Real America® being far too occupied with the ritual gathering of cheap fireworks, charcoal briquets and Busch Light while coveting the neighbor's wife and/or goodies and/or the goodies of the neighbor's wife to notice such blasphemy, I on the other hand am well aware that every coastal neighborhood situated outside that holy and righteous enclave of breadbaskets and tax-exempt churchery will be saturated with naked pagan fire dancing tomorrow evening in celebration of the summer solstice through the reenacting of traditional heathen favorites like out-of-wedlock fornication, blood sacrifice and painting the town green as a sign of solidarity or some other worthless crap.
"Actually, tonight is more likely. Even naked pagans have work on Monday."
True, but I can still take solace in the fact that their beloved longest day of the year marks the triumphant (for me) beginning of oh so precious daylight being stripped from the endless cavalcade of sweaty sacks n' racks --
-- yes, it is -- through the slow creep of cold shadow and shadowy cold, muahahahahaha, etc. So get your hedonistic and illegal public displays in while you can, filthy witches, 'cause guess what's just around the corner?
No, not that --
"It's still June, dumbass."
Shut your noisehole. I take my joys where I can
find them make them up.