Today, we celebrate our independence from the onerous yoke of nonrepresentational government — that, along with sobriety, the 9-to-5 and perhaps a finger or two of thanks to those M-80s you bought from a makeshift fireworks stand behind the gas station.
But you can’t have a kick-ass Fourth of July party without some sufficiently seasonal tunes, so here’s the perfect playlist to soundtrack today’s festivities:
“Let’s Get Wasted,” Warrior Soul. Yes, let’s. For America!
“(I Can’t Handle) Moderation,” Danko Jones. The only thing that should be treated with moderation on this day is moderation itself.
“Burnt to a Crisp,” Carcass. A cautionary tune. Better paint on the SPF 50 or your flesh will get baked like an honorary Marley brother.
“Cheap Beer,” Fidlar. This is not the occasion for any hoity-toity imports that you can actually taste, fancy britches. No, this is a day for watered down American brews, each gulp a mouthful of liquid freedom. Give us liberty or give us Coors Light — whichever one makes that sweet party train come from out of nowhere.
“Too Much Pork for Just One Fork,” Southern Culture on the Skids. What’s on the menu today? Barbecue. Mounds and mounds of it. Eat! Eat! Never cry defeat. Gluttony and democracy go hand-in-sausage-fingered-hand. What, you don’t have room for fourths? Hey, who invited Karl Marx to the party?
“The Hot Dog Song,” The Arrogant Worms. Since Ms. Piggy won’t be the only thing that you’ll be grilling today, gather the kids around and salute the “particle board of meat” with these Canadian folkies. Everybody, all together now, “The children eat them ’til they’re queasy, because they love the taste / Of sodium phosphate / And iridorbate / Soy protein / And sodium nitrate.” Who’s up for seconds?
“VOA,” Sammy Hagar. This song is Uncle Sam’s Viagra, with the Red Rocker flying a pair of tequila-scented middle fingers right in the face of foes such as Russia, the Middle East and the ludicrous notion of acting one’s age.
“Pulling the Plug on the Party,” Electric Six. Eventually, the party has to stop. That, or your heart. You know, whichever comes first.
“Gutbucket Blues,” Ghoul. These death metal dirtbags are almost as skull thumping as your hangover is destined to be. “Retching up the effluvial brews / Cursing my existence through a river of spew / Fishy smelling bile to recycle and use / And I could really use a drink when I’m through,” so this song goes, as does your morning after.
“Go To Work Wasted,” NOFX. What? You didn’t take Friday off? Duuuude. Hook up the Maalox IV drip and look on the bright side: You’ve got a year to recover.
You’ll need it.
Contact reporter Jason Bracelin at
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