December 19, 2006

Cotton Mather Redivivus, or, Sumptuary Laws Return to Massachusetts Bay Colony

Just got back from the laundromat. On the television there — a "television" is a glass-fronted box stuffed with more imbeciles than a sane man would imagine possible — the "news" was on. Some gibbering, hyperactive, toothy, chirrupy psychopath of a woman bleated "how many fingers, Winston?" and then yammered the following:

A new law may pave the way for area restaurants to serve delicious meals like this [cut to photo of a glistening multilobate horror on a plate, candied tumors in badger's lymph perhaps], trans-fat free!

No. Wrong. No, this cretinous law will make no food feasible that was not feasible before. That is beyond the power of the state entirely. It will instead "pave the way" for area restaurateurs to be fined for serving perfectly normal food that their customers, mentally competent adults more often (slightly more often) than not, choose to pay good money for, of their own free will. The mentally incompetent adults are perfectly free to crawl around in the woods grunting and rooting in the earth for tubers — organic ones — if that is how they choose to live their worthless, humorless, clenched, sphincterish, sterile, denatured, timid, epicene, unmanly, snivelling, safe little lives. I care not.

NYC perpetrated some imbecile ordnance like this just recently, or announced the intention; no doubt the morons up here have been inspired by the example. Fifteen years ago, when I predicted that anti-smoking hysteria, if successful, would without fail be followed by laws banning fatty foods, people laughed. Who's laughing now, Pollyanna? Motherfucker.

First they take your guns, then your cigarettes. Disarmed, weakened, and helpless, you will at long last be powerless to resist when they come for that most precious thing of all: Your fat. It is un-goddamn-American, is what it is, is all. For fuck's sake.

Will no-one rid me of these troublesome body-Nazis?



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Damn, next thing you know they will be taking my whiskey, and that, my friend, is what the French call insupportable, or what I call fucking bull. Lord knows you need to be four sheets to the wind if you're expected to put up with all of the leathery-faced, bicycle-riding dweebs and their constant bragging about how neither they nor their still-being-breast-fed ten-year-olds eat anything but organic produce.
And they will, too. They'll go after drink next, the filthy roundheads. May they rot.

I cling to hope that my Portland will hold out longer than yours, but they've banned smoking in bars there — in bars for the love of God — so I'm not optimistic.

Jesus, even the French are turning against smokers. The French. WTF?! But they'll never surrender their fat, will they? They can't. They just can't.
The French have no fat, 3H. The round ones just have gas. That's the only conceivable explanation for the ungodly smell...
wel mabbye teh germens shoved a dead cat undar teh flooar bafeore they left.
What's a sphincterish life, 3H? Is it your successor coinage to the old, incredibly dumb "anal-retentive" (merely "anal," to American undergraduates)? That shows great acumen, now that Freudian psychoanalysis, the origin of that dreaded term, has been proved less compelling than even the phlogiston theory of combustion.

Or maybe it's just a neologism for 'the life of an asshole'?
Also, I hear that L.L. Bean products are in such profusion in your Portland that even local strippers sport padded, winterized Bean thongs, to cope with the frigid climate. Connoisseurs tell me lap dances go for as little as 2 bucks during happy hour in that city. Something to ponder during those cold, long Maine nights.
gibbering, hyperactive, toothy, chirrupy psychopath

Well that narrows it right down.
Isn't that why you have the right to bear arms - to shoot the weenies that try to impose upon your freedom?
d.a. - spingcherish means... sombody with teh persoena,lity if a sphincter. who is also a ashole of cuorse.

gial - ok i agre that was radundent aftar i said 'tv'.

iain - pracisly! teh framars of the consistutiojint saw this comging. its in the fedralist paperers somwhere.
oh an aubout teh stripars they got bots too! an they smear emslevelsl with bear grease agianst teh cold. its totely hot.
You would think they'd at least start with warning labels--you know, like the ones on smokes ("Oh, these contain carbon monoxide? Thank you, no.").

Better yet, they could take the Canadian route and put pictures of morbidly obese people on the menus as a deterrent.

Actually, that wouldn't work. I'd go out to eat WAY more often if it meant I got to see pictures of the ├╝ber-obese.
Nobody can help you, they'd be foolish to even try. Little ideas like liberty and natural rights can't compete with powerful ideas like the notion that government is a genie and only politicians can rub the lamp.

Instead of complaining you should get out ahead of the game and sue your employer for making you pay the same insurance rate as all the fat smokers.
cihsrs - wrose yet the're aer foods that turn u canadien! puta picher on em a that chick who dosent know what irany means. thatl scaree poeople off.

sean - u tlak taht libarterian stuff aruond he're an youl be tar5ed an fe4tyhard.

duno abuout suign my employar though. a) thats me! an i myself am one a our few asets b) i smoke.
The whole world's gone to hell. Filthy roundheads indeed. I've not lived so long to attain adulthood and the pleasures of the flesh only to have them ripped from my hands by a pasty crowd of upstanding, well-meaning, starchy temperance-leaguers!

I'm so upset, I'm off to smoke a pack of menthol cigarettes and drink some bathtub gin and eat a tub of lard.

Melissa, your comment is most insightful and indicative of true genius...Why bother to grow up at all if the pleasures once reserved for adults are now forbidden to all?

The joys of mortages and the federal tax code are subtle indeed that I fear I will never be able to fully appreciate them.
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