And it does NOT emanate exclusively from FederalGovCo, either.
1. Happy hours are illegal
Happy hour specials can only be offered for ‘food.’ Yeah, mind blown? Me too.
2. You can get a DWI on a horse
Good, because my favorite bar has seriously scarce horse parking. Other ways to get a DWI-tractor, bicycle, electronic scooter.
There are more of these at the link, yet more on the books, and they’re rarely if ever enforced. And yeah, they’re all pretty silly at one level. But frivolous and amusing though we might find them, they also have to raise a more serious question in the mind of anyone possessed of an ounce of self-honesty, namely: in a country forever congratulating itself on how “free” it supposedly is, how the hell does legislation this intrusive and meddlesome ever get passed into law in the first place?
Now, it is definitely true that North Carolina is a very liberal state, and always has been. NC has elected but one (1) Republican governor in the last, oh, I dunno, six hundred years or so, and that was the execrable Pat McCrory—who, despite the phony blandishments he pukes up on his local radio show, is about as faux-conservative as faux-conservative professional politicians get. And yeah, no state or even local government is anything like perfect. The states particularly, in their role as the Laboratories Of Democracy, are more or less allowed to flout the Constitution’s limitations (ahem) on the federal gummint, which they do to a fairly alarming degree. I get all that, I really, really do.
But still. Y’all know I become nettlesome every year, as the 4th of July approaches, at the sudden sprouting of all the huge tents in every shopping center parking lot offering fireworks for sale, exhorting all and sundry to “Celebrate freedom!” during the one fucking week every year that selling the damned things is legally allowed. And at that, the fireworks they sell aren’t anything to get excited about: sparklers, snap-n-pops, and wet-fart little ‘crackers, that’s it. No M80s, no cherry bombs. No bottle rockets, repeaters, arrowheads, Roman candles, and such-like. Too, too dangerous, you see. Plus, there’s always the awful risk of some unreconstructed, RACIST!™ old-timer laying the Roman candle on its side in the gutter and referring to it by its primordial-joke name—”nigger chaser”—thereby corrupting the youth, spooking the horses, and causing the wimmen to faint dead away from the rude shock of it.
“Legally allowed” to celebrate Independence Day with otherwise-illegal fireworks? Bosh, I say. The mere utterance of the phrase “legally allowed” ought to automatically stoke the ire of every red-blooded American still extant—however many of those there might be left—just as a matter of principle; its very existence should be considered an affront, its now-omnipresent application a call to arms, the moral equivalent of a war-tocsin being struck. No happy hour? No rollerblading in the sun? No riding a bicycle one-handed? Horseback DUIs, all the other tyrannical tommyrot from the article, and so very much more, not just here in the Tarheel State but everywhere across the fruited plain? In (what was once) America?
WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK, people?