(This is a shameless repeat of last year's post, which I adjust slightly each and every year.)
"The Fourth of July is a slow news day," I told the person on the other end of the line. I had been roused from my well-deserved holiday slumber by a panicking fool of a producer. "The wires aren't broken at all. There's just no news, you twit."
"But it's the Fourth of July!" they said. "Everybody around the world is celebrating it! That's got to be news, right?"
Where did they get this idiot? What rock did they dredge this moron out from under? Why is it that we Americans think that the world revolves around our patch of dirt?
And what the Hell do people around the world do on the Fourth of July while we're guzzling beer and blowing off our fingers with firecrackers?
Australians are a seedy lot, descended from the cast-off thieves and brigands of the British Empire. They spend most of their days in a continuous drunken stupor, consuming vast quantities of beer and ale. That which they do not consider of quality to drink themselves, they box up and export as Foster's to the United States.
"Those Yanks'll take a shine to our pisswater on their Jollyday," they say, and toss another shrimp on the barbie.
Ah, Brazil! To be in Brazil on the Fourth Of July!
The sights! The sounds! The sexy!
The deep, rich smells of the Amazon on fire as they make room for more low-yield farms that will end up abandoned when the nutrient-poor soil is exhausted!
Have a drink, American! One picture, five bucks! Two picture, ten bucks!
The Chinese are very sorry about all the human rights violations they commit on themselves. They have so many humans within their borders, it's just impossible not to turn around and find yourself violating the human rights of all those people around you. It's bad enough that they have droughts and famines sweep through their rural countrysides, but the fact that they get hungry an hour after eating their food makes matters worse.
"We sell you firecrackers," they say. "You make go boom. Happy July Fourth, dogfaces."
There is something rotten in the state of Denmark, and Hans is looking through his refrigerator trying to figure out what it is. He spots a Cracker Barrel Cheese Log with an expiration date of July Fourth on it that his cousin from the states sent him last year.
"What was Horst thinking?" asks Hans of himself. "He knows I only eat Havarti."
He tosses out the cheese log, and everyone rejoices.
If it were not for England, there wouldn't be any American Independence Day. The English spend most of their time on this day thanking God that they are free of the Yanks. They spent a lot of time thanking God that they are free of all those former colonies they once owned. In fact, they spend an awful lot of time shouting for the decolonization of their former colonies and mandates.
(All except for Northern Ireland, of course.)
The French love to hate everything about the Americans. They hate their culture, their people, and the dollars they infuse into their economy through tourism and the Marshall Plan. Lady Liberty herself was a gift from the French, and it is her that embodies the spirit of liberty itself that is so precious a commodity on the Fourth of July. Only an American would be so rude to point out that the damned thing was designed badly and an American engineer had to fix the thing.
The Mona Lisa, the greatest masterpiece of all time, only by chance resides in France, has been stolen many times out from under the long noses of the French gendarmes, and was not painted by a frog, but a whop.
"If it were not for this Fourth of July Jerry Lewis movie marathon," say the French, "then there would be no reason for America to exist at all."
"Let me get this straight," said Klaus, an American-loving German. "We try to unify Europe once, they gas and bomb us to death back home. We try it a second time, and they do the same. But the second time, they wait sixty years and make a musical on Broadway about it and shower that effort with awards and praises?"
"Freedom is a crazy thing," says Hilda, another German. "You've got to love them, though."
The half of Hispanola occupied by Haitians is a center of love for all things America. It's practicaly infectious.
They build their boats and ride the currents to the object of their affections, and the survivors praise America even more as they are loaded back on cargo ships and sent back to a hail of clubs, stones, and machetes.
"To taste freedom once and die is better than never having tasted it at all," shout the mortally wounded Haitians, raising their hands in futility as their brethren hack them to bits.
Construction is hardly complete on another call center in India when the lights are turned on and the workers are herded to their cubicles.
"God bless America," cheer the workers on the floor. "And thank you for your jobs."
The Japanese have two very big reasons to love the Americans. They are constantly reminded of two very unique gifts the Americans have given to the Japanese over the past sixty years, one very shortly after the other.
They haven't affected them in the slightest, of course.
"More porn!" shout the Japanese. "Show us Pammy Lee breasts and Tommy Lee video! Send more DVD!"
Kuwaitis are thrilled to death that the Americans are celebrating their independence, since they too received liberation at the hands of the United States ten years ago. Those that are not thrilled to death are stoned to death, beaten to death, and tortured to death for attempting to hold such views as universal suffrage and economic parity that the Americas claim to hold so dearly.
"Thanks for the place back," say the Kuwaitis. "Now buzz off so we can go back to robbing you blind for every drop of oil we deign to sell you."
Never accuse the Lebanese of failing to cherish and value Americans. After all, they set high ransoms for any Americans they accept into their homes and basements as guests, right?
"We are asking for two million dollars," say the Lebanese to their esteemed guest-hostage. "If Uncle Sam does not pay up, they will find your body parts spread from sea to shining sea."
Ask any Mexican what they think of the Fourth of July, and if they take the time to stop stealing your hubcaps they'll tell you a tale of an economic bounty too great for the Americans to harvest alone. They proudly march across their border, leaving their homeland behind, and head for the Promised Land with liberty in their hearts and fake documentation in their pockets.
"No habla Ingles," say these proud Mexicans, and they expect everybody else to bend over backwards to habla espanol right back to them. God bless the freedoms that we hold so dearly to allow them this bold frontier spirit!
The Dutch people of the Netherlands revel in the freedoms that the Americans hold so near and dear to their hearts. They appreciate the beauty of a society hell-bent on mass consumption, the overproduction of greenhouse gases, and the refusal to limit such environmental disasters in the name of liberty and freedom.
"Fill another sandbag and toss it up here," say the people of the Netherlands as they try to hold back the rising seas. "The Americans must celebrate this great day with blasting away more of the ozone layer." They ooh and aah to the pictures of fireworks over the television.
The Omani rarely see Americans. They often see Canadians and welcome the Canadians as Americans, but the Canadians say that they are Canadians and not Americans and that it's all a big mistake.
"So what's the difference between you and Americans?" ask the Omani.
The Canadians look at each other and shrug. "We use the Metric System?"
Invaded countless times throughout European history, the Polish people are grateful for liberation at the hands of the Americans after World War Two and marvel at the lack of kickstands on the Sherman tanks. They consider this to be a fair trade for countless jokes at their nation's expense, and will wax poetically about the greatness of the Declaration of Independence as they search frantically for where they stashed the recipe for ice cubes.
"We love America!" they shout, and they turn the chair frantically as one of their number stands on top holding the lightbulb. "Lady Liberty lights our way to freedom!" The new light bulb shines, and they all rejoice.
Up until recently, the Qatari had no idea what a treasure lay in the sand beneath their feet. With good old American know-how, they dug deep and released the oil that would now turn them from a nation of wandering brink-of-starvation Berbers to a nation that could embody all the ideals of their newfound friends.
"Make it look like an accident," say the embarrassed Qatari standing over another pile of Americans, slain for their consumption of alcohol and licentious ways. "We must learn to cherish them and their individuality as much as their investments."
Most Russians are angry over the end of the Cold War, which brought about the collapse of their military-based economy. One in particular is livid over the collapse of his country and the source of his lame humorous anecdotes broadcast all over American television. Who knew that the price of freedom was going to be his career and livelihood?
"In Russia, we..." stammers Yakov Smirnov, a hapless Russian comic, "Well, we used to... I mean... nevermind!" He cries... possibly for joy that America is there to guide the way.
South Africans are always quick to admit that their policy of apartheid was a mistake, and that a government that perpetuates the inequality of races is not fit to govern at all. And so, Nelson Mandela was freed and brought everyone together in a spirit of peace and reuniting.
"Thank goodness America could look beyond its own inequities and racial divides to help us with ours," shout the South Africans. "Maybe one day, if there's any of us left, we can help you with yours."
They swallow AZT pill after AZT pill, praying that Mandela will free them from the deadly AIDS plague.
Hail to the brave Turks! When not at war with their mortal enemies, the Greeks, they find time to praise their beloved allies, the Americans. From minaret to minaret, they sing our praises at dawn, noon, and dusk.
"For their Thanksgiving, they always have Turkey at their table," say the Turks. "It is nice of them to remember us in such a way. Flalafel and skiskebabs are a wonderful way to celebrate thanks to Allah as well as to ring in their freedoms. Now what is that fat, stupid cooked bird they serve for dinner that day called, again?"
Ukranians still set their sights on America. The land of the free, the home of the brave, and the target zone for nuclear destruction. The remaining Soviet missiles they own rarely waver from their original settings, and for a few hundred thousand they'd be happy to sell one of them to you.
"You want fireworks?" offer the Ukranians. "We'll give you fireworks."
You can't blame the Vietnamese for the special place in their hearts that they reserve for America. It was they that tried to guide Vietnam from colonial possession to democratic stronghold, only to let the hearts and minds of the Vietnamese people slip through their grasp and fall to their Communist brothers to the North.
"Hey," say the Vietnamese, checking their calendars. "We won the war. Doesn't that mean we get to sack their capitol or something?"
The residents of Wake Island never really got over the influences of cargo culture rousing them from their native habits and ways. They raise up effigies of Uncle Sam and parade him along the beach with flaming torches, dancers, jugglers, and mockups of aircraft leaving gifts from the beloved Americans.
"Send more planes," say the Wake Island revelers. "We need a good bounty this scavenging day!"
There is no country starting with X. I think there used to be one, but Ronald Reagan got it confused with Grenada back in 1983 and we bombed it off the map. Luckily for Reagan, Americans are so lousy with World Geography that nobody really knew of this place to begin with, and nobody misses it at all.
"Where to, mister?" ask the few survivors of Country X, picking up their third fare for the day over the holiday at Kennedy Airport.
Yemeni love to see the American ships sail through the Straits. They have made a hobby of this, tracking their progress through the narrow waters and timing their arrivals and departures to the second. They wish to shower the Americans with gifts, whether they want them or not.
"Would you like leaded or unleaded?" say the Yemeni. "Ignore the raft floating towards your boat... they are just fisherman. See them waving?"
Zimbabweans love Americans. Raw or cooked, they love them to death.
