American Dream

I always viewed kind of The American Dream like this: You get a place where you can sit and eat a lot of food inside with two crappers, neither one close to the kitchen. You have a yard, small enough to barely sweat when you mow it, but it still gives you gigantic smugness when its done and you can talk about how shit the neighbors are with their lawns and you gesture with your middle finger toward the neighbor's house and quickly pull it down if they walk out. You have a porch you can sip your bourbon on, and you bring people over to sit on said porch with beers and bourbon, and you tell each other jokes. If no one laughs, you escalate, until they are weird or sickening, but funny. In this house, there is someone who also lives there and brings you a piece of toast and they look good, and they're not a man. Eventually, there are other people who are born of this toast relationship and they sit on the same porch and they tell me weird or sickening jokes. I laugh, with my head tossed back and sometimes I sling my head from side to side or roll it around as I laugh. I slap the table, and swipe everything off of it and into the yard or maybe sling a couple of chairs off the porch if the joke is excessively funny, because we celebrate that here.

Welcome to my American Dream.