I know that I’m not perfect. The only thing saintly about me are the names of some of my towns, but I am still… so much better than you.

I'll take credit for Starbucks if you'll take credit for Wal-Mart, I'll take credit for the SWAT team if you'll take credit for the Cavalry and Klan, I'll take credit for all those movies with explosions if you'll take credit for all those explosions. Till then, quit dragging me into your drama

I didn’t kill Dr. King. Wall Street's on your side of the Rockies and so is DC. Zimmerman was one of yours and even my own killer cops are just following rules written long before any part of me had an English name. I don't know what gets into them in LA and Oakland, Seattle and Anaheim, don’t know why they riot better here than anywhere else. I blame smog, second hand smoke, Seasonal Affective Disorder, it’s gotta be something I can fix with a few rec-centers and parks because if only my troubled youths had more places to run around in circles till their anger subsides, they might not act out in fire the way that they do.

I'm tired of always getting blamed for your shit. Those ships full of white men had nothing to do with me, it was before my time. I would've turned them away at the coastline, or at least made them take a diversity seminar before setting foot on my shores. I would've handled it so much better if the tables were turned.

And the ships with Africans as luggage, that's not my problem either. I swear I would've blown them back home if they made it to me first, but there was nothing I could do from right here. When the steamships full of Asians started coming my way, I wanted so bad not to become you. I tried to nip that one in the bud as soon as the railroads were done, hoping the smoke from burning Chinatowns would make it across the Pacific as a warning that this was no promised land, but they didn't get the hint so I had to turn them away. Now vehicles cross my borders again with humans stashed inside; they don't get the hint either. I want my conscience to shine nearly as cheaply clean as the floor and sometimes the tile's gotta come first but I don't want to make a habit of this, that's why I turn them away.

And when we killed our Indians... it was more mercy killing than anything else. It would be inhumane to let them go on like that, sandwiched between the fort and the sea. They pled and killed to keep what they had, but sometimes you can't take the word of the gravely wounded on whether they'd be best off being put down, and you trying telling people who just ventured ‘cross a continent to stop fifty miles short of the sunset. After all of that walking or window seat buffalo hunting, there's no way we could let those beaches go to waste. It was as fast and painless as anything can be when there's bounties for grab and victory in sight, and we left no Wounded Knee Trail of Tears buzzwords for the history books to feel bad about because with two hundred fifty years of practice on your belt, this shit is no longer worth writing down.

I’ll be the first to admit I’ve made my mistakes, but none of them were original. I didn't write these rules, so don't hold it against me that they’ve treated me well. It's not my fault I'm so good looking, that I was perfect for a challenge and perfect for a prize, I can’t be held liable for all the things you did to try and impress me. You were the ocean where this started, I was the ocean that promised an ending. You were the bloody racetrack, I was the pure saltwater finish line. You can't blame the trophy for everything that goes wrong in a marathon. You can't blame the western sea for shining, for sparkling like a gold medal when the sun goes down.