To calmly enjoy a cool frothy draft at the local pub? While everything is burning down around you?

That you attribute your ancestors’ achievements to yourselves?

That you choose not to accept the fact that your grandfather killed nazis? By strafing their destroyers with cannons from a gleaming p-52 Mustang?

That you hate being called a Nazi? Even though you meet at least 99.25% of the requirements?

That you always carry a flatulent bag of Hannity talking points from the previous night, but don’t really have any real opinions of your own?

That there are no Muslims in your town but you detest them? Kinda the way I detest Martians that don’t speak Khlingon?

That you don’t know your NFL team’s divisional standing because daddy said kneeling is wrong.

That you now only order Papa John’s godawful pizza because daddy’s friend hates kneeling too?

That you had to soak the pizza in garlic sauce overnight to make it bearable?

That you don’t even know they found bone spurs in your quarterback’s pinky toe, so now he can’t attend the team’s draft meeting?

That nationalism means you don’t coordinate with international fuckwads such as yourself? Online? Recklessly jerking off to Ann Coulter interviews?

That trade is essential to your ability to replenish your AR 15 ammo, secret pictures of Kid Rock’s penis, and food?

That confederate flags and collusion with hostile states are treason and not patriotism?

That you actually can’t deport all minorities because Liberia has imposed travel restrictions on the US?

That Pepe’s creator hates you and hopes your dick gets chomped off by a lunatic toad-frog?

That Pepe’s creator hates you and hopes your nipples get licked by a depraved giant toad-frog after he put you in a headlock?

That you’re a jackass?

That there are more of us than there are of you?

That there’s only one good side and it’s not yours?