A Formal Apology for the Guy Fawkes Day Calamity

For those of you who weren’t aware, Monday was the British Holiday Guy Fawkes Day, or Bonfire Night, if you’re going to be a douchebag about it. It is a night that celebrates the idea of standing up to oppression, fighting for what you believe in, and blowing up government buildings. It is that last part that kind of got me into trouble. Therefore, I would like to make the following apologies:

I apologize to the town of London, Ohio for burning half of their town down.

The thing is, London Ohioans, that I had no intention of setting your quiet town on fire. In fact what I wanted to happen was in fact much more benign than that, and I’m sure once you hear my argument, you’ll understand how I am actually a victim in all of this too.

You see, at midnight of November the Fifth, I started watching the movie V for Vendetta. It’s a tradition for me. A perfectly reasonable and safe tradition, much akin to decorating a Christmas tree or my family’s annual 4th of July Axe Catch. This year, however, I decided to spice things up and have an actual fireworks display at the Houses of Parliament in London England.  Unfortunately for me, the price for a ticket was way too expensive, having spent most of my money of fireworks, and just about every airline company frowns upon you bringing a suitcase full of explosives (even the awesome kind) onto the plane with you.

See how I am a victim here as well? Clearly they were discriminating against me because I am a white American male and also because I was refusing to take off my V costume. It would’ve ruined the entire illusion! So with the real London out of reach, I had to choose the closest London available, which was your “London.”

Stupid airline companies, thinking they can control me. I’ll blow them all to hell!

On a side note, I feel that you guys should owe me an apology, since you have named you town London,  and yet you have none of the sites that the real London has. Not even cheap plaster replicas or scale models. What the Hell, London? This could have been easily avoided if you would’ve just built a replica Houses of Parliament so that I could set my fireworks off inside it. Way to be dicks about it, Londoners.

I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. I just get so passionate about Guy Fawkes Day that I tend to lash out at people. I apologize for that too. But anyway, I apologize for building that large, flimsy plywood model of the Houses of Parliament in the lawn of your fine town’s courthouse. I am also sorry that the fires from my model parliament building and the courthouse were so out of control that I only had seconds to flee the scene. I would apologize for not calling the cops, but someone eventually did, so where’s the harm there?

But since I’m on the subject of the courthouse…

I apologize for blowing up the London Courthouse.

It was such a nice courthouse too…

Yeah, my bad on that one. I totally miscalculated the amount fireworks to use. However, it is my suspicion that the fireworks weren’t the only cause. You see, on the morning of November the 5th, I was in the basement  sneaking in the fireworks that would be set off from the top of the clock tower. This however coincided with my “Wreck Shit Up Power Hour,” which happens for two hours, every day, from nine to eleven AM. Now, before I started my “Wreck Shit Up Power Hour,” I did not smell any gas. That’s important to note, because after the power hour was over, the basement smelled heavily like natural gas. I don’t know when the leak started, or where I got the length of pipe that I was smashing things with, because I usually black out during my “Wreck Shit Up Power Hours,” but I can assure you that I probably didn’t have a hand in that.

What I’m getting at is that when I set off the fireworks that fateful night, I didn’t take into account the amount of gas that had built up in the building. What resulted was a brilliant fireball that lit the sky up like a dozen suns. The heat from the blast then lit the fuses of the fireworks  in my Parliament building, lighting the whole thing up like a Independence Day celebration at the gates of Hell. The rockets spewed out of the top and into the surrounding trees and through the windows of local shops, lighting many of them on fire. I am deeply sorry about that. Since fireworks are fireworks, I only control the direction they were aimed, and hope that their trajectory doesn’t alter from the plan. Of course, as you now know, they did. Horribly. Therefore I also apologize for purchasing the cheap Chinese knockoff fireworks. I should have known that if I wanted to celebrate the concept of freedom for all people, I should have gone with good ole ‘Merican made fireworks, and not those damn commie ones. Of course those freedom hating fireworks were going to torch my plywood Parliament building. Which, by the way…

I apologize to the Carter Lumber of London Ohio for stealing $1,000 worth of plywood.

To my credit, when I (let’s say truthfully here) borrowed the plywood, I had every intention on returing the plywood with only minor burn marks and tiny, 1 foot in diameter holes. Of course, I couldn’t do that, since every single piece of plywood had been burned down to ash in the resulting firestorm and explosion. I would absolutely pay you back for the wood, but I don’t have the money. Sorry about that…

I apologize to the young woman named Evey, whom I kidnapped for the duration of Guy Fawkes Day.

To Evey, I apologize sincerely that I kidnapped you the way I did. I know that you were just minding your own business, chilling out on the street corner in the middle of the night Monday morning, and I grabbed you. If you remember, I said that I was protecting you from Fingermen, whom I said were going to rape you. I was lying. There were no Fingermen, they weren’t going to rape you, and the only reason I said these things so that you would come with me and help me blow up- er- celebrate this holiday.

I also apologize for making you suffer a severe case of Stockholm Syndrome throughout all of this. If you remember, I made you toast and eggs for breakfast, I let you roam freely around my Shadow Gallery (The London Rec Hall, which I covered with crayon drawings), and I repeatedly told you how I was saving your life and fixing the country. Surprisingly, it only took you four hours before I had completely broken you down so that you agreed with everything that I said. I am sorry for misleading you. I am sorry for shaving your head. I am sorry for making you seduce the pastor so that I could attack him, and I am sorry for making you light the fuse which ended up destroying half of the town. You’re probably going to get a huge prison sentence for it, and I’m sorry for that, Evey. Is your name even Evey? I just started calling you that when I saved you, and you never corrected me. If your name is not Evey, then I apologize for that too.

And to any of my loyal blog followers that are reading this. I have no intention on saying anything about this election. If you were expecting anything like that, I apologize for not heeding to you dickish demands.



  1. Apologies accepted.

  2. I thought I had way too much time on my hands…

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