality has to have their own fireworks display. Heaven forbid we don’t have fireworks. If not then the mindless lemmings couldn’t go and sit on the grass (and really when do your Mommies and Daddies ever sit on the grass except at a Jimmy Buffett concert when they smoke their “doobies,” their “Maryjane”? Their “reefer”?) and look up at the sky and say “oooooh, look at the green ones, oooooh look at the yellow one, oooooh look at the blue ones!”
You want to see something green, look at the grass, you want to see something yellow, look at the sun, you want to see something blue, look at the sky. Walk outside on a summer day, look up, look down, there’s your fireworks display.
“Oh it lights up the sky just like it’s daytime,” the humans say. Yeah? You know what we got lots of during the summer? Sunlight. There is more danm sunlight on the fourth of July then just about any day. So they all go rushing off somewhere just as daylight is flickering it’s last, sit down, look up at sky, and wait until it’s lit up again. You could have been looking at a lit sky for the last 17 hours ya bunch of dopes.
And the noise! Here is a brilliant idea for humans who are afraid of terrorists with guns, unruly teens with guns, urban youths with guns, post menopausal grannies with guns, lets take something that sounds exactly like all those things we’re afraid of and have it echo for miles.
For every village throughout the world there is no worse sound that being surrounded by gunfire knowing you and your neighbors can’t get freed as slowly the vice of violence squeezes the life from all of you. But when Daddy took me out on July 4th our neighborhood sounded exactly like that.
But the worst part of fireworks is any fiddlehead can get their hands on them and set them off not at the local high school but right next door to ours houses. Thanks to states like South Carolina where they kill good puppies and they are ruled by the handsome and desirable McGuvy anybody who can strike a match can put on a fireworks display that will make anything going off over the Charles River look like baby boomers holding up cell phones begging for the third encore at a Billy Joel concert.
So, in conclusion, of all the silly, crazy, worrisome, senseless things humans do, none are as silly, crazy, worrisome or senseless as celebrating their nation’s founding by trying to extend the endless day just as night has put the light to rest; ohhhing and awwing over primary colors that cannot match one brief glimpse of a rainbow as they pop and sizzle; as they shake our doggy beds, our crates, our houses, our neighborhoods, with the same fury that used to send neighbors grabbing their belongings and scampering for safety; and speaking of neighbors, my Rube Goldberg squirrel obsessed neighbor and drunk off his rocket naked neighbor Franks and Beans could find a hot Latino on Craig’s List, get a thousand rockets from a Governor who keeps his agenda in his pants and blow up my building in a drunk squirrel hating rage; and for all these reasons I move that you work fire no more, that you leave the uses of working fire to the Gods, and you give your patient, loving, always faithful friends’ ears and nerves a well deserved rest.
Foley Monster, we couldn’t agree with you more.
ReplyDeleteHobo and Mom
Wow what a true story. My grandma's pup, Hp, ran away from my Grandma's home on the 4th. He was so scared he got out and ran to the Interstate & got hit by a car. Fear is terribly compounded on the 4th of July. It's bad enough dogs have to put up with storms.
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