I'm feeling a little irritable this morning. Here's the result:
Get out your legal pads and sharpen your pencils, students, it's time for Mongo Law 101.
There are some things around that are annoying me, and following the lead of the Las Vegas City Council, I'm going to make them illegal rather than trying to do anything constructive about them. More on the council shortly.
First off, we're going to deal with pigeons. I know they're fun to feed, and they make those cute "coo" noises when they settle in bunches, but they have a tendency to roost in the oak tree in my front yard and poop all over my Mustang. Alternately, they roost in the holly tree and poop all over Bob's truck.
Therefore, I am outlawing pigeons. Henceforth, any pigeons caught in my trees will be ticketed and forced to pay stiff fines, and possibly sentenced to community service. Repeat offenders may face the ultimate penalty: plucking.
Now that the birds are taken care of, let's go to the mall. I am making it illegal for people of either gender who have paunches, love handles or back fat to wear shirts that do not reach the waistband of their pants. People of size need to always be very careful to avoid inflicting the grotesque spectacle of their abdominal bulging upon unsuspecting audiences. I saw someone lose their balance in a food court, and by the time they restored their shirt's structural integrity, they had ruined lunch for six nuns, a Cub Scout troop and a busload of senior citizens on an outing.
All I'm asking for, OK, legislating, is that I get the same consideration from those fellow flabby folks. Just because your significant other tells you your love handles are sexy, that doesn't mean the rest of us think so. Since most good laws have catchy names, I'm going to call this one the Flab Exhibition Minimization Act. FEMA will address these human disasters with a series of fines, and repeat offenders will be sentenced to sessions with a physical trainer ... or at least home detention with an Ab Lounger.
Speaking of food courts (pay attention, we're moving pretty fast, here), my next law will be aimed at protecting America's deep fryers from those who would regulate what we put in them, how much we cook in them and what kind of oil we do the cooking in. The Fried Food Liberation Act will make it illegal for any of the underfed, scrawny, shrill-voiced, self-righteous and generally annoying health-nut types to harsh our collective mellows by squawking like trodden chickens every time they see us eating a french fry.
Fried food is not health food. We understand that. Eating a daily diet of deep-fried delicacies is unlikely to lead to a lengthy AARP membership. Anyone not aware of that fact is probably doing the gene pool a favor by hammering down as many fried mushrooms and jalapeño poppers as they can grab.
I've always been a fan of creative sentencing, and this law is custom-made for it. First-time violators will be offered the choice of paying a hefty fine or eating 10 Hooters wings. Subsequent violations will result in the addition of further menu items, up to and including an entire Awesome Blossom from Outback Steakhouse.
And, finally, we're going to do something about television. Specifically, we're going to ban former cast members of any successful sitcom from starring in their own shows for a period of not less than 10 years after the original show's series finale. Yes, I know, "Frasier" was a really funny show, and Kelsey Grammer is one heckuva actor, even in blue fur; but no one can deny that he was by far the exception.
The era of the spinoff is pretty much over. No longer do we get a fairly entertaining "Laverne and Shirley" spinning off from a "Happy Days." Now we get Julia Louis-Dreyfus, who at her best is about as funny as library paste, in "The New Adventures of Old Christine," which besides having one of the worst titles of all time is physically painful to watch. In lab tests, college students who volunteered to watch the show suffered from painful hives on their buttocks ... at least that was the excuse they all gave for fleeing the screening room halfway through the presentation.
And I won't even get into "Joey." Rest in peace, Mr. Tribbiani.
Punishment for any violation of this law will be assignment to appear in no less than three Lifetime Channel original movies. Extreme offenders will be forced to co-star with Leah Thompson and/or Meredith Baxter Birney.
So, where does all this legislative energy come from? I was inspired by the Las Vegas City Council. The governing body of the city known the world over as a neon-plastered amusement park for adults has decided that it's illegal to feed the homeless. With the passage of a new ordinance (unanimous, I might add), anyone operating a mobile soup kitchen, handing out sandwiches in homeless camps or doing similar good deeds will face a maximum penalty of a $1,000 fine and six months in jail.
Legislating against good deeds is the sort of thing I'd expect in a Vonnegut fantasy. Supposedly, the mobile soup kitchens "attract" homeless to the parks and public spaces. How's that again? Where does it attract them from, their suites at Bellagio?
City marshals are even getting special training in how to enforce the law. Las Vegas Mayor Oscar Goodman, when asked about how the marshals would know a soup kitchen from, say, a vendor handing out samples to tourists said, "Certain truths are self-evident. You know who's homeless."
I'd like to invite hizzoner to come with me to the shelters in Houston and tell the men and women who shower every day, wear clean if hand-me-down clothes and generally try to keep themselves presentable that he can tell they're homeless. Certainly a lot of homeless people have some serious hygiene issues, but a statement like Goodman's is so far beyond the pale that it ventures into the absurd.
I can tell who's a buffoon, Mayor Goodman, just like you can tell who's homeless.
Ok, that was my rant. Sorry. Finally got to have some fun last night, and I don't even remember it. Goddamn Tuesdays.