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July 4th, 2002 should be a truly grand occasion. Not only does it mark the 1 year anniversary of Adequacy.org, but it also marks the 226th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence.
Unfortunately the government of this once great nation and the doomsaying eunuchs of mainstream media have combined to threaten the rights of Americans to celebrate their Americanism in the American Way.
Ever since we fucked up and started letting women vote, only pussies have been able to get elected. As a result, instead of distributing our Taleban prisoners to honest, hard-working American taxpayers for use as pinatas, we keep them lolling in levantine luxury at Gitmo.
Worse yet, in many areas Americans are no longer permitted to celebrate their independence by setting off fireworks. The Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms prohibits fireworks cool enough to classified as dangerous explosives. What the hell? If it wasn't for large amounts of alcohol, tobacco and firearms, we'd still be British! Worse yet, many municipalities go even further and ban all fireworks except for "safe and sane" ones (smoke bombs, sparklers and small fountains).
Now everyone who has been toilet trained and weaned (which excludes most politicians and members of the media) knows that safe and sane is synonymous with boring. Which is more fun, safe sex or unsafe sex? Would you rather attend a sane party or an insane one? Clearly the only fireworks worth having are unsafe, insane and just plain cool ones.
Fortunately for us, the first Americans have not forgotten the importance of tradition. Nor have they been emasculated by a culture that glorifies Soccer Moms, Meg Ryan, men who shave their torsos and other agents of evil. Despite years of oppression and poverty, the Native American man is still a man at heart. Also the reservations are not subject to state and local fireworks laws.
We may have stolen their land and given them smallpox, but the Native Americans have put that aside to give us Boom City.
Boom City is located an hour north of Seattle on the Tualip Indian reservation. It covers an area about the size of a city block and hosts 178 firework stands. Cherry bombs, rockets, artillery, m-80s and more are available at dirt cheap prices. If you've got a little more money and you don't look like a cop you can get highly explosive items like m-1000s, tennis and golf ball bombs and anything else someone is crazy enough to cook up in their basement. Boom City is a carnival of pyrotechnics.
Approaching Boom City is deeply surreal. It starts with a simple eight by four plywood sheet with an arrow and the words "Boom City" in barely legible spray paint. Four a half mile after this, occasional small stencilled signs for individual booths dot the roadside. The next half mile looks like an election is around the corner with every yard sporting the signs of a single stand and the roadside signs become larger and more complex. The last mile is a forest of signs as each of the 178 vendors attempt to drown out the others with a deluge of signs.
When you get to the parking lot of Boom City, either your heart is pounding and you're hearing a celestial chorus chant "USA! USA! USA!" or you're a damned dirty commie and should be ashamed of yourself.
When you leave Boom City with your dozens of artillery shells, hundreds of rockets and pounds of roman candles, it is considered good form to execute a double backflip in the parking lot. After all you've just aquired an entire arsenal for under a hundred dollars (if you're a shrewd bargainer), helped a pregnant Native American woman pay the rent (the booths are almost exclusively staffed by pregnant women) and given a metaphorical middle finger to the pencil pushing pencil-dicks that run King County. Hell do 3 backflips. You're a man. You've got explosives. You're fucking entitled.