I’m the American Hero that Tells Female Comedians to Kill Themselves on Twitter

This morning I wake up the same way I always do—angry. And to “American Bad Ass” by Kid Rock. I eat my very patriotic breakfast: a Big Mac and a handful of Ronald Reagan’s jelly beans.

Hell yeah!

I rev my motorcycle in the general direction of the liberal elite, and drive my girl over to my buddy Buzz’s house (yes, my motorcycle is a girl because girls is property).

Hell yeah!

On the way, I get pissed thinking about all of the people that shouldn’t benefit from the paved streets that my tax dollars paid for, like immigrants or skateboard teens. I arrive at Buzz’s house and kick down his front door, because I’m still pissed. No one has ever taken the time to confront me about the way I display my negative emotions.

Hell yeah!

Buzz is pissed at me for breaking his door. He throws the first punch, and we wrastle like two good ol’ boys who never learned to use their words. Eventually, we get all tired. Buzz offers me a Bald Eagle Piss: Diet Mountain Dew and Bud Light.

Hell yeah!

Buzz asks me if I’ve seen this socialist comedian speaking lies about our government. I say no, so he pulls out his phone and shows me the video.

There’s a lady girl on stage talking. I’m waiting for her to introduce the comedian. I realize this lady girl is supposed to be the comedian. I say to Buzz, “Shouldn’t she be doing something productive, like growing her hair long and soft or paying a tampon tax?”

I tell Buzz to pause the video so I can tweet: “Women pay a tax on tampons cause men gotta see that nasty crap next to bread in the CVS.” That was a good one. I should be the comedian, not this lady girl.

Hell yeah!

Buzz plays the rest of the video, and this lady girl starts saying real vulgar nasty stuff about our American President. She says the p*ssy word and that makes me real mad because only boys should say that when other boys are being a p*ssy.

Then, this lady girl starts going after the White House lady girls, and that’s where I draw the line. The only girl-on-girl I tolerate is the porn kind.

My blood starts to boil. I get filled with the righteous anger of a thousand PTA moms, and I misdirect that anger once again at Buzz.

I see red.

And white. And blue. I am a patriot. I am the American hero this country needs. So I direct my anger where it can be heard—the Internet.

Hell. Fricking. Yeah.

First, I try to figure out who is responsible for letting this mouthy broad get out of the house and talk so much lies. I Google “Lady Girl Comedian’s husband.” Nothing comes up.

Fortunately, I find her on Twitter because all my other patriot friends on Twitter are pissed as crap, too. And they are saying really nasty, violent crap to her, but it’s fine ’cause they’re just guys being dudes.

Hell yeah!

I draft a Tweet at her: “Why don’t you suck on some Toyota truck nuts. #PureAmerican.” Buzz says Toyota ain’t an American company, so I fight Buzz again. He escapes my headlock and gets us some more Bald Eagle Piss.

Hell yeah!

I decide to keep it simple. I tweet “kill yourself” to the lady girl.

For a moment, I ask myself if I really mean that. I consider the severity of those two words: “kill yourself.” Do I really believe that this total stranger deserves to die just because she holds a different opinion than me? After all, I have no idea the nuanced human experience this person has had in order to shape the beliefs that she holds. What could I learn if I took the time to consider the wide array of opinions and stories of those that create the vastly diverse quilt of humanity of the United States of America, even the opinions of lady girls?

I check my phone. 2 retweets already?

Hell yeah.