Proud American Magazine Asks: How Big is Your Flag?

"Well sir, we've got your standard three by five footer- that'll set you back $19.99. Tell you what: I'll even throw in this free pole that I've beaten a homosexual with. Now I'll tell you right now that doesn't happen very often, as my grandchildren are quite busy with their 'protective custody' these days!"

"Listen buddy, while we're standing around here shooting the shit, I'm taking pre-orders on the new 45-star flag. One we get rid of all those Jew states, you'll be sitting pretty!"

"My flag is so large that if the colors actually ran, the south would be dyed purple, and I did not get out of fighting in World War II thanks to my juggler's wrist to stand by and let that happen!"

"My friends, no! I am not a terrorist! My family is from Bhopal! That is India! Look!"

"Wait, wait- See! I hang your flag in my store! Look, I put another one on the door! Yes, it is covering the "open" sign, but surely, the flag will draw more customers than an indicator of the availibility of products ever could! Look- wait! Look! I am wearing a flag. Clearly, a troop is being supported!"

"My American flag is no bigger than my Confederate flag, and the two hang together in perfect harmony just like Ebony and Ivory."

"Except that I'm Pro-Slavery. Oh, and speaking of hanging-"

"Our flag is so enormous that after the mourning period for Ronald Reagan was over, it took my wife and a team of trained stepsons exactly five hours to haul that bastard back up to full mast. The sight of my 400-pound wife in a sundress driving a pack of stepsons uphill in the dead heat of August is etched into my memory to this day."

"Hi, this is Beth-"
"And this is Marty."
"And we're the Greenbergs!"
"We're not home right now, so when you hear the beep, le-"
"And we're the Greenbergs!"
"Goddamn it Beth, you just said that!"
"And we're the Greenbergs!"
"BETH, YOU ARE KILLING ME."

"Listen fucko, my grandfather did not get out of fighting in World War II thank to his juggler's wrist just so you could hassle me about my flag beliefs. Now grab a manifesto from the large stack on your right and kindly get off my land."

"My flag is just big enough for my husband and I to crawl into and perform our Betsy Ross cosplay/BDSM."

"No, do not knock that display over! Wait, what are you doing? Oh to be beaten by a cardboard representation of the Man from Marlboro, of all that is American! I wish I could see my assailant but all the flags in the windows allow the entry of no sunlight! I believe this is what the professor of my AP English class would call irony!"

"Alright Beth, this is the last time."
"Okay Marty."
"Hi-"
"And we're the Greenbergs!"
"SO HELP ME WOMAN-"
"And we're the Greenbergs!"
"IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT PEOPLE TO HEAR?!"
"And we're the Greenbergs!"
"MUST I SPEND THE REST OF MY LIFE PAYING FOR YOUR BOTCHED LOBOTOMY?I"

"My flag is so big that its sheer splendor attracts and traps many bald eagles in its billowing fabric. We eat a lot of eagle at my house."

"Picture this: 1982, I break into a middle school at midnight to smell the chairs and get my rocks off, and I do precisely that. Of course, I leave a lot of evidence behind. DNA had not yet been discovered by Jurassic Park, so I was in the clear on that one, but leaving a pile of spunk behind had kind of been a calling card of mine that the police weren't too fond of. So what I do is grab Old Glory off the wall, and I do a little deck-swabbing. Long story short, I was arrested the next night in a different middle school- caught with my pants down, so to speak. You're damned if you do and you're damned if you don't I guess."

"By law I was required to tell you all of this. Boy, it's going to be fun having a new neighbor!"

Beth said, "I thought you was mad at me, Marty."
"No," said Marty, "No Beth. I ain't mad."
The voices came close now. Marty raised the gun and listened to the voices.
Beth begged, "Let's do it now. Le's get that place now."
"Sure, right now. I gotta. We gotta."

And Marty raised the gun and steadied it, and he brought the muzzle of it close to Beth's head. The hand shook violently, but his face set and his hand steadied. He pulled the trigger. The crash of the shot rolled up the hills and rolled down again. Beth jarred, and then settled slowly forward to the sand, and she lay without quivering.

KUNAL PATEL
1974-2006
FATHER OF THREE
POSSIBLY IRANIAN