The sign in front of the local variety store said “No Shoes, No Shirt, No Service!”
So I strolled in, sporting my Sunday-best shoes and shirt, plus an overlong red necktie. But no pants, just for variety. The sign didn’t say anything about pants. I left before the police got there.
Where does the United States Constitution say I can’t dress any dab burn way I please anywhere I take a notion to mosey?
If you stare, that’s your problem, pal.
My fellow oppressed Americans, this is yet another example of our vanishing freedoms. And it started way before the current totalitarian mask-wearing/needle-jabbing campaign.
But this latest is the greatest infringement of all. You’re telling me I can’t go to a sold-out Hot Chili Peppers concert —unvaccinated, mask-less and symptomatic— and expectorate over everyone within a 30-foot radius? Man, we have sunk mighty low in this country.
But wait, there’s more. How about casual Fridays? I can’t be casual on Monday? Or Wednesday? Or on Benito Mussolini’s birthday?
Now take cars (and they will!). In case you missed the summons, you got to register your vehicles with the government, each and every gas-guzzler, every couple of years, too. Did your great-great-grandpa register his horse and buggy? Methinks not! Is “motor vehicle registration” mentioned once in the Constitution? I believe it says only something like this: “The right of the people to own, rent or lease high emission conveyances shall not be infringed…”
Don’t get me started on emission controls.
It won’t be long before they come for our pickups and pry our cold dead hands from the steering wheels. We’ll all be walking to the variety store in our skivvies.
While we still have our vehicles, Johnny Law says we can’t drive 100 mph in a school zone. Why not? I figure it’s a good way to teach kids to look both ways! You should see those little dickens jump and hop.
And what’s with this “blood alcohol content’ nonsense? They keep lowering the limit every few years. I don’t know about you, but I drive way better after pounding a six-pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon.
Want proof? Well, here I am, still churning out cogent commentary, ain’t I?
I trace what ails us all the way back to the Ten Commandments and Charlton Heston. Don’t covet thy neighbor’s wife! I’m telling you, Charlie, she’s like a total babe. Saint Peter will understand.
Now they’re even telling us we can’t bust into the “people’s house”— the United States Capitol— and smash up a few lecterns and whatnot that we paid for with our own tax money. OK, we chased a few congressmen and senators about the joint —but they looked like they could use the exercise.
Well, that about does it, I’d say. Let freedom ring!
David Holahan is a freelance writer from East Haddam.