Streamers, corn on the cob, sparklers, bunting, mashed potatoes, picnic tables, freedom, baseball, mom, and apple pie. One of these things is not like the other. One of these things isn’t actually real.

Besides spiders, there is not much I fear. Not dying.
Not even Death.
No, the only other thing I fear is a mouse, and his cheese.

The War of 1812 wasn’t so much about the trade restrictions introduced by Britain to impede American trade with France, no, it was about the sweet ass of Dolley Madison.

With the power of the yellow sun comes great responsibilities. Faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, and able to leap tall buildings with a single viscous strand of web-like fluid.

Let’s face it, we Americans are full of shit. We love to tell our stories about how awesome we are and all, but really, we are just bunch a crazies Europe didn’t want anymore. Sure, we talk a big game now, what with our “freedom” and our “super power” and our “Inspirational country music”.

William thought he saw the fire down in the bay before anyone else did. He peered and shook his head in disbelief. This sort of thing should not happen. He knew, however, they marched, ever still. Not here, he thought. Not here in Boston. Not on the long road to Lexington, where so much of the unseasoned America was beginning to hope for newly minted freedoms to be released from their lobster-coated cages.

I see a lot of laughing on the Internet. It is certainly a part of the culture of the Internet, as bizarre as that seems. We have LOLcats, for heavens sake. And you know, you all do it too with your hehs and your hahas. Even you, Mr. ahahahahaahahahahahahha and your excitable laugh.

I present to you, for the newly minted holiday season, a preenacted scene of John Madden’s reaction to hearing the news that someone was killed the day after Thanksgiving for the video game that bears his name:

Back during this previous Super Bowl, after watching all of the pomp and circumstance surrounding the event, I got to thinking about all of the traditions that have come to be synonymous with the Superest of all Bowls.

Suddenly, my pleas to the comedy Gods were answered when a stranger appeared, ripe for a pranking…