Patriotism

This is the breakfast of patriots. But really, I'm no jingo. Enjoying this morning meal - the redness of the strawberries, the yellowness (near whiteness) of the pineapple, the blueness of the blueberries - was the closest I came to practicing patriotism today, unless my love for bright lights in the skies makes me a proud American. It's not too late to shoot bottle rockets out of the window of a moving car, is it? Fear these preemptive strikes, neighborhood. Fireworks on the Fourth are way more fun than candy on Easter or sweaters for Christmas, but they're also way more dangerous. When I opened a package of sparklers earlier this evening, I looked for directions for their use (because of curiosity, not cautiousness) and was surprised to find that the brand I bought, "LiteSticks", offers no sparkler instructions. After my tennis match tomorrow morning (which begins at 9:00 a.[fucking]m.), I may, if I start to suffer boredom or sadness and my poverty occurs to me, injure myself "accidentally" with a sparkler, assuming the research I plan to do tonight regarding fireworks and lawsuits indicates what I expect: that losing an eye or a finger because of LiteSticks' negligence could make me permanently wealthy. I've already planned an accident for when I run out of hydrocodone: I'm three doses away from a car wreck with a lamppost.