Take a moment, America. Then light that thing.

Happy birthday, America.

Now get me a switch from that old maple behind the tool shed and drape yourself over Papa's knee for two-hundred-and-thirty-five birthday spankins. And a pinch to grow an inch.

Wow, we're one old country, aren't we? I'm pretty sure we've finally been around longer than M*A*S*H was.

All the wars, all the economic catastrophes, all the heart-seizing moments staring into the icy abyss of annihilation.

But enough about the Kardashians.

As we approach the Fourth of July, how many of us will actually ponder the true spirit of the holiday? Who among us will reflect upon the sacrifices performed by so many to win and maintain our freedom for nearly two-and-a-half centuries?

I'm really going to try this time. I'm going to give my full effort to not plunging my ever-sagging, soft bodily tissue into twenty-four-hour, Pabst-fueled orgy of piccolo pete pyromania. And since the "p" words are flowing, I'll add "penis" to the mix, since most of this day's ordnance experts are also owners of that dangling participle between our legs.

What do you say guys? How about we just light a couple of bottle rockets, pound down some strawberry shortcake and call it a day before something of which we're extremely fond gets blown off, placed in a plastic bag and duct taped to our stomach for that jostling airlift to Harborview?

Oh, yeah, and maybe we can spend thirty seconds or so thinking about the true significance of July 4.

Not that we're any better with other holidays. Do many of us spend oodles of time contemplating the true meaning of Christ's birth on December 25, 0000? Hopefully, after we've ripped the wrapping off our Magic Bullets and bodyscapers, we take some time to appreciate JC's humble beginnings.

It is nice to know that, although our Lord was born in a rustic setting at best, at least Joe and Mary could take advantage of that full week between the Messiah's birthday and New Year's Day, hopefully having received enough gold to convert that sowing room into a nursery.

Joseph would also have a chance to return that foul-smelling myrrh to the MAC counter at Neiman's before walking into the office on January 2 with some light-hearted birthing stories.

"I tried to comfort her and help her breathe," Joseph would say, while sipping his morning java, "but she pushed me away, yelling 'You did this to me!' All I could do was turn to Wise Man Frankie and whisper, 'I don't think so, Babe.'"

On Saint Patrick's Day, most don't observe the death of a man who introduced Christianity to Ireland. Nope, they're more concerned with what they've regurgitated on the morning of March 18, and whether the green color is from the beer or an alarming imbalance of their body's flora and fauna.

Easter rolls around, and it's more about how many Whoppers and Reese's Pieces we can scarf down by ten in the morning than it is about celebrating the day Jesus came back to life because of a freakishly human-sized bunny.

So, again, here's my challenge to you, to me, to all who consider themselves able to wade through the commercial muck of modern holidays: On the next big day, take five minutes.

All I ask is five.

My birthday is August 28.

A salute to us U.S. Americans

Tomorrow, we Americans will celebrate our bi-centennial plus thirty-four.

Before I continue, I thought I'd take this time to showcase the bright future of our country, through the eyes of Miss South Carolina:

Most of us, with the exception of those without maps, are aware that the United States gained its independence from Great Britain. However, did you know that the following countries also celebrate their independence from the dentally challenged empire as well:

Afghanistan-1919, Bahamas-1973, Barbados-1966, Belize-1981, Gambia-1965, Ghana-1957, Grenada-1974, Irish Republic-1916, Jamaica-1962, Kuwait-1961, Malaysia-1957, Myanmar-1948, Nigeria-1960, Sierra Leone-1960, Tanzania-1961, Zimbabwe-1960—and that's not the the complete list.

Those Brits were busy, eh? At least they didn't stay so long in most of the countries that their cuisine took hold. Otherwise, a meal at a Jamaican beach shack might consist of a rum and coke with a tasty side of haggis.

I suppose the British did leave a few things behind in the American lost and found—the ounces and cups and yards and feet, the brand spanking New Yorks and Jerseys and of course, Englands. The English also seem to have introduced the Americans to the "pre-function," the traditional ritual of self-lubrication prior to major sporting events.

We Americans did, however, splinter off in some key areas. I don't know many people who put milk in their tea or who pull a steaming chunk of kidney out of a pie. And David Beckham wouldn't fare too well on one of our football teams, especially if his botox hadn't completely settled.

So raise your glass, America. We might not have the most geographically-aware beauty queens, and our kids might own a few too many Uzis, but it's sure nice to be able to write what I want, to say what I want and to firmly force my size nine-and-a-half foot directly into my pie hole when I want...which is frequently.

Happy Fourth of July.