[REDACTED]’s Week of Freedom

“You’re never gonna take me alive, AFFotD fuckers!”

Our undercover investigative journalist, [REDACTED] has been through a lot.  We forced him to eat at a Vegan restaurant, which is the very reason why we can’t in good conscience list his name here, then after a quick apology party we got him to sign over, essentially, his soul. We made him write about cricket, and about opera, and finally, he snapped.

We didn’t hear a word from him for a week, until our specially calibrated American hunting dogs found an unusually large amount of America around the Chicagoland area.  Sure enough, that’s where [REDACTED] had been hiding out.  After we sent in the hounds (ha ha, don’t worry, they weren’t really hounds.  They were more of a wolves/huskie hybrid) we were able to bring in [REDACTED] and get his story behind his one week spent, as he put it, “Trying to get my America back on, you cocksuckers.”

Here is his tale.

Oh hooooo you sons of bitches, you finally got me.  To be fair, I’m actually surprised I lasted out this long.  So, I might as well spill the beans.  Oh, don’t worry, I can handle whatever you assholes send my way.  I’ve built up enough America in my veins to last at least a month of cricket games, don’t worry.  So, when you last heard from me, I was escaping from the opera, while flipping all y’all the double bird.  It was there that I saw one of those traveling billboards that always are driving around to promote either strip clubs of STD testing.

So I hopped straight up on the backs of one of those suckers.  Have you ever seen what a mobile billboard looks like from behind?  Well, here, I’ll fucking show you.

[Editor’s Note:  Yeah, not as glamorous as you would have hoped, right?]

I don’t know how it happened, but next thing I know, I’ve woken up in Chicago.  How do I know it’s Chicago?  Well, they’ve still got some old St. Patrick’s Day decorations up that Miller Lite sponsored, I guess to imply that Chicagoans and Irishmen like bad puns.

[Editor’s note:  Get it?  GET IT!?  CHI-RISH!?!?]

I’m going to level with you.  This past month and a half, it’s been hell.  I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be American.  Do you understand how devastating that is for someone whose job was to be a professional American?  Someone asked me what my favorite musical was, and I answered so incorrectly it made me cry.  I said it was Les Miserables.  That’s French! What is wrong with me!?  [Editor’s note:  The correct answer is “Musicals?  What the hell are musicals?”  If he had said, “Tommy by The Who” that would have also been acceptable] I need to recharge my batteries.  I need to remember…what it’s like to be American.

Oh?  What…what is this?  A pun about hot dogs?  A Sausage Superstore? And what’s this inside?

Oh this is perfect.  Here we have a stuffed dead animal hanging from the wall, and a credo saying, “There are no two finer words in the English Language than ‘Encased Meats.'”  I have found my fountain of American youth.  And it comes BYOB.

Oh this is just what I need.  You know what I’m eating here?  Deer and alligator.  That’s right.  On the left side, it’s Bambi’s mother, and on the right side, it’s something that nature would have sent to kill Bambi’s mother in the first place.  The only way to get the energies of a predator is to eat a predator.  And how does it taste?  [Editor’s Note:  If we had to guess, we’d say fucking delicious]  Yeah it was fucking delicious.  After another bite, I decided there was only one way I could get MORE American with my food.

“Hey, Hot Dog guy!” I shouted.


“I want a Hot Dog please.”

“Alrighty, what do you want on that?”

I didn’t even hesitate.  “America, please.”


“Yes.  Make it red, white and blue.”

“We…..don’t have anything that’s red white and blue for toppings.  The closest we have to that is toothpaste…”

“That works for me!”

I’m almost at my full level of American food consumption.  Almost.  I just need one thing.  Something I heard about years ago, as a ghost of Chicago food.  The Slinger, a bed of hash browns with two hamburger patties with two fried eggs dowsed in onions and chili.  If I could find that…

Ohhhhh that’ll get you there.  Ohhh yeah.

And how best to wash that shit down?  Green beer, right?  In Beer Pong form?  Might as well combine the most American way to consume beer with, well, the possible cancers that’ll come from ingesting green dye.

And now, I just need to be reckless.  I’ve suffered such injustices in the past few months.  So, after I rearrange some beers and shots into a phallic joke…

[Editor’s note:  Heh]

I decided I needed to be cleansed somehow, of all the Un-American activities I’ve been stuck with.  So, where better to go than Lake Michigan? Of course, the beaches are “closed” but breaking and entering is just another word for nothing else to lose, as the song says [Editor’s Note:  That’s not how it goes] so let’s do this thing. I think I was following some cryptic message sent to me from a homeless person who told me how to get to the beach, but I also could have been hallucinating from the Slinger and the green beer.  Either way, I remember hearing, “Take a right at the cigarette mountain, and straight on till morning” and… well, see for yourself.

I gotta make it…to the lake…

Jump the fence…

Go under this other fence…

And now to climb onto this little pier like thing.  Really this is where things are gonna go wrong, if they’re in line to go wrong.  On one side of this, it’s a 6 foot drop to beach.  On the other side of this, it’s a 12 foot drop to the drink.  And the farther out I go, the bigger the drop is.  It’s not like my America reserves are so crazy starved that I would start going out INTO the lake, right?

Fuuuuuuuckkk youuuuu AFFotD!!!!!!!

[Editor’s Note: We found {REDACTED} on the shores of Lake Michigan.  Apparently he fell in the drink, as he so eloquently put it.  Now that we know he’s recouped some of his so-called “Lost Americandom” we will put him back to use, making him delve deep into the terrifying, un-American areas.  Because we might be a great company to work for.  But we are NOT kind to those who fuck with us.  Oh yes, {REDACTED} we hope you enjoyed your time off.  Because it’s going to have to last you for…well…quite a while.]

5 responses to “[REDACTED]’s Week of Freedom

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