"This is going to be the best fucking July forth in the history of man.'
"You're absurd."
"No. I'm an A'Merkin and tis is A'Merika."

We took CJ's buffalo bill van into the mountains to watch the fireworks, but there were a bunch of trailer folk there messing everything up. If that wasn't enough, it seemed like everyone else in 'The Fort' thought it was a good idea too.

"Look at them, the clowns. These people and their Glenn Beck's and their Hanity's. Their day has come."

We had to find a choice spot to join in. No, we wouldn't be playing with sparkler and wuss poppers like these poor simple fools. No, we had brought a device that for centuries has been the cornerstone of adolescent misadventures: the potato gun.

This was no mere potato gun mind you, this was the culmination of all man's scientific glory, a triumph over physics and the natural world, and maybe, just maybe, the greatest this I had ever created. 'Twas clutch.

"Park over there. Let's stay in view of the show, but the last thing we need is for one of these meth-addicted mouth breathers to see the Mark III."
"Verily."

The mark three, she was truly glorious. She was the result of meticulous design, testing, and the kind of luck and brash disregard for safety comparable to ridding a motorcycle with your ball out. Originally she started out as a dream, just a few pipes in the back of a shitty A-team wannabe van. First, she was tubes, much like the internet mind you, a chamber for gas and a barrel. The test fir was successful. Upon first seeing the only words I could form were synonymous with objects like the one we had just created, "Now I become Death, the destroyer of worlds."

Then in my madness I added to the design; first a trigger and then handles. She was now the mark three, the most perfect instrument of vegetable propulsion man had devised thus far. Keep your trebuchets and over nerd tech, the Mark III was to be fired by men. Nay, Gods.

I could see her in my dreams. She appeared first in the works of Plato's Timaeus and Critias as a myth. They said it destroyed Atlantis, that only Zeus himself could wield it's power without consequence. "What would it make me? Would it consume me?"

Fools. Damn hell ass fools. I would show them what me and the Mark three could do.

"Here, here is good CJ. Yes."
"Do you bring the materials?"
"Of course you fool! 'The Fort will know our glory this day. As they watch their precious fireworks, fiery potatoes shall rain down upon them."
"Good. Let me start setting the trajedctory..."
"Hey guys...why are we doing this again"

I promptly slapped the non believer.

"Fuck!"
"It had to be done, his loyalty was flagging."
"You fucker, that still doesn't answer why we're doing this!"
"Why you say?"
"Yes! Why the fuck are we here?!"
"Calm dow..."
"No CJ, let him speak. You want answers?"
"I think I'm entitled to them."
"You want answers?!"
"I want THE TRUTH!"

Slamming my fist on the dash board, "You cant handle the truth! Son, we live in a world that has idiots. And those idiots have to be stopped by men with potato guns. Who's gonna do it? You? You, CJ? I have a greater responsibility than you can possibly fathom. You weep for The car dealer in Wheatridge with the racist Obama sign and you curse the progressives. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know: that the racist Obama sign guy's humiliation, while hilarious, probably saved our sense of decency. And my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, saves our sense of decency...You don't want the truth. Because deep down, in places you don't talk about at parties because everyone will think you're a nerd who cares way too much about politics, you want me on this hill. You need me on this hill.
We use words like hope, change, progressive...we use these words as the backbone to a life spent defending something. You use 'em as a punchline. I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of social programs and intellectual common sense leadership this party provides, then questions the manner in which we provide it! I'd rather you just said thank you and went on your way. Otherwise, I suggest you pick up a potato and stand a post. Either way, I don't give a damn what you think you're entitled to!"

"Did you bring the mountain dew code red?"
"I only brought normal mountain dew."
"You only brought normal mountain dew?!"
"You're goddamn right I did!!"

"You two are gonna need to calm down."
"You CJ, you brought this nonbeliever."

"No, you guys are right. Let's do this."

We prepared the cannon, the fire would coincide with the evening fireworks. The chamber was full of hairspray. I smelled like victory. The cannon was a muzzle-loader. We used a back scratcher to load our starchy ammunition.

Oh Say can you see, by the dawn early light.
Bang!

"The fireworks have started. Our time is now patriots."

We fired. And fired. And fired.

The Mark III performed admirably, no jams or misfires. Potatoes rained...or should I say REINED.

"Victory my friends...wait...I see something."
"Fuck guys, I knew this was dumb. We got to get the fuck outta here."
"Flashlights CJ. Let's flee."
"Oh shit guys, this is just like Red Dawn"
"Red What?"
"What the fuck is this guy talkign about CJ?"
"Red dawn you noobs, you know that movie with Patrick Swayze?"
"Whoa bro, too soon! Is he always like this CJ?"
"He's right man, you can;t go around making Patrick Swayze jokes like that."
"It's not a joke, it was a movie were him and some ratag kids where fighting the reds."

"Hmm...That actually sounds kinda tight."
"Yeah, I need to see that."
"Well it's not as cool as roadhouse, but it's still cool."
"Well nothing's better than roadhouse."
"You're alright CJ's coward friend. Everyone in the van, just don't let CJ ask you to help him move a couch."

"Why?

"He'll make a fucking skin suit outta you."

Laughter ensued. So did freedom. The End.