I can’t EVEN pretend to give a shit about a 4th of July fireworks display or be anywhere near a bunch of amateur fools that light a fuse and put themselves and everyone around them in clear and present danger.
I’m sorry, but fireworks are ghetto. Where I grew up (that would be Inglewood, so watch your back), it’s tricky trying to distinguish the firecrackers from actual gunshot blasts. Every July 4th turns into a war zone. It sounds like bombs going off, because half of the shit blasting down the street are actual bombs that are imported from Tijuana Mexico. Half of these bozos can barely eat, but you best believe there’s always money for imported mini bombs.
I’m staying in. My dog Yuki is on my lap. She’s completely unfazed by the distant popping, cracking and booming going on outside. Most dogs bark and freak out, but Yuki seems to be completely jaded by all of it…like me—or she may very well be retarded. I don’t know. She’s an odd little dog.
Anyway, if you’re out tonight looking to be dazzled by a pretty light display and you hear a pop-pop-poping sound and then you feel warmth anywhere on your person, dial 911, cuz more likely than not…you’ve been shot.
HAPPY 4TH OF JULY!!!