The State Legislator is the Child Grown Strong

Missouri Lawmaker Seeks to Ban Cold Beer Sales

JEFFERSON CITY, Mo. — A state senator wants to force Missouri stores to sell warm beer. Under a bill by Sen. Bill Alter, grocery and convenience stores would risk losing their liquor licenses if they sold beer colder than 60 degrees. The intent is to cut down on drunken driving by making it less tempting to pop open a beer after leaving the store.

“The only reason why beer would need to be cold is so that it can be consumed right away,” Alter, who has been a police offer for more than 20 years, said Thursday.

He said the idea came from a fifth-grade student in Jefferson County who was participating in a program to teach elementary students about state government. He sought their suggestions for new laws and chose the cold beer ban from a list of the top three ideas.

There are a few things disturbing about this article:

1. “He [the state senator] sought their [fifth-graders] suggestions for new laws…” A state senator is asking ten-year olds for ideas about law? What’s next, state-provided Mountain Dew fountains in public places?

2. Hey, I like cold beer. Fuck you, pal.

3. Does anyone actually crack a beer open on the ride home? And if they do, is that enough to get anyone drunk enough to cause an accident? Come on.

4. I really like cold beer. Double fuck you, pal.

Hat tip: The Agitator

To Serve and…something something

Balko gets ahold of another beauty. A bunch of undercover cops tries to bust up some college drinking. One of them flashes his badge and fires a few shots in the air. Another policeman hears the shots, runs over, and shoots and kills the undercover cop (and injured a student).

It gets better.

The president of the university sends out a letter blaming alcohol for the death of the cop. The logic being, I guess, that if no one broke the ridiculous drinking age law, then undercover cops would not be necessary, then undercover cops wouldn’t have to shoot into the air, then off-duty officers wouldn’t shoot to kill the undercover cops.

You’ve got to read the whole thing. It’s so stupid it’ll take your breath away.

Time Preferences and Strip Hearts

(From the infernal, terrestrial and heavenly Party Report:

I turn away, but Edward’s ravaging of party protocol and dance decorum had led some of us to a set of slopes getting more slippery by the minute. All sense of body space gone, [XXXXX] and [XXXXX] grew more insistent, while [XXXXX] grew more provocative, peeling off clothing, biting, and sharing alcohol-soaked kisses (one takes a shot, then locks lips with another, a practice called ’shotgunning’). Under cover of photography, I increase exposure time (“Hold that pose!”) and apply peer pressure where needed.

Edward and his staff (DJ, etc.) exhausted, we are thrown out close to daylight and retire to [XXXXX]’s apartment. The food of the gods is purchased. More drinking. More smoking. Bailey’s bar-code tattoo is determined to just be a computer joke, “MAC DADDY”. Impassioned confessions between [XXXXX] and [XXXXX]. More drinking. Everyone else decides to force [XXXXX] into joining a game of strip…poker? Some don’t know poker. Aha! Strip Hearts! No one can understand the rules. Doesn’t matter. More drinking. More smoking. The game begins, a salacious tetrahedron of a girl who likes girls who likes a girl who likes girls who like boys who likes a girl who likes a boy who likes girls who likes a girl who girls like who likes boys.

Give ‘Em The Bird

So, some of you out there are bothering to vote, still? For you, I recommend a radical vote-avoidance therapy:

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What’s the word? Thunderbird!
How’s it sold? Good and cold!
What’s the jive? Bird’s alive!
What’s the price? Thirty twice!

Before voting, secure a few dollars and journey deep into the exciting neighborhood nearest you. Locate and enter the first brightly lit Stop ‘N’ Rob that you see, and locate the Fortified Wines Department. If in doubt, ask the attendant lurking behind the scratched Plexiglass where the “Mad Dog” or “T-Bird” is. Remember the magic formula: (Price / (Volume * Alcohol Percentage)). Use this calculation to locate the election night beverage of choice. Purchase a bottle, or two. Two is better. Before leaving, also secure a few Colas. In cans – that is important. Your beverage might dissolve plastic bottles, and mixing a drink through the narrow bottle mouth would prove hard, soon.

Return home. Do not stop at the polling station, that comes later. You have plenty of time. Don’t worry. Place one bottle in the refrigerator. Claim the other for yourself. Take a drink of Cola. Open your bottle of Apple Wine Product, and fill the can back full with the fortified cordial. Swirl the can so as to mix the wine with the Cola. Take a drink of the now-enhanced soda. Force it down – this is for your own good. Don’t think too hard about how bad the Cola tastes, just think about how much you hate Kerry. Or Bush. Or whoever. Repeat this process until the drink is too strong. At that time, add equal amounts of Cola and wine to the can until the second can is gone.

By this time, gravity should be lessening its effects on random parts of your body. Parts of you will be floating, other parts will be dragging. This is normal. Sip directly from the bottle of fortified apple goodness. Force the now-warm liquid down. Isn’t this more fun than voting? No – don’t rush out to vote yet. Think deeply about the dwindling bottle of wine, and how strangely good it is. Continue to sip and force, force and sip. Pretend you are voting. Doesn’t that feel good? You’re making a difference, you know. Doing your civic duty. Feel free to talk aloud about how voting makes you feel. Turn on your television, and watch the election returns. Your vote is in there somewhere, and it’s making a difference. Yes it is. How does that make you feel? Keep sipping fortified wine.

By now you may have finished the first bottle. The second bottle is waiting for you, in the refrigerator. Go to it. The appliances will be gently rocking up and down on the waves now, this is OK. Continue to sip your wine and contemplate your vote. Soon, your bleary eyes will see the room gently spinning, spinning as you sink to the hard, yet now oddly warm floor. You will sleep now, and dream softly of a better world. When you awake, it will be a new day.

As you attempt to clean the various household surfaces that were soiled during the night, reflect on your vote. Did you really vote? Did it matter? Things are very confusing now, and your head hurts. This is normal. You are sleepy again, but the floor is now hard and cold. And sticky. Perhaps later today, after the headache stops, you can figure this out. Perhaps tomorrow.

Slippery Slope To Hell

One thing that’s sure to evoke a scoff from the local nanny-state apologist is the “slippery slope” argument. Example: “Drunk driving laws are nice and all, but pretty soon you won’t even be able to have a drop and get near a car.”

Ha, ha. Stupid libertarians, always so paranoid.

Well, it’s not too damn’ funny here in the Northwest Sector anymore:

Washington has, for all practical purposes, abandoned the concept of a “legal limit.” But wait, you say. I don’t remember anything about a “zero tolerance” law being passed.

It may come as a shock, but the legal limit has become a mere formality. A Washington driver can be found guilty of DUI or “physical control” (vehicle not in motion) in two ways:

Within two hours after driving, an alcohol concentration of .08 or higher as shown by analysis of the person’s breath or blood or;

While the person is under the influence of or affected by intoxicating liquor or any drug; while the person is under the combined influence of or affected by intoxicating liquor and any drug.

What does that mean? Who decides if you are “affected by” alcohol? Usually it’s the officer who stopped you — he or she will file a ticket with the prosecutor and declare that you were “affected” by the consumption of alcohol when you drove, even if your breath test was under .08.

And they don’t have any stake in the matter, uh-uh. And what’s that “physical control” crap, anyhow? Keys in hand? Keys in pocket? Passed out in back seat with keys in pocket? More:

I have had the difficult task of representing a number of defendants with tests as low as .06, .05 and even .04. My firm once represented a client with a mere .02. Each of these clients believed he or she was responsible and cautious in consuming alcohol and each client was charged with DUI.

The reason for these charges appears to be tactical. A prosecuting attorney can offer a reduced charge of reckless driving or negligent driving and many clients will “cut their losses” and accept the deal. The risk and expense of facing a trial with even the possibility of a DUI conviction is horrifying. So many defendants plea to a lesser charge, and now they have criminal histories — without ever blowing more than .08.

See how it works? Just like a machine: cop writes ya up, prosecutor offers you a “deal”, you go to jail, cop gets a pat on the back, prosecutor builds that record, and you – well, you get to go put your life back together, Citizen. If you can. Of course, don’t even think about giving any back-talk:

What is a responsible citizen to do when faced with a breath test after what seems to be a responsible glass of wine or two during dinner? Many of my clients ask, “If the legal limit isn’t going to save me, why should I take the test?” Well, the Legislature made this decision a bit easier with a June 10 amendment to the DUI laws, which punishes a “refusal” DUI with much higher consequences than a “breath test” DUI. For instance, a first offense DUI with a breath test carries between 90 and 365 days of license revocation — but a conviction for a first offense “refusal” DUI now carries two years of license revocation, with restricted work licenses available after a waiting period of 90 days and the installation of an ignition interlock device.

Simple, isn’t it? The fact that you are arrested makes it obvious that you are guilty, so we make pleading guilty the least-bad alternative. That is, you don’t want to go up in front of twelve people too stupid to get out of jury duty, do you Citizen?

Hmm? Didn’t think so.

Slippery slope? Hell, we’re tumbling down ass-over-teakettle, and there isn’t a bottom in sight.