Go on, set my money on fire, bitches.

I like fireworks as much the next guy, okay. They’re pretty and all that shit.

But you know what fucks me right off? Setting my fucking tax money on fire.

Fireworks are pretty, sometimes. But every time I hear them going off, the sound of my tax dollars going up in smoke drowns out even the loudest of the explosions.

I’m all for privately funded explosions. I am American, after all. But I don’t want my motherfucking city tax dollars going toward them, when they can’t even fix the sewage lines and the fucking potholes and the ridiculous areas that need new stoplights, but they let the fancypants rich pricks dictate what happens in this shithole town.

So go on, motherfuckers, set my money on fire and send it flying into the sky in colorful explosions while I struggle to pay the fucking flood insurance for a house that has never flooded.

Cocksucking monkeyfuckers.

Happy Day of Murdering Your Own Family – We were British, remember? At least the ones who came over to do the mass slaughtering and land-stealing.

I mean.

Happy 4th.

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