Have I ever mentioned that I HATE the fourth of July? Because I do. Maybe it's because a sparkler once turned my upper body blue (seriously). But it's probably because I came home one year to find my neighborhood blocked off by fire trucks, because some idiot thought it would be funny to shoot a bottle rocket into someones backyard while they were out of town. Let me tell you, the people who owned that house had to be some fucked up individuals. Karma screamed their name like a white trash hooker after snorting a line of coke off her own ass cheek...if that even makes sense..it did in my head. Shut up don't judge me. Anyway, the point is those people have the worst fucking luck. Their house caught on fire twice, had a car slam into the brick wall surrounding their back yard, AND all the kids in the neighborhood would ding-dong ditch them..including me. My sister and I also ran through their sprinklers. What? It was hot outside...
Back to my main point. My hate for 4th of July. I think the biggest factor contributing to my rage for this holiday is because I don't trust drunk people with explosives. Come to think of it, I just don't trust PEOPLE with explosives..especially that fucking guy from North Korea. He's a nut ball..and he's ronery...
The point is every year on the fourth day of July, I come home expecting to see my house burnt to the ground, or I think I am going to end up in the hospital because some dumb ass decided to empty all the powder from a piping pack of Picalo Petes (say that 5 times fast) into one massive SPLOSIVE. So I'll tell you what I'm gonna do. Same thing I did last year. I am gonna take my camera, ignore every other moron and take some kick ass pictures. Maybe i'll have a whiskey sour or four. Who knows.
