Good Luck Making Sense of This

Do You Think I Really Care?

I am the salt of the Earth and I don't give a shit. Look, throw religion and media at me for all I care – you're not making a dent.
For every "God bless America" I'm going to knock back nine beers and for every race through a jungle to find a secret monkey paw before someone votes you off, I'm going to eat a plate of nachos.
And I'm gonna get so fat. I'm gonna be that guy you need to step off the sidewalk for, and I hope a car hits you.
For every documentary you make about the caloric value of a Whopper, I'm going to play drinking games with mayonnaise. Fucking dijonaise. Fucking thousand island and ranch cocktails. I love my body.
Oh, and your shitty politicians, I know how to avoid them: for every Orwellian speech by Bush, and for every self-righteous speech by Michael Moore I'm going claim a Walmart as a new republic.
I got the flags all ready. They're simply cheesecloth – no design of an eagle with a bear in its mouth or some tri-colored rag of crap. No fucking stars, spangles or banners.
Just cheesecloth, ya'll.
My national anthem will be the McDonald's Big Mac song: the one that ends with "on a sesame seed bun."
Fuck all.
I want to be a country of fat, uniformed, moronic, beer guzzling twits – even more so than this country is now.
Our nation defense will be bad gas and projectile vomiting.
We'll have satellite TV of satellites floating in space. We'll have movies about movie projectionists and the lives they lead behind the curtain. We'll make food out of food: would you like some cheese turkey?
Oh, and guns. We'll have a bunch of guns and we'll shoot each other in the face every Christmas just to prove the point that guns are dangerous.
And plenty of drugs.
All in my Walmart that I claim for thee, on a sesame seed bun.


Pleace,
Matt