War on Terror . . . War on Drugs . . . War on Fat . . . Fat?
Jeez! Just once I wish Big Brother would wage peace on something. Vain hope! Vain thought!! Seems the U.S. Government is not happy unless it is waging war on some one or some thing some where in this world. I hear that the feds are now cracking down on domestic obesity. Next year the caloric content of foods served in restaurants, snack bars, bakeries, and other fat factories must be marked on menus. The assumption is, I suppose, that when we customers waddle in to one of the fast food lard labs and see just how fattening something is, we will back off. Right! The number of cals has never yet kept me from indulging in something I really wanted. There is also talk of taxing fat folks since they use up twice and thrice the precious natural resources than slimmer earthlings do. I’m sure that next on the bureaucrats hit-list is the taxing right out of existence of the million or so truck stops and stuff-a-gut buffets spread around this country.
In addition to its numerous wars abroad—indeed, seems this out-of-control gorgon, in our name, wageth war on most of the globe--Big Brother is also still waging war on tobacco. The latest attack--as reported last week--are new and more graphic warnings on cigarette packs (above). When this too fails to halt smoking, I reckon the feds will booby-trap each pack so that they explode upon opening. Nothing like killing us to save us--sound familiar?
Personally, I am tired of this eternally encroaching entity legislating my morality? Sorry, but I do not think, I know, that the federal government has never had my best interests at heart. I’m sure they could care less whether I live or die really, so why this con with cigarettes? I honestly do not know. Perhaps they are simply trying to squeeze more productivity out of Americans and increase their longevity in hopes that they will pay taxes longer. Whatever, I instinctively smell cash somewhere in all this anti-tobacco business, just as anyone with a nose to smell gets whiffs of narco-dough in the so-called “War on Drugs.”
And for the record, I am not advocating that anyone take up smoking--I personally believe it is as bad as bad can be for your body and soul. Michelle has never smoked in her life and I do so only rarely and when I feel like it. No, I simply do not like the feds snooping into every aspect of my life. And just like the prohibition of liquor, no federal law will ever prevent me from exercising my cosmic right to smoke a cigarette if I choose, or smoke a joint, for that matter, or even eat a ton of Twinkies if I so desire. Bad laws beg to be broken.
Whatever . . . Wake me when the feds go to war on hypocrisy.
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Continuing the thread on names begun last week. . . .
At nearby Nokomis last Saturday night, a group of teens were walking along the beach road when a car swerved as if to hit them. No doubt the kids shouted something in return and one of them admittedly flicked a cigarette at the car as it passed. So, around whips the car, stops near the kids, the 26-year old driver jumps out, runs up to one of the teens and smacks him in the chops with brass knuckles. Not satisfied, the driver then pulled a knife. Naturally, when the horrified victim saw this he bolted into the night, with the knife-wielding maniac right behind.
“Get him, baby! Cut him! Cut him! Cut Him!” yelled the driver’s girlfriend from the car. “Get him, baby! Cut him!”
With his cheerleader urging him on, “baby” did succeed in slashing the fleeing victim twice. When another kid tried to help his frantic friend, the attacker turned his attention to him. This young man was also stabbed twice.
The following morning, cops finally ran down the romantic couple above and booked them on several charges. The charming cheerleader's name is unimportant, but “baby’s” zinger name? Neil R. Rager.
There was a drug-related murder over at nearby North Port this week. It would seem that two utterly worthless oxygen thieves shot up the humble abode of a man and woman over a drug debt. The dead man’s name is irrelevant but that of the surviving woman’s? Katrina Stoner.
Do people live down to the names they are born with? Judging by the two tags above, the answer would seem to be “yes.” Maybe those with names such as Jesse James Outlaw, LaTrelle KeShawn Raper, Jimmy Joe Shoplifter, and Gary Gilmore Killmore should be forced to wear ankle monitors and then watched closely throughout their lives under the theory that where there is smoke there must be fire.
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Caricature of the Day
Caricature of the Day
