WASHINGTON (AP) -- -- The Supreme Court on Thursday ruled that local governments may seize people's homes and businesses -- even against their will -- for private economic development.
Y’know those beaver-smelling hairy camo-fans in Unistat with the automatic rifles and the barbed-wire barricades drinking their own urine and preparing to blow a hole in the New World Order with a solid-slug shotgun shell? (Mmmm, aggressive AND alliterative) Those guys are right. And that pisses me off. It annoys me that the only smart people in America right now are using the family tooth to eat roadkill and complain that the Gummint is out to put tracking devices in their derrieres. It’s like when I met the only other clown I knew who thought Acapulco shirts and flak jackets were a suitable combination, and he turned out to be a wanker. Now I find the only people who agree that Unistat is a big ball of cheese-drinking insanity fuck skunks for sport and don’t shave anything. Goddammit.
Okay, it’s unfair to suggest that the new Yankee law will mean people will be shot in the streets so Walmart can bulldoze their neighbourhood for parking until America is one long line of malls linked carpark to carpark in an unending asphalt haze, dotted with trolley-carcasses rolling like rusted tumbleweeds across the wide SUV-sized parks. It is perhaps jumping the gun to imply this law will even mean mass depopulation of non-profitable anti-consumer types so more capitalist-friendly people and skyscraper facilities can be installed where once sky-high beatniks sat in beds and grew purty flowers. I’m not going to joke about hippy gulags just yet, oh no. But the fact that some Cocoa-Cola corporation can petition to have one’s quarter-acre pavlova paradise mashed into leaky apartments would make me reach for a gun and a hounddog called Zeke and go move into the Unabomber’s old shed with a box of tinned food and David Koresh’s autobiography. With only skunk-fuckers for neighbours. Soon I’d be borrowing the heirloom dentures to open my tins of baked beans and swapping tips on how to keep gunpowder dry when the tin roof leaks through the post-Superbowl-elebration bulletholes, and recipes for cured Revenue Inspector meat.
…course, I’d like to say it won’t happen here, not in civilised New Zealand.
But with councils selling off public parks so Coke can have a bit more elbow room for it’s dollar-a-day starving workers, I’d be lying. Hand me my moonshine.