On July 3, I went to the cavernous confines of a local grocery.
Right next to the guy who always tries to trick everybody into eating raw catfish by giving it away gratis, was a grown man wearing a 49ers helmet, cash peeking out all around the sides of the helmet. He was on the floor in a full-on temper tantrum clutching a gallon of Blue Bell in his lap with a copperhead wrapped around it.
A woman, who looked amazingly like Betsy Ross, was patiently engaging with him, trying to persuade him to give up the ice cream because she felt someone had licked it. What amazed me about this was that no one mentioned the snake or the cash. Instead, we spectators began arguing with one another about the likelihood that someone had licked that tub of Blue Bell.
I felt an overwhelming disappointment in all of us. It almost made me want to go back and eat that raw catfish. But instead, I decided to provision myself with some dog soup and rainbow pie and celebrate the 243rd birthday of the country that seared political and military clout to an idea that has contributed more to the betterment of all of humanity than all the political and military cartels in all of recorded history.
The moral to this story, if there is one, is never eat raw catfish. It’s not good for you and it makes you stink. Here’s to true love and home grown tomatoes, friends.