Remain Champagne

I remember these. Snakes. On the 4th of July. The least patriotic-looking thing you could light off every year. Always looked like a fiery turd coming up out of the street. These things were just weird. Little dark pellets you couldn’t wait to put a match to. They sizzled and popped and grew into long, curly, ashen talons that blew away as soon as they burned out. What the hell? These look like they’re more for Halloween. You know how you think you’re hungry and then you order that big thing you think you want? And then you start eating it and discover about a quarter of the way through that you’re done? That you’re disgusted by what you’re doing and wonder why you thought you wanted this thing you got? That what the black snakes on the 4th of July were about. This thing that was the least amount of fun but you always hoped would deliver even though it never had before. Every year there was always this anticipation. “Oh, this year the snakes are gonna be different. We’re really gonna like ‘em this time! We’re older than we were last year and we’ll have a better appreciation for them. Let’s do this! Light ‘em up, man!” And then you do and it’s the same ol’ thing. You put the flame to the pellet, they fizzle with sparks, the pellet starts to grow into something that kinda looks like a snake but looks more like a demon spit curl and your sister goes: “Why do we always get these every year?” And no one has an answer. So then you do the only fun thing you can do with these snakes. You light ‘em all off together. Yeah. You put all twenty or thirty pellets you made the mistake of buying together and ignite them. And then instead of one disappointing thing that no one ever likes every year, you got a bunch of disappointing things that no one ever likes every year. And that‘s Freedom.

I remain

Champagne

“OH YEAH. THIS SHOULD SUCK AGAIN.”