Just to show that there are no hard feelings emanating from the other side of the Atlantic, I have written the a heartfelt poem that captures the essence of America and celebrates its myriad achievements.
A vision experienced by Johnny Knoxville, after a baseball pitched at his groin by Amy Grant blew out a testicle
An American eagle, bald like Bruce Willis
but wearing a monster truck for a hat
opens its mighty beak and unleashes a joyous cry of independence.
It sounds like the chorus of 'We're An American Band'
by Grand Funk Railroad, if it was sung by Whitney Houston.
In her room, at a Holiday Inn, in Fresno, Paris Hilton,
overwhelmed by love for her country,
cries unpasteurised cum onto a recreation of the Twin Towers,
fashioned from the Oreo cookies that she
purchased from the minibar for nineteen dollars.
The eagle launches itself from the stone head of Thomas Jefferson,
on Mount Rushmore, literally shitting red, white, and blue fireworks
into the skies over South Dakota, the emo state.
The concussion of its wingbeats,
powerful enough to knock the penis
of Michelle Obama from the mouth of her husband,
spread ripples across the anaemic surface
of a weak cup of tea, in a London gentlemen's club,
where a lion cowers at the feet of Prince Charles,
like the cowardly lion from 'The Wizard of Oz,'
but even more of a pussy, if you can imagine that.
Joseph Biden – history's greatest president –
greater even than the presidents of Ancient Egypt
and the president who built the Great Wall of China –
can't work out whether to pay the lion reparations,
or send Seal Team Six to kick its ass,
or shave off its mane and call it Barbara
and give it some fentanyl and a bus ticket to San Francisco –
home of the stunning and brave.
