[REDACTED] Does Labor Day

“You hear me?  I’m not fucking around with soccer this time, assholes!”

~Redacted

Everyone has a whipping boy.  Bart Simpson has Milhouse,  Linguini has spaghetti.  America has Canada.  AFFotD has…[REDACTED].  The last few times you’ve heard from him we strapped him to an operating table like a convicted rapist in the Clockwork Orange universe and made him live-blog some women’s soccer games.  Yes, we are particularly cruel, but what would you expect from someone who made his AFFotD eating fucking vegan food?

But there’s only so much you can push someone before they snap.  And we’ve seen enough drunken beach invasions to know what happens when [REDACTED] snaps on us.  So we try to keep him happy.  Throw him a bone once or twice.

Here’s a step-by-step description of [REDACTED]‘s Labor Day.  It’s good to be the king.

What…what’s the catch here, guys?  No, I’m fucking serious, what’s the catch?  Every time you tell me that I get to report on “being awesome and American” you guys have me locked in a fucking meat locker watching Dawson’s Creek the very moment I step into the KFC to order a Double Down.  So call me wary.  That said…they did give me this…

This is…glorious.  Expensive.  Bourbon that is almost old enough to order it’s own fucking bourbon.  Pappy Van Winkle.  Do you know what it’s like to drink something that is old enough that you can legally fuck it?  I do.  It’s the…just the best bourbon, you guys.  This is one hundred and twenty dollars of hard to find drunk, right here.  And there’s only one way I, [REDACTED] would drink this.

Yup.  Like this.  With a Busch Lite.  Goddamn, America, this is beautiful.

So today is Labor Day.  Labor Day celebrates…uh…Unions?  I mean basically you don’t have to work.  It’s a day to celebrate being American and having questionable work ethic, which is redundant because I just said that.  It’s a day where we mourn the passing of summer, where we have one last barbeque, where…you aren’t supposed to wear white anymore?  Whatever.  I’m just gonna get drunk and eat terrifying foods.

That’s a hand full of beer right there.  Look at it.  You can tell it’s obviously not good beer, since there’s no head, and I’m not actively making a joke about that.

It’s a fair bet that this will turn into a series of pictures promoting America.  But that seems a little excessive.  It’s not like they’re going to give me a deep fried snickers or anything.

Wow.  This is amazing.  If only I could combine a deep fried Snickers with a deep fried Twinkie… oh holy shit, wait.

Mix and match motherfuckers.  When I heard that this was a possibility for me, I got so excited I forgot how to park a car.  I mean I was sober.  Doesn’t matter.  Still forgot.

“Fuck you, lawn!”

Carnage is the only way to describe what happened next.  Pure, unadulterated carnage.  Liquor bottles strewn over the lawn.  Trans-fats consumed with such aggression that the only way to describe it is anger.  Have you ever seen the aftermath of eating a deep fried Snickers?  I’m not talking about how it affects your insides (spoiler alert- here there be monsters) I’m talking about the actual look of the paper plate when all that is left is smears of chocolate and powdered sugar.  When you look down at what you have wrought it makes you question every single life choice you have made up until that point, which, you know, basically affirms your status as an American.

Look at this.  Look at it.

Just let that sink in for a second.  This is how we need to live our life.  This picture is the reason why the term “a picture is worth a thousand words” exists.  It’s the subtle peculiarities that really sell it.  Look at the bottom left corner of the paper plate here.  See that little smudge of chocolate?  How did that get there?  I ate the fucker and I couldn’t tell you.  Also, see the fork?  That used to be white.  The entire color of it became a darker hue once it was forced to rip the shit into a deep fried Snickers, and in no way is that surprising.  The fork looks like it was more changed than the wooden stick, and the wooden stick was the Snickers for shit’s sake!

Yuengling motherfuckers!

This isn’t even good beer, it’s just so hard to find outside of the East Coast that you are forced to drink it.  Come on, guys, it’s the oldest brewery in America and it absolutely has a Chinese name.  Every time an American gets drunk on this beer their erection becomes existentialist.  “Why am I here?  I should not be!  God is dead.”  Etcetera.

But, Labor Day isn’t Labor Day without terrifying food purchases.  So as I drink my Yuengling and and chase it with Pappy Van Winkle and just weep fucking American flags straight out of my tear ducts, I have one cardiac arrest causing burger to take with me kicking and screaming to goddamn Hades.

I didn’t even ask what they put on this thing.  I think it’s brandied pear and brie.  I just sat down and told the waiter that I was getting sick and tired of this blood clot in my brain to finally break loose and I wanted to help it out.

Be prepared, America.  I’m about to take the longest, angriest, drunkest food coma since Orson Wells died.  And when I awaken again…well I better not have to deal with any fucking soccer games.  There’s too much at stake, America.  [REDACTED] out!