This is the day that Americans celebrate the nation’s formal divorce from England. Actually, the Declaration of Independence was signed by the Continental Congress two days earlier. What happened between that day and the Fourth, I am not certain. Maybe they all fled to Benji Franklin’s place where they proceeded to get “likkered up.”
I type this while I listen to the Orange One speaks from the White House balcony. Perhaps it is the Truman Balcony, so named for that crusty ol’ sonofabitch Harry S Truman. The “S” in the 33rd president’s name stands for no name. It was a combination of two grandfather’s names. The S name used to give editors hell — he, after all, was nicknamed “Give ’em Hell Harry” — as he would often use a period following the S in his name when signing documents.
It seems likes some folks are freaking out over the supposed firing by North Korea of an intercontinental ballistic missile. What me worry? As the great Alfred E. Newman was wont to say. I would say, you should be scared what with the Orange man in the White House.
By the way, I was in Washington, D.C., a few weeks ago. This pic should be evidence that I was there:
Have a happy Fourth or Second or Fifth or perhaps a half pint!
I must depart. I need to return blogging here. But, you know, too much of a good thing … Happy Fourth.