There Ain’t No Doubt, I Love This Land

I’m an American, and that means a few things.

It means I’m self-made. Everything in my life was crafted from three simple ingredients: my two hands and a lot of hard work. I won’t take any guff from a communist like you who relies on “big government” for sustenance. If you don’t like the way I live, then fuck you and the horse you rode in on.

My horses? Self-fucking-made, chief. I personally tracked down and bred two wild horses to create my own horse. Once my pony was old enough to ride, we galloped into town — which, incidentally, I built while waiting for my horse to grow up — and we gathered raw materials. God’s green earth provided its splendor in the form of wood, iron ore, naturally-occurring copper wires, and shag carpet. Oh, and six day laborers from Guatemala.

Then Jesus came to me in a dream and gave me the blueprints for a charming 3–2 bungalow. Jesus the Lord, not Jesús the Guatemalan day laborer, to be clear. How dare you question my religious experience!

With my bountiful harvest and divine schematics, I was able to singlehandedly craft my very own home. It was a lot of effort, I’ll grant you that, but it wasn’t all toil. For example, I used my precious downtime to educate myself about the Deep State and George Soros’s involvement in 9/11. My research has led me to videos on YouTube that would blow your mind.

Sure, I could have rested, but hustle is part of my badly damaged DNA. I’ll rest when I’m dead, which should be several years sooner than my counterparts in lazy countries where they suckle on Big Brother’s teat for sustenance. You can keep your gender-confused surveillance state metaphors to yourself, Pinko.

While I was chiseling my life from a slab of granite, I intentionally avoided the crippling flaws lesser people possess: crap like self-reflection, humility, and empathy. If you’re going to survive in this world, there’s no time for that pansy-ass shit. Maybe if you’ve got the luxury of being born into a society that coddles you with luxuries like “public safety” and “healthcare” and “being a society,” you can spend your days in quiet contemplation.

Fuck that noise. Or lack of noise, I guess. But fuck it either way. We’re doers here. We didn’t build this apocalyptic hellscape to sit around, sip some chamomile, and philosophize. All we need in America is the slightest tickle of impulse, and we pull the trigger.