Dude and Dude: The National Anthem

Gnarly fireworks, eh, dude?”

“I s’pose so, dude.”

“Ya ‘s’pose’ so? Dude, that’s lame. What’samatta wit’ ya?”

“My ears are ringin’, dude.”

“Get off it, dude, we weren’t that close. Though maybe I coulda thrown the cherry bombs just a little …”

“Nah, dude, that ain’t it. Them crackers were cool. It was the dude singin’ the national anthem at the parade what got me. I was hopin’ the guys wit’ the guns would put him outa his misery.”

“Put him outa our misery, ya mean. I feel ya, dude. Dude woulda got voted off American Idol, like, right now.”


“Who the hell thought that song was right for our national anthem anyhow? Nobody we know c’n sing it. Did he write it so we could, like, scream with them rockets they’re talkin’ about?”

“Maybe. But I think maybe the guy who wrote tha tune had, heh heh, some other kinda screamin’ in mind.”

“What? The guy who wrote the words didn’t write the music?”

“Not even, dude. Dude wrote the words to the Star-Spangled Banner during the War of 1812. But dudes had been singin’ the song in bars an’ clubs years earlier.”

“In bars?!?

“Ya didn’t know, dude? Man, I gotta sing this to ya. Sure can’t do any worse than that parade guy.”

“I dunno ’bout this, dude …”

“‘To Anacreon in heav’n …'”

“WhoawhoawhoawhoaWHOAH, dude! Anacrayon?

“AnacrEon, dude.”

“Who the hell is this Anacreep an’ why do I care?”

“Ancient Greek poet, dude. Evidently good enough to serenade the gods after he died. Which is how he got to heaven.”

“If this is an example a his work, dude, he got sent ta the wrong gig.”

“If’n ya don’ shut up an’ listen, ya won’t get ta hear tha good stuff what happened afta that.”

“Awright already. Get it over wit’ afore the police find us.”

“‘To Anacreon in heav’n, where he sat in full glee,
A few sons of harmony sent a petition,
That he their inspirer and patron would be,
When this answer arrived from this jolly old Grecian.
“Voice, fiddle, and flute, no longer be mute,
“I’ll lend you my name and inspire you to boot.
“And besides, I’ll instruct you like me, to intwine
“The myrtle of Venus with Bacchus’s vine.


“There’s more, but that oughta get ya th’idea. B’sides, my voice …”

“Would get ya shot fer a sick cow. But, dude?”


“It’s kinda complicated, that verse there. But are ya tellin’ me that, ever’ time we sing this song ’bout our U.S. of A. winnin’ wars an’ suchlike, we’re really singin’ ’bout a bunch a guys gettin’ drunk an’ laid?!?

“Kinda gives ‘bombs burstin’ in air’ a whole new meanin’, eh?”


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