Americans in 2019 are getting a steady stream of how much “better” it is in other countries. Thanks O’Trumpa.
Like this bullshit from this Fucking Canadian:
If I get ill I go to the doctor.
If I was injured I go to the hospital
I never once have to wonder how I will pay for that.
Socialist bastard that I am
— Andrew Brodie (@andrewbrodie331) September 17, 2019
Yeah, yeah… healthcare. So proud of yourselves for your long, healthy lives available to even the poorest of the poor. O’Canada.
America will do nothing about it.
USA, USA, USA. Where we get fat, suffer from diabetes and die young. (Except the rich — who can afford the trainers, the surgeries and the meds).
Nothing is ever going to change, so I just ignore that shit from our “superiors” up north. (I’m looking at you Paul Duncan.)
But recently a ray of hope came to me at the Third World bar. “Wolf”, who (surprise, surprise) grew up in Germany, said the birthday tradition there is ass backward.
“If it’s your birthday, and you want to invite your friends to a party — you have to pay for it,” he said. “If you don’t, no one will come.”
Now that’s a tradition I can get behind.
Birthdays are a fucking stupid idea. Your mother did all the work — why the fuck is she putting on a party for you — you ungrateful little shit with your fat face full of cake.
It’s even sadder when adults force their “birthday” upon you. We get it — you are one year closer to death. Don’t make me sign another fucking card.
For god’s sake, don’t make me buy you Tucson’s 3rd most expensive beer at Culinary Dropout — Patrick, you giant pendejo.
I’ve even got a neice who stretches her birthday to enormous lengths. “It’s the month of Shannon,” she announces, like it’s a fucking national holiday. No wonder her husband never speaks. Hey, even Jesus only got one day.
I get that we should mark the time. It’s good that people know how old they actually are. If we didn’t remind those over 40 every year, they would forget.
“Am I 43 or 87 this year? ”
Don’t laugh. That would happen without some regular reminders. I’ve got a 60-something friend who won’t take a shit if you don’t remind him (that’s right, you guessed it — it’s Goat-fucking Geno).
But if you like being reminded, and you want to spend time with your friends celebrating you — you pay for it. And no fucking presents for you. You buy the beer and the food and maybe I’ll invite you back to my birthday party.
But I won’t… I would never throw myself a fucking birthday party.
I don’t want people around while I’m counting the wasted time and contemplating my mortality. That’s what spouses and therapists are for.
So sure, America is getting a lot of shit lately. We can’t fix healthcare, or impreach a criminal. But goddamn it, we can turn this fucking birthday thing around.
Who’s with me?
USA, USA, USA
it’s your birthday
you fucking pay
USA, USA, USA…
Categories: Political Correctness