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| The Absolutely True History of Flag Day |
| The Canary Islands, circa 1492. |
Every year without fail, a few weeks after the extravagant celebration that is Memorial Day,
Flag Day innocuously walks up behind you and whispers in your ear, “Psst – I’m here.” Most
of us just ignore it and go about our business. Not this year, my friend. I’m determined to give
Flag Day the recognition it so sorely deserves. After minutes of painstaking research and
seconds of in-depth analysis, I’m ready to present to you the astonishing, hair-raising story of
that also-ran I (and the federal government) like to call Flag Day.
Like most traditions that we have today, the story of Flag Day is a bloody one. The very first
Flag Day occurred way back in the year 1090 in a small village in Norway. See, back in those
times, the word “flag” referred to the English slaves the village’s Viking warriors kidnapped and
brought back for kindling (this all happened during the twenty-year tree drought that was the
inspiration for the bad-ass Rush song “The Trees”). It was the dead of winter, and all the
young Vikings were shivering in their adorable little horned helmets. There hadn’t been any
wood for a fire in days. Death was almost a certainty. Children as young as five began
fighting each other, in the hopes that they’d freeze to death in the midst of battle and be
admitted into Valhalla.
Then, suddenly, hope appeared on the horizon. It quickly dissipated, but then another sight
caused the children to lay down their crude weapons and take heart. A longboat appeared,
captained by none other than famed Viking Erik the Incontinent, whose prowess in battle was
matched only by his prodigiously uncontrollable bowels. Erik landed, and soon the flags were
turned into a massive bonfire. As agonizing, English screams filled the night sky, the village
wisewoman proclaimed every February 24 to be Flag Day.
Unfortunately, that first Flag Day was the beginning of the end for these particular
Norwegians. Within days of his return, Erik the Incontinent was dead from a severe case of
dysentery. But the worst was yet to come. That spring the entire village was slaughtered by a
rival band of Vikings. It seemed the tradition of Flag Day would be lost to the ages. Luckily for
us, Flag Day popped up again in the most unlikely of places: 14th century Europe.
The city of Genoa was in the grip of the Black Plague when young Pepe was lured down into
the family wine cellar by his lecherous uncle Giovanni. After a vigorous lesson in the fine art of
buggery, Giovanni left Pepe to his own devices while he went off in search of some good
ravioli (not an easy task, as the town’s best ravioli-makers were stricken by the plague).
Overcome by shame, Pepe decided to explore the wine-cellar while he attempted to reconcile
his familial love for his uncle with his utter revulsion for being molested. Pepe came across
Flag Day in an old chest tucked away in the farthest corner of the room. He took it out of the
box and played with it for awhile, but like most children he had a very short attention span.
When his mother called him for supper, he left Flag Day lying on the basement floor, not to be
discovered again for over a hundred years.
In the year 1492, Christopher Columbus attempted to bring Flag Day to the New World.
Despite his valiant efforts, it was not to be. The Catholic missionaries on board saw little use
for a day that glorified such a mundane activity as burning people alive. “What’s next, Boot-
Buckling Day?” they asked. The sailors protested, as they desired a special occasion to
celebrate their penchant for buggery. However, the protests fell on deaf ears. The
missionaries tossed Flag Day overboard somewhere off the Canary Islands.
But Flag Day proved once again to be a most resilient holiday. After a well-deserved vacation
spent burning and buggering throughout the Canaries, Flag Day undertook a long and
dangerous swim to America. Without benefit of compass or sextant, the voyage took a really,
really long time. Luckily, being an ethereal idea and all, Flag Day didn’t need to worry about
food, fresh water, or the various predators that roamed the Atlantic Ocean in those days.
After swimming for several hundred years, Flag Day washed up on the shores of New Jersey
in 1776, at the height of anti-British fever. Discovered by Ben Franklin, who was attempting to
drown his horse in a drunken rage, Flag Day was popularized by the Founding Fathers and
began to enjoy a level of celebrity reserved for A-listers like Christmas and Halloween. Things
began to get pretty crazy…in a linguistic sense.
The word “flag” had originally referred to an English slave, and then to an English slave set on
fire. However, over the years the word “flag” had grown to mean a piece of cloth symbolizing a
nation, principality, or municipality (adding to the confusion were “pennants,” triangular pieces
of cloth used by fans at cricket matches to cover their eyes so they could discreetly sleep
through the entire game). In addition, another word had sprung from the original meaning of
flag, a word that at that time referred to a burning bundle of sticks or lit cigarette but now
cannot be used in polite conversation, even though it remains an accurate term for the average
Englishman.
Flag Day was suffering an identity crisis of epic proportions. After the war, it decided to head
out to California and spend some time trying to “rediscover” itself. Mostly, it smoked a lot of
pot and created a series of paintings that have since been inaccurately attributed to Zorro.
The time it spent in California was a great help to Flag Day, who managed to come to terms
with all the disparate parts of its identity.
Today, Flag Day stands as a proud celebration of pyromania and sodomy. So, in honor of this
special day, let’s all burn this mother down and bugger the night away! Go, Flag Day!
Flag Day innocuously walks up behind you and whispers in your ear, “Psst – I’m here.” Most
of us just ignore it and go about our business. Not this year, my friend. I’m determined to give
Flag Day the recognition it so sorely deserves. After minutes of painstaking research and
seconds of in-depth analysis, I’m ready to present to you the astonishing, hair-raising story of
that also-ran I (and the federal government) like to call Flag Day.
Like most traditions that we have today, the story of Flag Day is a bloody one. The very first
Flag Day occurred way back in the year 1090 in a small village in Norway. See, back in those
times, the word “flag” referred to the English slaves the village’s Viking warriors kidnapped and
brought back for kindling (this all happened during the twenty-year tree drought that was the
inspiration for the bad-ass Rush song “The Trees”). It was the dead of winter, and all the
young Vikings were shivering in their adorable little horned helmets. There hadn’t been any
wood for a fire in days. Death was almost a certainty. Children as young as five began
fighting each other, in the hopes that they’d freeze to death in the midst of battle and be
admitted into Valhalla.
Then, suddenly, hope appeared on the horizon. It quickly dissipated, but then another sight
caused the children to lay down their crude weapons and take heart. A longboat appeared,
captained by none other than famed Viking Erik the Incontinent, whose prowess in battle was
matched only by his prodigiously uncontrollable bowels. Erik landed, and soon the flags were
turned into a massive bonfire. As agonizing, English screams filled the night sky, the village
wisewoman proclaimed every February 24 to be Flag Day.
Unfortunately, that first Flag Day was the beginning of the end for these particular
Norwegians. Within days of his return, Erik the Incontinent was dead from a severe case of
dysentery. But the worst was yet to come. That spring the entire village was slaughtered by a
rival band of Vikings. It seemed the tradition of Flag Day would be lost to the ages. Luckily for
us, Flag Day popped up again in the most unlikely of places: 14th century Europe.
The city of Genoa was in the grip of the Black Plague when young Pepe was lured down into
the family wine cellar by his lecherous uncle Giovanni. After a vigorous lesson in the fine art of
buggery, Giovanni left Pepe to his own devices while he went off in search of some good
ravioli (not an easy task, as the town’s best ravioli-makers were stricken by the plague).
Overcome by shame, Pepe decided to explore the wine-cellar while he attempted to reconcile
his familial love for his uncle with his utter revulsion for being molested. Pepe came across
Flag Day in an old chest tucked away in the farthest corner of the room. He took it out of the
box and played with it for awhile, but like most children he had a very short attention span.
When his mother called him for supper, he left Flag Day lying on the basement floor, not to be
discovered again for over a hundred years.
In the year 1492, Christopher Columbus attempted to bring Flag Day to the New World.
Despite his valiant efforts, it was not to be. The Catholic missionaries on board saw little use
for a day that glorified such a mundane activity as burning people alive. “What’s next, Boot-
Buckling Day?” they asked. The sailors protested, as they desired a special occasion to
celebrate their penchant for buggery. However, the protests fell on deaf ears. The
missionaries tossed Flag Day overboard somewhere off the Canary Islands.
But Flag Day proved once again to be a most resilient holiday. After a well-deserved vacation
spent burning and buggering throughout the Canaries, Flag Day undertook a long and
dangerous swim to America. Without benefit of compass or sextant, the voyage took a really,
really long time. Luckily, being an ethereal idea and all, Flag Day didn’t need to worry about
food, fresh water, or the various predators that roamed the Atlantic Ocean in those days.
After swimming for several hundred years, Flag Day washed up on the shores of New Jersey
in 1776, at the height of anti-British fever. Discovered by Ben Franklin, who was attempting to
drown his horse in a drunken rage, Flag Day was popularized by the Founding Fathers and
began to enjoy a level of celebrity reserved for A-listers like Christmas and Halloween. Things
began to get pretty crazy…in a linguistic sense.
The word “flag” had originally referred to an English slave, and then to an English slave set on
fire. However, over the years the word “flag” had grown to mean a piece of cloth symbolizing a
nation, principality, or municipality (adding to the confusion were “pennants,” triangular pieces
of cloth used by fans at cricket matches to cover their eyes so they could discreetly sleep
through the entire game). In addition, another word had sprung from the original meaning of
flag, a word that at that time referred to a burning bundle of sticks or lit cigarette but now
cannot be used in polite conversation, even though it remains an accurate term for the average
Englishman.
Flag Day was suffering an identity crisis of epic proportions. After the war, it decided to head
out to California and spend some time trying to “rediscover” itself. Mostly, it smoked a lot of
pot and created a series of paintings that have since been inaccurately attributed to Zorro.
The time it spent in California was a great help to Flag Day, who managed to come to terms
with all the disparate parts of its identity.
Today, Flag Day stands as a proud celebration of pyromania and sodomy. So, in honor of this
special day, let’s all burn this mother down and bugger the night away! Go, Flag Day!
Comments? Email me at JimiChanga@SurlyTaco.com
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