What is life actually like in the States?

It’s pretty routine. After I lift my head off my pillow of AR-15s, I trip over my Barrett M82A1 sniper rifle as I make my way to the bathroom. There’s a vagrant who has broken in so I slice him up and throw him out in the back yard. Will bury him with the rest later. It’s kind of cold, so he’ll keep.

Then I eat my breakfast of two Big Macs, two large fries and wash it down with two 64 ounce Big Slurps. I’m trying to eat a bit more healthily so I skip the usual milkshake and slice of pie. Time for work. I get in my five ton lifted truck (bumper sticker: Calvin pissing on a Chevy logo) and accidentally run over a neighbor kid. Timmy, I think his name was. Oh well, they’ll make another. It happens. I roll coal out of the driveway and head down the interstate.

I make it to work, managing only to mow down a few bikers too slow to get out of the way of my glorious Ford Childcrusher 5000. I pull into my parking space and my boss tells me I’m laid off. I think of blasting him with my .357 but then I’d probably get a bad reference and also lose my health insurance. Then I’d have to do a socialism and go on Medicaid. Not gonna happen. My diabetes medication is $600 a month without that.

My kid calls. It’s another school shooting. She’s alright but she saw a few of her friends die before she could return fire. That’s ok. Gotta toughen ’em up somehow, right?

I drive back home. Time for lunch. I’m looking forward to downing a pound or two of bacon with some chocolate milk to wash it down. But just as I’m climbing from the cab, some of the ex-vagrant’s friends arrive with SAWs. I pull my AK-47 out of the toolbox but I’m too late. I’m killed in the ambush. I’m so heavy my body cracks the pavement as I tumble to the ground.

And that’s the average American’s day.