Some of Y'all Will Be Missing Fingers After Tonight

The 4th of July: Alcohol + Explosives = ‘MURICA!

Celebrate Independence Day and have a blast. But not while you’re holding an M-80. Photos: Bing Image Creator

It’s that time of year once again when most celebrate America’s birthday. We plan BBQs and get-togethers with friends, family, and new people we’re meeting for the first time. What can be more fun than a giant party celebrating freedom? (While we still can.)

Doing all of that, but adding booze and explosives. Yee-haw, ‘MURICA!

The 4th of July isn’t my favorite holiday, especially with Trump burning our nation to the ground. Sure, I like partying as much as the next fella. In the past, I’ve enjoyed being around family and friends. This year, I’m passing on the festivities. And heed my warning:

This may very well be the last day some of you have all ten of your fingers.

The 4th was fun for us as kids, growing up. Like most small children, we weren’t allowed to play with fire. The closest we got was lighting a match in the bathroom after dropping a deuce. Evidently, the smell of shit bothered my folks more than the idea of trusting grade-schoolers with matches.

“DID YOU LIGHT A MATCH IN THERE?” I remember my Mother yelling at us after we exited the crime scene.

“Oh, no. I’ll go back and do it,” I’d say, gleeful that I had a second chance to play with fire. Of course, I’d lit about a dozen already, and made a homemade flamethrower with my mother’s Aqua Net. If they didn’t see the damn fireball, it never happened.

Independence Day was the one chance each year that we were allowed to be near explosives. As we got a bit older and my parents’ lower backs got worse, lighting our cache of fireworks landed on my younger brother and me. But it was drilled into our heads to be safe and light them carefully.

Once that fuse was lit, we ran like the cops were chasing us. BOOM!

As I aged, the idea of loud explosions and fire became less appealing. Though we still had get-togethers with friends every 4th, it just wasn’t the same as childhood. But adding alcohol to the mix made things more interesting and fun. And I still have all of my fingers at least.

Would you trust a couple of drunk guys with a lighter? Hey, we still have all our digits at least.

My brother-in-law Ben is a man’s man. He’s a retired cop, an outdoorsman, and a card-carrying member of the NRA. When he has a beer in hand and some great rock music playing, it’s party time. Add some firepower and explosives, and he’s truly in his element.

I’ve camped, fished, and boated with him many times. He’s a good fella to have around whenever you’re unsure about anything outdoors-related. But I wouldn’t trust him with a glow stick after a case of beer has been ingested.

I kid, I kid. And exaggerate, to some degree. But I know he and I have done some questionable shit during 4th of Julys gone by. I blame Guinness on this one. But it makes sense. We like to party, so we tend to act like the teenagers we are at heart. Ben’s one of my favorite people to be around because it’s all fun and games when we hang out.

That is, until someone blows their finger off.

One Fourth of July, we met some new friends of theirs. I couldn’t help but notice that his buddy Mark was missing an arm. I needed more information from Ben about that.

“Uh, Brother? Please tell me that he didn’t lose it last Fourth,” I whispered to him.

Ben belly-laughed at my little joke. Then Drunky the Clown ran off and told Mark what I’d said. Jesus Heineken, we should have cut him off right then. But we laughed it off. Then Ben said, “Well, Mark has to be careful this year, he’s already down one arm.”

We compromised and settled on running and jumping through the sparkling fountain in the photo above. Though I may have singed a few hairs on the ol’ sack, serious injury was avoided. Note to self: Jeans are safer than shorts.

The Kid Rock-Fairy will leave you plenty of ammo to celebrate your Fourth of July with. And probably a case of the crabs. Photo: Facebook

Instead of attending a 4th of July family BBQ at a local park this year, we’re passing. Though there would probably be good food, awesome company, and some pre-game fireworks before the main event later in the evening, I‘m just not in the mood. Why celebrate democracy and freedom when they seem to be hanging by a fucking thread?

Plus there’s

Libby the Mooch

to consider. Most of you have read about Mooch in some of my other articles or seen her on my Substack Lives. One thing I can tell you about this sweet little pupper of ours is that she HATES explosions. Loud noises scare the bejesus out of her. She jumps up when she farts and it jolts her awake.

Thunderstorms are not happy times for her. She will run and hide under the bed or in our closet. Sometimes I have to do a sweep of the entire house to find our poor traumatized fur-baby. Treats usually help soothe an anxiety-riddled Mooch. I’m not above playing an action movie loudly on the TV, so she doesn’t notice the explosions as much.

We also live in a very red, conservative state. This means that the number of fuckwits around us setting off loud, combat-sounding illegal fireworks is much higher than in a normal, law-abiding state. Party of law and order, my ass. Not on Independence Day, at least.

It would be one thing if these hillbillies set them off between 10 PM and midnight only on July 4th. However, we’ve been hearing what sounds like cannonballs being fired since goddamn June. There will be close to a week’s worth of ear-shattering explosions going on after the fact. Mooch will not be pleased. So we’ll be home this 4th to comfort her.

We even have dog treats that are supposed to chill her the hell out. I think of them as doggie edibles. Libby Chong, in the house. Hopefully, Nice Dreams.

It makes me sad that she just doesn’t understand why it sounds like war outside, even though it’s Independence Day. Photo: Twit-X

As bad as I feel for Libberoni on the 4th of July, I feel worse for our combat veterans. I cannot imagine what our brave military people with PTSD feel when they hear explosions going off in their neighborhoods. While some may not mind the loud booming noises, others are probably anxious as fuck and having panic attacks.

I wish we’d get over our fascination with gunpowder and loud explosions, as Americans. With the gun culture of our country, the ammophiles among us would probably revolt if they couldn’t light shit on fire and blow up as many things as possible. Preferably with a blood-alcohol content above .15.

This is why I lift my glass to those who still have 10 fingers and both arms. I salute you, brave, drunken ‘Muricans with all your digits. At least on July 3rd. No guarantees after tonight.

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