Happy Independence Day

Lisa: Here in America there are two kinds of dogs: Dogs that are proud of their country, and dogs that don't give a shit because they think they have no fucking responsibilities. We all have responsibilities! When you wake up in the morning you should say to yourself, "I am an American. I live in a free country! I am lucky to live here, I'm lucky to have been born here, and I'm going to make the most of all the resources that are available to me." I'm talking guns here, folks. We have the fucking right to bear arms and the only people who seem to care are those that are equally interested in fucking their sister. NOT COOL DUDES. We could shoot shit up. We could shoot each other. We could shoot people that aren't American, or people that are American but don't share our values. We could shoot dogs if we wanted (please don't). We could shoot things that rhyme with dogs, like frogs or logs or pogs (except I'm under the impression that some pogs are worth quite a bit of money nowadays so it's really important that we assess our collections first). Why? Because this is fucking America and we are free! I feel like nobody's with me on this. Nobody except this dog. Check out the heat he's packing. It's like he fucking KNOWS what he's DOING when he walks into a room.

Jesse: The worst thing about extremist groups is the way they pick on the weak-minded and physically defective so you end up with situations like this, where this poor little creature, who's spent his whole life being trampled underfoot at dog runs and sniffing the backs of the other guys knees ends up at a weekend retreat with some dickhead in a flannel-shirt and high-waisted Levis named Brother Glenn who preaches about the dissolute natures of the larger breeds and cats secretly running the ASPCA and how the doggie-door to heaven is only 14 inches high. He's feeling good, running free and breathing the mountain air with a knockwurst-looking pug who can barely move and a mutt that someone abandoned in the dog food section at Wal-Mart and he actually starts to believe this shit because this is the first time in his life that he feels like someone is really speaking to him.

Before you know it he's outfitted head to toe for the coming race war, carrying a pistol that he can't even shoot correctly and barking a farewell message to his family about how his soul is ready to ascend the peaks of Mount Zion propelled by the unclean blood of the Great Dane into a video camera that isn't even turned on.