Listen, this is absolutely the last time I’m going to do Donald Trump’s job for him. Because, you know, I have a life too.
But on this Independence Day, of all Independence Days, it occurs to me Independence Day seems sooo….oh, I dunno…18th Century.
I mean, what’s the point of maligning a mad English king now that we have our own mad American king?
On the other hand, Independence Day is such a great excuse to eat hot dogs and drink beer and watch parades and light fireworks and scare the living daylights out of dogs and stuff.
So we don’t want to junk it altogether.
But in an earlier post today I decided to save myself some typing fatigue by referring to Independence Day, on second reference, as ID.
And that’s when it hit me.
What else does ID stand for other than Independence Day.
It stands for Identification. Or more specifically Real American Identification.
Yeah, RAID. That’s the ticket.
We’re all about Real ID in Trump’s America these days. You can’t even get on an airplane unless you have that little gold star on your driver’s license to certifie you as the possessor of REAL ID.
So I propose that, henceforth in Trump’s America (TA), Independence Day be rebranded RAID Day.
Now stay with me here. I’m on a roll.
See, every 4th of July, on RAID Day, patriotic Americans will parade themselves hither and yon proudly bearing their RAID identification badges on lanyards around their necks.
Hi! I’m a Real American. And I have the RAID badge to prove it.
RU?
And here’s the beauty of Real Americans spending RAID Day sporting their RAID badges.
Everybody who doesn’t have one will, demonstrably, not be Real Americans.
And will be subject to being rounded up by heavily armed, masked, unidentified Real American Militia Types (RAMTs).
And transported to Alligator Alcatraz.
From there to be airlifted to, oh I dunno, South Sudan. Or El Salvador. Or California. Or one of those other, um…what did he call them?…oh yeah, “SH” countries.
And then, at the end of RAID Day, we can all retire to our mini-mansions, suburban ranch houses, cozy bungalows or cold water fourth floor walk ups or wherever…
…feeling pretty good about ourselves as Real Americans.
Because not only did we eat prodigious amounts of hot dogs and drink rivers of beer and stuff. But we will have also done our individual patriotic duty to, you know…
…make sure that America is only for Real Americans.
No, don’t thank me, The Donald. It’s the least I can do as a Real American.
Heck, if it makes you feel better, you can tell everybody that this was Steven Miller’s idea.
In fact, PLEASE, The Donald. Tell everybody this was Steven Miller’s idea.
Because we Real Americans who toil in anomity toil best.
Your BFF: Elon Musk: Real American.
FreeGNV 