My Inner American

[tyrannosaurus vex]

I have an American living inside me. I believe (although official documents neither confirm nor deny) that he was installed there when I was born, because as far back as I can remember, he has been in there. Whispering, learning, reacting, tinkering with my thoughts. My Inner American changes with the times, you see. And lately he's been making a god awful racket. I don't know what he's up to, but I'm reasonably sure I won't like whatever it is he's building.

My Inner American has one of those old-fashioned oak desks, and he's parked it right behind my left eyeball, which he is always peeking out from, and writing down notes. He watches the News, so he knows where to build the walls and the fences to keep Those People out of there. He watches the TeeVee so he knows who to badmouth and who to praise. He writes all of this down on post-it notes, and then he plasters the inside of my brain with them.

He stands in the neural pathways of my brain like a school bully put on hall monitor duty to teach him Responsibility.

My Inner American is fat, of course. Not because he's not worried about his health, but because fuck you, I'll teach you to tell me what to eat, that's why. He is lazy, and even though he's got an entire gym in there with so many push-up-pull-up-curl-up-lift-up machines it looks like a medieval dungeon, he doesn't exercise. Mainly because somebody told him it was more important to buy things than to use them.

My Inner American doesn't ask questions. Well, some questions. "How much?" and "What's in it for me?" are high on his list of favorite  phrases, and he'll say them sometimes without even expecting an answer. But he doesn't ask dangerous questions. You know the ones. He stays away from those.

I read a psychology book once, and it talked about having an inner child, but never mentioned an Inner American. Maybe my Inner Child grew up to be that American guy in there. Or maybe he never grew up and he's just got a flag fixation. Whatever the case, he's driving me crazy. And I'll tell you why.

Every day, I roll through life looking for a meaningful moment or two. That's all I ask. Just to learn something or connect with someone, at least once a day. But every time I pick up a book, My Inner American is there, gets about halfway through a page, and starts yapping about Kim Kardashian. Every time it looks like I might be getting through to someone -- deconstructing some of the walls between us so we can really communicate -- that little fucker goes to work rebuilding that wall. Or "the dang fence" as he calls it.

I've sent him eviction notices, but they always get lost in the mail somehow. I'd have the Sheriff deliver it in person but, as you might guess, My Inner American is the Sheriff round these parts. Besides it wouldn't do any good. My Inner American is a litigious SOB, and would threaten a lawsuit anyway.

So I suppose I am stuck with him, at least for the time being. I've decided the best way to handle it is to build him a little stage (oh how he loves to show off), and pretend I'm at a comedy show. When you put him in that light, he becomes god damn hilarious. You should see him spout off about Immigrants and Terrorists, or The Gays, or who really shot JFK. It's a great act, and it always ends with fireworks.

I guess it isn't so had to have a little American inside, as long as I don't take it too seriously and start obeying him. Jesus, think of the consequences.

[Left]

That's why I don't fit in right there...
None of my other personalities have U.S. Citizenship.

[tyrannosaurus vex]

That's why I don't fit in right there...
None of my other personalities have U.S. Citizenship.

GIT OUTTA MA COUNTRY! THIS HERE'S THE HOME OF THE BRAVE YOU INGRATE. NOW TAKE YOUR COWARDLY ASS BACK ACROSS THEM SHARK AND/OR GATOR-INFESTED OCEANS AND RIVERS YOU SWAM TO COME OVER HERE AND BE ABUSED AND BELITTLED AND POSSIBLY BEATEN OR KILLED, JUST TO PROVIDE A CHANCE AT SUCCESS AND A BETTER LIFE TO YOUR KIDS. HOME OF THE BAVE. YOU REMEMBER THAT.

Sorry, he's manning the helm in here.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

  I like this.

[Count Chocula]

I have an American living inside me.

Mogwai. Calling it now