My Life as a Country Music Song, and I Fucking Hate Country (Or, What I During Summer Vacation, and Why I Should be Tried in the Hague)

I had the macabre thought today that yes, my life is turning into a country music song.  And yes, I can tolerate most music, but not country.  Not at all.  So let's go through a little checklist:

My dog is gone [*] - Oh yeah, this one is a staple.  Maybe not generally in the same sense as putting your dog down, but I stand by it.
My woman left me [*] - A redneck crooning about his girl leaving?  You better fucking believe that's a country song.  My case? She's leaving me eventually.  By September at the latest.  Ok, yeah.  This is a stretch.  She's not my "girl" in the official term, like a country song, but she might as well be.  So fuck it, counting.
My Truck don't work [*] - It best be made in 'murrica you know? Another stretch.  Mine works, but the exhaust is loud as shit, which means it's failing, which means I can get pulled over and ticketed.  Also, i don't drive a truck.  It's a two-door, and it's an import.  Fuck you Zac Brown.  When American automakers finally manufacture a four-cylinder 1.8 liter engine that can run like an Impreza, let me know.  Until then, it's called CAPITALISM, YOU DENSE FUCK.
Went to the fishin' hole [*] - Goddamn it.  Guilty again.  Why? Because I enjoy subjugating lesser animals.  Or because it's fun.  Either one.  Also, came up fucking empty again today.  Tomorrow, I'm going to pull some carp out of the god-forsaken lake in my town.  Fun fact: my angling idol, Jeremy Wade, as made famous in the show River Monsters, was an avid carp angler in his 20s.  Me? Not so much.  I just want to catch some fish, regardless of how terrible an invasive species they are
GOD BLESS THE USA [ ] - Ha.  Not even close.  If I had the means and the power, I'd burn Washington DC to the ground like it was 1814 and I was Robert Ross.  (For those who either sucked at American {or possible British} history, or are from a different country and therefore not required to know anything about this country, Robert Ross was the Commander of the British forces during the War of 1812.  He orchestrated the Burning of Washington in retaliation for American raids against Canada.)  I've been let down.  By the party I voted for (Democrats), by the party in control of the house (Republicans), and by the children that held the entire legislature hostage because they don't understand anything and use shitty, assholish buzzwords to confuse and stupify idiot independent voters (the Tea Party).  I'm sick of it.  I'm sick of the blind idealism of the left, where they accomplish nothing because they're too terrified to give up power, and the rampant corporatism of the Right, where they claim so much, lie, and slowly betray the Americans that aren't rich or corporations.  Obama let me down.  Scott Walker pissed me off.  Politics tire me.  There was once a time where I was a bright-eyed idealist, sure that the left would be victorious, and save me from pitfalls and problems.  I mean, I can't be a bitter enough asshole to vote Republican, but I just want the two parties to stop.  Stop this bullshit bickering, stop with childish name-calling, listen to the rational thinking American people, and get our fucking shit on TRACK.  So, Lee-fucking-Greenwood, shut the fuck up, suck another Jingoistic infused dick, and realize that loving America isn't "patriotic." Hating America is.  Calling America's bullshit out.  Belittling America.  Because America is like that crazy girl you dated in college.  When you were nice to her, she was insane, but when you were borderline abusive? (verbal, not physical) She was normal.  So you criticized her.  And you felt like a piece of shit.  And she wouldn't listen except when you were a dick.  Because when you asked her to take her fucking medication, she'd go crazy, but when you yelled at her, she did it.  And after the initial excitement of a new relationship fell apart, and you were face to face with a crazy bitch, you couldn't stand by and just let it go with kind words.  Because eventually, a year down the road, probably longer in America's case, she'll run into you at a bar, and thank you for dumping her.  And she'll tell you that she's happy and functional.  That she has a fiance.  And you'll apologize, because you're not really a dick at heart, but you were sick of shit going crazy, and were scared at points.  But she'll tell you it's ok.  Her entire life, people enabled her.  That she just needed one person to call her on her bullshit.  That she went to therapy.  That she was happy.  And you'll die a little inside, because before it went to shit, you liked the girl.  But you'll be happy.  Because even though you went through hell emotionally, she's better. (Yes, this is based on a true story).
Jesus is just alright with me [ ] - Another miss.  Nice try, Toby Keith, but I'm not falling for that shit again.  To be Fair, I have no problem with kindly, religious people.  Shit, that's what my grandparents are.  It's the lunatics.  Just like everything else, the crazies ruin everything.  Christianity? Evangelicalism.  Islam?  The Ayatollah.  There are more examples, but those are some pretty good examples.  Fuck the Ayatollah.  Fuck Pat Robertson, Fuck Jerry Falwell (may he burn in the hell he condemned so many people to), Fuck Billy Graham, Fuck Fred Phelps.
Nascar [ ] - Fuck Nascar.  Seriously.  You will never catch me for that, Taylor Swift.  Never.  And yes, I would fuck the shit out of you.  I would wreck you.  Give me a call sometime.

So that's the gist of it.  In reality, i guess I'm 3/6 on the whole thing, so take that as you will.  So here I am, early Friday morning, jumping from random blog to random blog, pausing to gaze at the sun-burned titties of some random woman who posted them on her blog.  And then reading her blog, about Henry Rollins and Jello Biafra, and talking another look at those sun-burned titties, and being like, yeah, I'd totally go there.  But you are probably out of my league.  So maybe, you would like to go slumming sometime?  Then, I realize what a fucking creeper that makes me.  So I'll die a little inside.  Why?  Because what's reincarnated from the ashes is going to be better.  Stronger.  More capable.  Cultured.  Sexy.  And I'll walk into a bar and give a look that can evaporate a woman's panties from 30 paces.  And I'll challenge men to duels.  And climb Everest.  Get drunk with Ernest Hemingway when I go to the afterlife to take a temporary job ferrying dead souls across the river Styx.

So, I'm going to utter this.  Thanks for reading this long, rambling post.  Thanks for reading all these posts.  Recently, my blog reached 500 comments across all my postings.  That's pretty cool.  And wouldn't have happened without you guys.  Kudos.

This is a song by Cage the Elephant.  I really like it.  I hope you do too.