If you want to hum "America The Beautiful" while you read this,
then you are an American Hero like me
My big question yesterday was all about flags being at half-mast and that is because it is a subject that has been weighing heavy on my mind lately as I am unburdened with the problems of ordinary people, like paying rent, being that I am above all that mundane crap and also because I am a good hider and the landlord can never catch me. I'm pretty much the Roadrunner© of not paying my bills. They're all "Please. We need to discuss how you are going to catch up on what you owe." and I'm all " HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!! Beep-Beep!" and then I waggle my tongue and run away. And then they get hit with a pie.
Actually, that only happens in my head. But it is sooo funny! And they totally deserve it for giving me a place to live rent-free.
So flags at half-mast are tricky, because they send you a message, and that message says you haven't been watching the news and you are not a productive member of society because you don't even know if it's the Pope©, or Barack Obama©, or Keanu Reeves© who are dead and if you are going to be that far out of touch with the rest of the human race why not just climb back into that bottle of Jameson's you stole from your Dad whilst he was in the hospital for chest pains, you worthless piece of shit. And then you say "Don't mind if I do!" but then you feel bad and you express these bad feelings by saying "Eff You, Flag!" and then your Hillbilly neighbor sees you grabbing your junk and gesticulating wildly in the front yard at the flag, wearing just your boxers and a pair of your daughter's grippy, pink, slipper-socks, and then he decides you are a communist and then it doesn't matter how dumb he is because his knuckles taste like a dirty ashtray as they cave in your teeth.
One flag at half mast is okay. Then I'm all "Okay. Either someone died or someone is just sad" because if I was in charge of a flag* and I was having a sad day, I would totally put the flag at half-mast for my feelings, and then when people came in they would treat me with the somber respect I so richly deserve. And they wouldn't ask who died, because its disrespectful to not just know and super-disrespectful to ask. So they would just look at me with empathy and I would offer the strongest smile I could muster, given the depths of my bereavement, and then, after they left I would totally feel better because I had played a trick on them. And after a couple of those... POOF! No more bad day!
Two flags at half-mast means someone really has died and I fucked up. Three means it was someone important and I better just drive home and find out because maybe it was my Dad or something. And if it's the Post Office or Perkins© Cake and Steak who has the biggest flags in the world, then I know it might even be ME and maybe I'm a ghost and I feel terrible for putting everyone through another national tragedy so I stick my head out the car window and yell 'Never forget 9/11!"but I'm not watching the road because I've already started the mourning process for myself and the Five stages of grief are:
1) Yelling "Never forget 9/11!"
3) Praying for pandas to start fucking in zoos, because they are adorable and if the world can't have me they should at least have pandas.
4) Hating Snow Bears
5) Thinking about porn
And then I have a fender-bender with the guy in front of me because I get to the porn part and I get all woogly for a bit, and then it turns out I'm not dead but my insurance just went up again... if I even still have insurance because that was another bill I Roadrunnered on, and it's totally not even my fault because if I have to choose between watching where I'm going and giving an elegant lady a sensual boob-honk with my mind...you had better make sure your goddamn seatbelt is buckled.
EFF YOU, Flag!
* I don't know how you get put in charge of a flag but I think it is only by Presidential nomination or something, because I tried to take a civil service test in Flag Control, but they were all "Sir, this is the DMV and that isn't a real test, and if you're going to be in here, you'll have to put on some pants." And then I screamed "Diplomatic Immunity!" but that doesn't work at the stupid DMV either.