No Small Affair

What an amazing, unique experience. The full, wide world tilts to America, as one of the youngest countries in history honors one of the greatest political experiments in history; namely, the U.S. Congress' enduring attempts to fool all of the people all of the time.

And once again, America commemorated the stunning significance of this historical event in stunningly significant ways: deep discounts on consumer electronics, and doubtful deals on claustrophobic cars that were built in other countries.

Let's face it: America is a spectacular, but uneven, work in progress. We can put a man on the moon, but we can't seem to get past the decision to sell hot dogs in packs of ten, but hot dog buns in packs of eight.

But let's circle back to American history. According to my deep research, while my grill warmed up, England's King George W. Bush III totally missed the news of America's first Fourth. On 4 July 1776, he scribbled a yawn in his diary: "Not much interesting happened today." Of course, G-3 was dealing with an advanced case of porphyria. Plus, his internet connection was down, due to unscheduled maintenance by AOL (Anglo-Saxons On Lyne).

By the way, porphyria (literal translation: "thee condition is not covered by yon health insurance plan") is a disorder that may cause sensitivity to light, which can also manifest during bank robberies, or happy hour. It was once thought to be associated with werewolves and vampires, not that we need to drag Congress back into this. Other porphyria victims were Vlad the Impaler, that ultimate "doesn't play well with others" poster boy, and Babylon's King Nebuchadnezzar, who invented the ceiling-mounted disco ball.

As ever, America celebrated the anniversary in usual, and unusual, ways. Some cities managed the ongoing tradition of public fireworks, though other towns couldn't afford the extravagance, or were too busy trying to learn Chinese from pirated "Rosetta Stone" CDs. The District of Columbia staged a poignant pageant at the Tomb of the Unknown Conservative, where the largely unemployed crowd was treated to a remake of the Arthur Miller classic, "The Crucible," starring David Letterman as Cotton Mather and Sarah Palin as Joan of Arc.

In South Carolina, the troubled but effusive Governor Mark Sanford held a rally on the State House lawn, treating the citizenry to an exhaustive exposition on the mating habits of several Appalachian mammals.

In Hollywood, Al Sharpton noted how Abraham Lincoln's policies had been profoundly affected by the collected works of Michael Jackson. Given the timing of Jackson's demise, the LAPD named Mark Sanford a "person of interest" in the investigation.

In our nation's capitol, terrorist chatter prompted Homeland Security to beef up security, apparently defined as standing on the coast and keenly staring east, because some clever agents standing behind them managed to walk straight into ten Federal buildings and assemble bombs in the bathroom. Fortunately, they were distracted by prurient propositions from Larry Craig, who was in the next stall hiding from sunlight.

Congress returned from its Independence Day break, which lasted roughly as long as the War of Independence itself. President Obama, eager to remain relevant in Congress' vital debate over bottled water regulation, appointed three new Czars: two Hydrogen and one Oxygen.

And many betrothed couples chose Independence Day to get married. As a single guy, that's a level of irony immense enough to blot out the sun. Did you know that the average cost of a wedding cake is $900? And the average cost of a wedding is $20,000? That's nuts. In Pensacola, Florida, the average cost of sex is eight bucks. And you can get a discount coupon for a set of whitewalls.

Or so I'm told.