I don’t know about you, but I’m sick and tired of feeling like an “Ugly American” … an unclean citizen of the world.

Some of us feel so ugly that when we travel, we say … “We’re Canadian.”

Canadians?  What’s up with that?

You know the Canadians.  They’re the ones who live just north of us and have actually memorized the rules to ice hockey.  They’re the donut eaters and beer drinkers who prefer cold weather, don’t carry guns around all the time, and have good free health care.

Who wouldn’t want that?

Well, I’m fed up!  I don’t want to feel ugly or unclean … For crap’s sake, I might even settle for feeling like a Canadian.

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Hell, we Americans got nothing to apologize for.  We show leadership in tons of areas.

No one can equal what we’ve done to school cafeteria food.  Or the Great American Truck Stop … which has no peer.

And we’re fattening up the rest of the world faster than a steer in a Kansas City feed lot by altruistically spreading our McDonalds, Subways and Dennys anywhere in the world we can build ‘em!

Michelin Five Star rated food obsessed chefs?  Who needs ‘em?  We’ve got Reality-TV personality chefs by the pickup truck load.  We’ve got more TV Chefs than the other six continents combined.

Yeah, I know there’s nobody actually “living” in Antarctica to sauté the waddling penguins … but it still counts as a continent!

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WTF, with all these huge and amazing accomplishments, why do we Americans still feel like such dumb asses?

Even though we’re possessed, some say cursed by our Puritanical heritage, we now have the opportunity to catch-up with those “Continentals” and master the fine art of … anal cleansing.

We still deforest North America by wiping our freedom-lovin’ asses with toilet paper.  And once the paper’s flushed, no-way-no-how can we recycle it!

Now we can bring an “end” to the misery of our unclean anal state … and save a few million trees, too.

The time has come to say: “AMERICANS, END ANAL MISERY!”

The EZ to install Bum Gun is here … at Lowes starting at $19.95!

And, if you’re too em-bare-assed, to be seen buying your own Bum Gun, order it from Amazon … It’s Prime!

Feel clean with an ultra-clean Bum.  You’ll never feel bummed out again!

Just sayin’…

Lowe’s hasn’t put out Xmas decorations yet, but I can already hear the “Devil’s Décor” rattling around in boxes trying to get to the shelves and ruin my Xmas.

This year I’m beating Lowe’s to the punch and starting my Xmas spirit early.

There’s a chill in the air, a spring in my step and I’m already killing brain cells with holiday spirits.  Well, there’s not really “a chill in the air” … unless you count the icy chill in my glass.

I’m actually making a gift list and checking it twice.  I can hear my friends, “Please God, keep me off Richard’s list!”

Drum Roll – batta-boom-bing!  I’m off my tether because this year it’s Claxton Fruitcakes for all.

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Claxton Bakery in Claxton, GA.  Hometown of the only gift in America that makes   a box of Whitman Samplers taste yummy!

Claxton’s so bad I’d rather get that threatened lump of coal from Santa for living on the dark side of his “Naughty or Nice List.”

And humorist Will Rogers said, “I’ve never met a fruitcake that I liked.”  I think we can assume he’s talking about the sweet … not the person.

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Claxton’s also nostalgia and misery for me.

Every year, my mother bought a one-pounder… treated it as if it were the most treasured sweet cake ever made.

She parceled out one slice to each of us on Xmas Day … and this time you were the “lucky one” if you got the really thin slice.

Mom hid food from us, but the Claxton was the only thing we never looked for.  If by mistake we found the damn thing, we hid it again hoping she couldn’t find it!

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As an adult, I gave Claxton one more shot.  I think I was trying to confirm if Mom wanted to poison me.

I voluntarily bought a Claxton – I think it was from some grubby little neighbor kid financing his band tuba, which back then was solid effing brass.

I soaked the brick in rum for weeks … maybe even months.

It was really moist.  A sample made it past my lips … but not down my esophagus.   Thwock … I hocked it to the counter.

Pausing … I strained to make the best of a “glass-half-full” situation.

I grabbed the Claxton and squeezed, draining all the precious rum into my empty glass.  I iced it, added a bit of fresh lime juice, and a splash of seltzer.

A glass now full!

“Claxton over Ice” … I salute you … and a Merry Xmas to all!

Just sayin”…

You know what takes real balls?  Making a tangible campaign promise.  One that can be easily measured by voters.

Herbert Hoover did that in 1928 when he not only promised “a chicken in every pot,” but went on to promise “a car in every garage.”

But … just to prove that the 2016 campaign is like no other and defies prediction, Don the Con has made a very real threat … not a promise … about an alleged outcome if Hillary Clinton’s elected president – even though “SHE’S not qualified to be elected dog catcher:”

And the Con’s “Latino’s for Trump” spokesman, Marco Gutierrez, is spreading the word:

“There will be a Taco Truck on every corner!”

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Wait a minute!  I don’t know about you, but I don’t see a problem with that unless there’s NOT a Margarita truck on every adjacent corner!

What’s a taco without a Margarita … or at least a solid Mexican beer?

That’s not a rhetorical question.

It’s about breathing life into an inedible unidentifiable protein source, smothered in inedible unidentifiable other things, and topped with a yellowy cheesey substitute … “aqui esta el taco!”

And everyone really knows that Hillary’s Taco Takeover is viewed as an Act of War by many Amer-kans!

It’s a blatant attempt to unseat the hotdog as our #1 greasy meal!

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In a desperate effort to gain respect from his Latino “muchachos y muchachas,” Mr. Schlump has also tried to demonstrate just how brown his natural skin is under all that store-bought-orange.

His first appeal?  The notorious “Cinco de Mayo lunch” … a Trump Tower Taco Salad!  That was a limp lettuce and sour cream bomb!

I think the descriptor was, “una problema muy grande!”

Next he tried to organize a National Hispanic Advisory Council.  It’s now losing membership faster than rats abandoning a sinking raft caught between Cuba and Key West.

Now he’s turned to his tried and true tactic.  The Big Lie.  Lie about what will happen if “SHE” wins the rigged election.

That’s the ticket!  A Big Lie scares everyone!

“TACO TRUCKS ON EVERY CORNER!”

We can replace the Illegal Alien Deportation Force with a Taco Truck Tow Force.  And, it’s a lot easier to tow Taco Trucks to the police impound than it is to drag screaming Latinos to a bus that’s gonna haul them from Manhattan to Guadalajara.

And it costs less, too.

But, surprise, surprise … Amer-kans love tacos!

Who knows … we may well want “A Taco Truck on every Corner!”

Just sayin …