Let’s be honest: the ‘50s were the best time in America. And yeah I know what you’re gonna say, so before you get all pissy, no, I’m not talking about segregation. That was bad. Obviously. And no, I’m not talking about the lack of women’s rights. Obviously, I love women. Especially the hot ones. My mother is a woman, and so is my sister, so I’m pretty much an expert on the female experience. But this country has changed for the worse over the past 70 years. Something has changed, something I can’t really put my finger on. Or say out loud. Because all I want is for America to be how she should be: Literally whatever I want.
America is and always has been perfect. Other than the government, big cities, and the fact I can’t afford my diabetes medication. But other than that, it’s perfect. I will lose my shit if you criticize the red, white, and blue. And while technically when I complain about the things, I am also criticizing it, that’s different. Because I’m me and I’m a real American and I saw these things out of love, a love so deep that it’s almost scary. And no, I don’t mean anything racist by “real American” but also please don’t ask me to define it.
I’m part of a dying breed. Real, rugged men. I would defend this country with my life, despite evidence to the contrary, such as the fact that I never joined the military during the multiple wars that have happened in my lifetime. But just saying that I would, makes me a true patriot.
Back in the day, men were men. And women were women. And because I have done no research I can only assume that up until about 1995, nobody was gay, trans, or anything else that I don’t understand. Please don’t tell anyone those things scare me. Because then, due to my lack of emotional intelligence or maturity, I will threaten violence. Which of course I will barely be able to follow through on, as my combative training consists of watching lots of MMA videos alone when I’m sauced. I’m just thankful I have my guns.
And finally, I wanna go back to when real country, not Beyonce, was on the radio. Back when we knew what country music was: pop songs about shitty parties in the woods sung by someone who, sure if we’re gonna be honest, isn’t from the south and doesn’t actually have an accent, but serves up that drawl thicker than the women I harass on Instagram.
That’s the America that I miss because it never really existed. And I want to live in it again, for the first time. Again.