‘Merica the Bootyfull

Goddamn it, I love me some ‘Merica.

You know this, dear readers. Heck, you probably love you some too.

And yesterday, on our hallowed Fourth of July holiday, I had a grandtastical time with friends, family, and beer.  I BBQ-hopped all over the Chi; kissed babies’ sunburnt foreheads; ate me some apple pie.  At the end of the day I was so drunk with red, white and blue cheer that I couldn’t help but point my finger at strangers and say “I want YOU!”

And along the way, I learned what ‘Merica really is.

It’s…

Baseball
Duh.  We all know this.  I attended BBQs in costume, as a walking representation of our nation’s capital. I wore this red novelty tee (the sleeves I ripped off, ‘cuz ‘Merica don’t need no dang sleeves) with the Washington Nationals cap I picked up during Strasmas a couple of weeks ago.
 
This outwardly provocative get-up netted me lots of friends.  Strangers approached me with “Hey, Strasburg, man!” and “Gotta love Strasburg, dude.”  The ladies were impressed with me being big in Europe and one of them even made a joke about the possibility of Stephen Strasburg being big in Europe, to which I replied, “Strasburg… he’s good and all, but, y’know he ain’t no Jeff Lung.”

‘Merica… it’s…

Being Anything You Wanna Be… For Five Hours

Hate me ‘cuz it’s trendy, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.

Peace,

Jeff