Fireworks and Shit

Happy Belated Independence Day, you collection of tree-hugging limousine liberals, pinko Commies, dope fiends, queerbaits, ladyboys, fat chicks, feminazi castrators, and assorted freaks. I know I'm three days late and fifty cents short as usual, but I blew off the tip of my index finger again and it took like nine years to find it and get it sewn back on and shit.

Anyways, I love the 4th of July. It's the greatest thing this country ever invented. Besides fireworks. I'll light the fuck out of a roman candle any day of the year, but on the Fourth I don't have to worry that one of the Boys in Blue dropping by for weed or ammo will get all officious on me and shit. One week before the damn Fourth, and I had to give away all my Pamela Gorman bullets to that goddamn pig Lance Butz so's he wouldn't write me up. Just because I was shooting bottle rockets at the Cooter twins across the road at the Gas n' Sip. Whatever.

When I was a kid, I was a huge fan of cherry bombs and would blow shit up with them all the time. Once I put one in the refrigerator in the garage and totally destroyed all of the old man's Coors. He was pissed. Ha! Good times.

Nowadays I can't even look at a cherry bomb on account of the way they remind me of my ex, Cherry. I dated her between me and my ex-wife/fiancée Tammy's second and third engagement between our first and second marriage. You know those crazy bitches that real funny stand-up comedians always talk about…? Like, "Women try to trap men by getting pregnant and buy lots of shoes and nag your ass about stupid shit?" Or whatever. I'm not a joke-writer. Anyways, that was totally Cherry. Which is why I bought this for the holiday:


[Image of box of fireworks called "Psycho Girlfriend" featuring giant red-haired woman.]
Check that shit out! It was pretty awesome, except for how the box is misleading. Buyer beware: A giant woman doesn't shoot out of it and stomp the fuck out of everything, but whatever. It was still pretty cool.

I also picked up this one too:


[Image of box of fireworks called "Dream Machine" featuring blond woman on motorcycle.]
I had to give my bike to some reprobate last year because of some shit-ass deal that went bad. Fucking hippies. This lady kind of reminded me of Cherry, too, which was a bonus. I almost didn't light it off, the picture was so sweet. It would have looked so good on the headboard of my waterbed, but you only live once. Plus, I had all this extra beer for the festivities and it didn't seem right drinking it without the fireworks. Not on the Fourth.

I got one other thing:


[Image of box of fireworks called "Evil Empire" advertising "shoots flaming balls."]
I fucking hate Saddam bin Laden. I wish they'd catch his ass and bring our troops home from Somalia already. So this Evil Empire set was awesome. Colors weren't very patriotic, though. Green? Green fireworks suck. What is this—France? HIGH FIVES!

I was really excited about the "flaming balls," though.

Oh, yeah, and I almost forgot. My ex-wife/fiancée Tammy's niece was over for the weekend and if you got kids I recommend this shit:


[Image of pink backpack stuffed with fireworks, labeled "Girl's Backpack."]
It's perfect for girls because it's pink and shit. And all the fireworks were called "friendship flowers" and "hello pussies" and junk like that, which girls are into.

For boys, just get 'em the regular fireworks. Otherwise, they might go gay.

[Previously by Butch Pornstache: Happy Taxes and Teabags Day, I'm a Proud Teabagger and Real American, Men and Trucks and Shit, Cats and Shit, Books and Cupcakes and Shit, Ron Swanson Kicks Butt, Dale Peterson is a Great American, I'm a Man and I Enjoy Mancations. Pamela Gorman is a Great American.]