Hi, i am the States, your distant cousin. remember me? you used to like me for my blue jeans and my cowboys and maybe even my coca-cola, and my Hollywood stills, and my D-to-the-V-Day march as your Ally. You weren’t so fond of my fast food and how i was secretly recording you, or my global subliminal influence, or my secret missions to throw money and guns at some fine one with more my interest at heart than yours. Once you seat him in office, watch him kiss my beloved ass. i am the States and i’m still All Wall Street and a walking contradiction. Catch me beaming over Putin’s recent remarks, you know how he called me the only superpower. Sure, he’s about as appealing as a nuclear warhead with nowhere to go, but it’s nice to know i haven’t been throwing my weight around the pond for nothing since we put the cold war on ice. LOL. Speaking of ice – does everyone in Europe still drink our diet cokes at room temperature? So bizarre! But so long as you buy. Hello high fructose corn syrup! Who else can boast a cash crop made of air and bubbles and caramel color, with the preservative fortitude to withstand the end of the world? A real punch to the kidney, eh? you know you can’t get enough of me. if i hadn’t created the internet (and i didn’t) we wouldn’t be facetiming and you’d be feeling lonely like Queen Cameron, Brexit the stage, just in time for Wimbledon and her lovely lazy summer days dressed in white and all polite, left to graze the green grass while the markets recover and come to your mother, ya me, over here, with a ring in your ear and a sleeve up your sleeve, superpowering the jetstream to blow you away.