We’ll be 246 years old as a country on Monday.
There’s no denying we are finally showing our age, including signs of dementia.
We are cranky, blind, deaf, wrinkled, shriveled, hopelessly mired in and fixated on the past, senile, resentful, delusional and forgetful.
And we all smell like moth balls. And I’m not just talking about the Supreme Court.
Get off our lawn!
Yeah. It will be our country’s 246th birthday. And our old, tired, feckless, atrophied lungs won’t even be able to blow out the candles.
“Greatest country on Earth”? Not right now. If anything, it appears we’re hell-bent on destroying Earth.
I love this country, and I don’t want it euthanized. But pardon me if I don’t feel much like partying right now.
246. Remember, that’s 1,722 in dog years.