This roast takes place in a special roast-dimension outside time and space just to the left of the event horizon of a blackhole, and previously unknown until the recent discovery of the Higgs Boson particle.
On the dais are Ben Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, Lindsay Lohan, Abe Lincoln, Andy Dick, JFK, Susan B. Anthony, Joan Rivers, and other assorted celebrities and figures from America’s illustrious history.
[Mark strides to the podium with all the cocky swagger of a successful reality star with a freshly released internet sex tape.]
“Good evening! I’m Mark Reiley, and it is an honor to serve as your roastmaster for tonight’s festivities! Tonight we’re here to roast a true legend of history. America. One of the greatest nations in the history of history. Nobody has dominated the world like this since Alexander the Great told Persia to bend over and take it like a Greek. And make no mistake, America has taken advantage of its fame and fortune. America has had its hand in more honeypots than Winnie the Pooh on ecstasy.
Everyone on this stage tonight has their work cut out for them. I mean, how can you roast America when everything in the country is already deep-fried? Forget an iron fist, America, you rule the world with an iron beer gut. You’re the land of the free, home of the depraved. U.S.A. stands for U Suck Ass.
You’re loud, obnoxious, abusive, and everyone hates you behind your back. But you make a lot of money so we kiss your ass. You’re the Michael Bay of sovereign nations.
Seriously, nobody likes you. Everyone inside your borders are full of themselves. You have more dicks in you than Sasha Grey at a gangbang. You put the ‘dumb’ in freedom. The Founding Fathers called: they want a paternity test.
[Mark indicates the dais]
And here they are, the Founding Phonies. Look at this dais. What a bunch of losers. This isn’t a who’s who of American History, it’s a who gives a shit?
I’ve seen more important figures on the bank statements of Occupy Wall Street protesters. I’d call all of you washed up, but that would be an insult to the washed up. Jesus Christ, if this roast was any whiter, it’d be transparent. There’s more white meat on this stage than at the kid’s table at Thanksgiving dinner. You guys are so white, it’s like a shootout at the O-KKK Corral. You’re a bunch of albinos in powdered wigs. You make Casper the Friendly Ghost look like Djimoun Hounsou for Fuck’s sake.
And look, there’s Honest Abe Lincoln. Hi Abe! Hey Abe: Slash called, he wants his hat back. Man, you need this roast like you need a hole in the head. Don’t worry, you’re not alone. Kennedy had the same problem, didn’t you Jack-o? But Jack is a player. Whether it was ladies or trips to Dallas, you’re always getting into trouble on those “grassy knolls.”
At least you got to use the ol’ JFKY-jelly on Marilyn Monroe. Abe was never so lucky. But Marilyn’s not your type, is she Abe? Didn’t General Grant get his promotion after laying a few Lincoln Logs? More like four score and seven beards ago, right Mary Todd?
And why are you trying out for America’s Next Top Model, Abe? Eat something already. Are you about to give the Emaciation Proclamation? Taft thinks you’re an after dinner mint. Don’t worry, Taft’s not here, he couldn’t make it. He’s still stuck in the White House tub.
Speaking of fat fucks, there’s Ben Franklin. How are you, Big Ben? Did you think Patrick Henry said, “Give me liberty, or give me cake”? Ben’s actually a member of the Incontinental Congress. Ben has invented some wonderful things over the years: bifocals, the lightning rod, the pussy magnet. How else can you explain his popularity with the ladies? You may be a Founding Father, but all the ladies call you their ‘Founding Daddy’. You’ve gotten more booty than Jean Laffite, you bald, fat fuck.
I kid. We love you, Ben. We put your face on the hundred dollar bill so you can smile up at us every time we snort cocaine off a hooker’s ass. Speaking of asses, there’s Susan B. Anthony. From here Susan Be lookin’ like Anthony. Talk about women’s suffrage, what about my suffrage every time I have to look at your face? I kid, I love you, Susie!
Jefferson’s over there laughing like he agrees with me. My man with the original Jungle Fever. You leave Sally Hemmings at Monticello? That’s how it is with slaves. You whip them and they pussy whip you right back.
But enough about these has-beens and never were’s, let’s get back to the guest of dishonor.
Friends, Romans, countrymen…lend America a few trillion bucks because she’s fucking broke. You are so broke, starving African kids are sending you 30 cents a day. If you tried to buy the Louisiana Purchase today, you’d lose to some kid on eBay bidding with his parent’s Discover card. You’re so broke, you’d have to put one of Ben Franklin’s hookers on layaway.
What the hell happened to you?
Your spacious skies replaced with spacious thighs, amber waves of grain replaced with Amber Alerts, your purple mountains drooping down like grandma’s tits at the beach, your fruited plains more shriveled than Larry King’s testicles on a cold winter’s day.
God shit his grace on thee.
Reagan once called you the “Shining City on the Hill.” Now you’re more like the “Shitty bitch from The Hills.” Once upon a time we could come to you, work hard and build a comfortable, middle-class life for our families. But now our only choice is to eat Top Ramen every night and suck on Goldman’s Sack.
Immigrants once flocked here to share in the American Dream. Now, even Mexicans treat you like Lindsay Lohan: instantly full of regret the moment they come inside you.
Your manufacturing industry is decimated. The only thing you’re good at making is more terrorists. And Kardashians…You are good at making Kardashians. If those are the two choices, please focus on the terrorists.
Your infrastructure is crumbling. It could fall apart at any moment, like Joan Rivers’ face. You’ve fallen behind the rest of the world. You’re behind in education, behind in science, behind in technology, behind in industry, behind in life expectancy. Like Charlie Sheen, you’re always coming from behind.
And what’s up with that national anthem? Betsy Ross has queefed better melodies in her sleep. Isn’t that right, Betsy? Ben Franklin should know, he was the one spangling her stars and stripes at the time. Even your racism has gotten lame. You elect a black president and the best the racists can come up with is that he was born in Kenya? Please, that motherfucker hasn’t won a single marathon.
But…all hope is not lost. You’re still first in some very important categories. You’re first in obesity. In guns. YouTube video uploads. YouTube video uploads of the obese shooting guns.
You’ve given us football. But if I want to see 24 sweaty guys jump on top of each other, I’d have gone to Andy Dick’s dressing room before the show. America gave us jazz, apple pie and The Situation. And the Situation gave us chlamydia. Most importantly, if it hadn’t been for America’s heroic acts in World War II, right now everyone in Europe would be uploading shizer videos to YouPorn.
So it’s not all bad.
Sure, you were discovered by a drunk Italian looking for a quicker route to Bollywood. But he found his way here instead, and so every Thanksgiving, we give thanks…that the Native Americans accepted all those syphilis-infected blankets.
I love you, America. Every time I died of dysentery on the Oregon Trail in the school computer lab growing up, I cried a little patriotic tear in your honor. Despite all of your substantial, well-documented flaws, you mean the world to me. Even when you put ‘cunt’ in My Country Tis’ of Thee, I still keep a warm place in my ass just for you.
You may be a piece of shit. But you’re my piece of shit. From the White House to the Black Hills, from Mount Rushmore to Mr. Belvedere, from Lady Liberty to Lady Gaga, from the Grand Tetons to Pamela Anderson’s tits, from Walmart to the Washington Monument, from sea to shining oil-polluted sea, you’re the best.
You had me at hello. Or as it we’ll all be saying soon, “Usted me tenía en hola.” Long live Los Estados Unidos!
By the way, Rome called. It said, “Enjoy the ride while you can, motherfucker.” Thanks to the audience and everyone on the dais tonight. You’ve all been great sports. I love every last fat, bloated patriotic one of you.
And I love you the most, America. Thanks for being awesome.
[Mark blows a kiss to America and steps off the dais]
This ends the transmission of the Comedy Central Roast of America, brought to you live, via satellite, from the roast dimension as predicted by super string theory and corroborated by Higgs boson particle.