The Person Who’s Way Too Into It

They woke up in red, white, and blue bedsheets and wiped their ass with Star-Spangled toilet paper.

They showered and emerged from the bathroom in a beer-soaked headband, American flag shorts, and a tank top with a screaming eagle on it.

Their vibe is equal parts patriot, equal parts energy drink.

They’ve never voted in a midterm election and couldn’t name a single Supreme Court justice, but today, they are America—at least the social media-branded version of it. By sundown, they’re chanting “USA! USA!” while shotgunning a warm Coors. By tomorrow? They won’t remember why.

The Firework King

He’s named Duane or Earl, or maybe Randy—but never all three—and today is his Super Bowl. He shows up to the party shirtless, hopeful, and grinning, wearing cargo shorts and lugging a box of fireworks with names like Thrust Monkey and B-52 Cherry Bomber.

He’s already lost a few fingers, and no one’s seen his eyebrows since 2017, but he’s not concerned. He knows exactly what he’s doing: standing ten feet too close, lighting the fuse with a lit cigarette, and trying the damndest to set the sky on fire.

He’s dangerous. He’s unpredictable. And he’s the guy who spent $700 so you wouldn’t have to.

The Planner

They’re the unsung hero. The clipboard commander. The reason you’re not currently eating salsa out of a Frisbee. You’ll find them checking coolers, refilling napkins, and quietly panicking about the folding chair shortage.

They don’t enjoy the party so much as project-manage it. While you’re relaxing, they’re doing mental math about hot dog-to-bun ratios. They’d love to sit down. But someone has to stress-eat coleslaw while arranging a condiment station with military precision.

The Guy Who Grills Like It’s a Personality

This man hasn’t made eye contact with another human since the charcoal ignited—nor has he smiled. His apron says “License to Grill,” and he interprets it more like “License to Kill.”

He doesn’t just cook—he crafts. His burgers are “not ready” until he says they’re ready, and he will take offense if you ask for yours well done. When the grilling’s over, he drives home in silence, thinking he should’ve gone heavier on the paprika.

The Man Explaining What 1776 Really Means

He finds you. You weren’t looking for him, but he finds you. He’s got a drink in one hand and the Constitution in the other—metaphorically, but just barely.

He uses phrases like “Founding Principles” and “the tyranny of monarchy” while you’re just trying to see if Joey Chestnut chokes on a hot dog. Whenever he starts talking, you suddenly remember you promised the planner you’d help with the chairs.

The Couple Passive-Aggressively Fighting Over the Cooler

They arrived in matching shirts that say Party Like It’s 1776, which—ironically—is exactly what they’re not doing. You can sense the tension before you even see them. Something about the way she’s stabbing potato salad onto plates, and the way he’s been “getting ice” for the past 40 minutes.

Their argument is quiet. Surgical. Surgical like a scalpel, not like a skilled surgeon.
“Did you pack the drinks?”
“You said you were bringing them.”
“I said I could, not that I would.”

A smile never leaves their faces, but the energy is less cookout and more custody mediation. At some point, he loudly offers to “just go back to the store,” while she reassures the group that “everything’s fine.”
It is not. But they’ll spend the entire day pretending it is—for America.

Happy 4TH! Please, like, comment, share, and tell me what you think. Who am I missing?

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR SUPPORT! My new book, Letters From Jasper, is out. If you’re looking for a funny and sad read that will make you laugh and cry – please check it out:  Amazon.com: Letters From Jasper eBook : Winn, Anthony: Kindle Store

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