Start Your Own Country Day: A Journal

by Patrick Braud

In honor of today’s definitely real holiday, Start Your Own Country Day, I began the process of attempting to form my own U.N. recognized nation, with exports and trade tariffs and infrastructure or whatever. I kept a journal, which my lawyer deemed inadvisable, and he noted it was even less advisable to publish it on the internet but I hate it when he tells me what to do, so eat it, Ronald Cohen, State Appointed Attorney.

October 2nd, 2013

Today I filed for application for my studio apartment, Patrickland, to be considered a recognized nation by the United Nations. By that I mean that I sent them a small, grease-stained package which had a note in it containing my address and saying “This is a country now, please import textiles and enriched uranium.” Working on exports.

October 4th

 I only own a chameleon.

I only own a chameleon.

Decided on exports. Have begun mailing out shirtless photos of myself, wads of cotton from my couch cushions, opened Amazon boxes, and cat hair to the leaders of foreign countries. The first recipients were chosen the only fair way, by writing down the names of countries and leaders I remembered. I think Buford Sarkozy is still the president of Italy, but if he’s not I did include a note to go ahead and mail it to him in whatever country he’s in.

October 5th

Received call from investigatory agent, demanding to know why I asked to be sent enriched uranium. Informed him that I was interested in using nuclear power for the utilities in my apartment, the now great nation-state of Patopia. Asked him if there was anything else I needed and he hung up. Joke’s on him, I was lying.

It’s for weapons.

October 16th

I ran out of shirtless photos of myself, so I’ll be making a run to Glamour Shots later today. The Democratic People’s Republic of the Patrick’s Apartment is still unrecognized by the United Nations. Also began calling the White House and informing them that President Barack Hussein Obama was no longer allowed to sign me up for the Obamacare Death Panels or Federal Income Tax. The receptionist now seems to be able to recognize my voice and will instantly hang up. Now buying pre-paid cellphones to call from variety of numbers.

My Glamour Shots photographer.

My Glamour Shots photographer.

October 24th

Today I sent a formal declaration of war to my downstairs neighbor, Rick. I don’t care for his constant sass about me stealing his mail or his refusal to let me watch his cable TV from the hours of 1 a.m. to 4:57 a.m., which are my favorite viewing hours. Though the U.N. still hasn’t recognized the United Patrick Emirates and I have no allies or access to weapons, I’m confident that the pair of scissors I taped to my pepper grinder will serve as a good deterrent and that Rick will stand down instantly.

November 4th

Unfortunately I’ve had to stand down from my war on Rick’s Stupid Apartment. The policeman who came to my apartment and issued a restraining order did inform me that I was in essence declaring war on the United States, as Rick’s Stupid Apartment itself isn’t a country. Since the policeman left I’ve been trying to gently prod Rick into declaring his apartment a country as well by sending him hundreds of letters under pseudonyms urging him to do so lest I steal his cable again.

November 17th

Science! Nuclear science!

Science! Nuclear science!

Rick apparently has intelligence officers or some kind of spy program, as he was able to figure out the letters I sent him under false names were me. Thankfully, the prison guards have let me keep my journal, as the psychologist here believes journaling can be a calming and rehabilitating activity. Reflecting on your own thoughts and mistakes and all that garbage.

I can say that my only mistake was not acting sooner against Rick’s Stupid Apartment. I have been ousted from my studio apartment/country, which makes my pet lizard the current acting President. If I had started this process before learning about this holiday, I might actually have received some assistance in my war against stupid Rick and his stupid cable that I wanted. If not from the U.N., then probably from North Korea or Russia, especially if I got my hands on that enriched uranium.

Just look at that happy face!

Just look at that happy face!

Patrick is a writer and comedian living in Chicago and isn’t actually writing from jail, but life is it’s own kind of prison, y’know? Be sure to follow him on Twitter @fatfraud if you like seeing links to other articles and the occasional 140-character max. joke. 

The spore the merrier!Hah! That's just one of hundreds of puns you'll soon be enjoying when you play this game.

The spore the merrier! Hah! That’s just one of hundreds of puns you’ll soon be enjoying when you play this game.

Patrick’s journals of crazy have often shown up in his ongoing series of How to [Whatever] Like A Jerk, most recently with his self-help guide How to Make Friends (Like a Jerk). If you want to learn how to make amazing makeshift pepper grinder/scissors weapons, consult Alli Reed‘s 4 Lessons We Can All Learn from The Last Of Us. Then also play The Last Of Us, but be prepared to constantly alternate between terror and depression.

More from Patrick Braud

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