My fellow Americans, it has just come to my attention that in the UK hardly anybody is tooling around with a "Support Our Troops" ribbon on their car. The contingency seems almost too exotic to contemplate. The mind reels.
What are those Brits doing, not Supporting Our Troops? Why do they hate America?
Is it possible that they have perceived what appears to have eluded American consumers of prepackaged sentimentality: that the phrase "support our troops" is actually defined by the OED as "an empty gesture; to affix a meaningless 79-cent magnet to the exterior of an American car; of or relating to a race of bigoted white American buttmunches"?
Perhaps our magnet-eschewing British brethren know what bigoted white American buttmunches don’t: that nobody in the history of jingoistic sloganeering has ever read a magnet and said to herself, "You know, I’ve never supported our troops before, but this magnet really speaks to me! I do Support Our Troops, by gum!"
It seems extraordinary to those of us who have lived among the magnet-people since the American invasion of Afghanistan, but the cheap yellow made-in-China ribbon shape has not entered the British national lexicon as a sort of automotive hieroglyph symbolizing one’s love for President Jesubush and for killing and for being white, and one’s hatred of chicks and fags and science, and one’s pious hope that Jesus will kill everybody soon.
Here’s what I want to know: without ribbon magnets, how does the country know who its stupidest citizens are?
Also, how do racist godbag nutjobs identify each other in the parking lot of Home Depot?
White Dude #1: [eyes White Dude #2’s Buick LeSabre appreciatively] "You ‘support our troops’?"
White Dude #2: "You bet I do!"
White Dude #1: "Wanna check out the half-dead homo Jew I’ve got in my trunk?"
You, my fellow Americans, have come to take the magnets for granted. You may even think you don’t notice them anymore, but really you do. Each day, as you take to the highways and byways with a smile on your lips and song in your heart, they subliminally undermine your unpatriotically chipper outlook with their promise of ignorance and medieval Jesosity. I invite you to picture driving to the Central Market without having to subconsciously absorb the fuck-you message of 70 or 80 of these idiot things. There you’d be a stoplight, your hide unchapped that some moron has positioned his ribbon so that the trunk lock sticks out of the center of the loop. You’d feel light as a feather. And that’ s just not right.