Jeremy Yudkin: Why the Oaf loves Florida
The Oaf Chronicles
STOCKBRIDGE — Why does the Oaf love Florida? Well, duh, no state taxes! Hello?
But there are SO many other reasons. First, there's guns. There are gun shops every block in the Sunshine State. And everybody in their right mind needs a gun. OK, let's re-phrase that: everybody in any kinda mind needs a gun. I mean, like, say you're walking down the street and a person of color is walking towards you. Who the hell knows what he's going to do? That's why you need a gun.
Then the Legislature: Hey, they're in session two months out of the year. That's ten months of the year for golf, guys! What's not to like? And, look, we've got it so sewn up. The Republican PACS are bloated with money. We're talking 20 times as much money as the Dems. It's simply no contest.
Now let's discuss two of the most favorite Florida pastimes. The first is tricking out your truck (OK, car — whatever it is you drive) to make a joyful noise unto the Lord. First thing you do when you get new wheels is you take it to a muffler shop and get it fitted with the LOUDEST pipes you can buy. I mean, when you lay rubber for that entire 300 yards from one stoplight to another, if all the residents within a two-mile radius cannot hear you — and when I say hear you, I mean, wake up from their sleep at night or jump a little in their seats when they're trying to eat lunch — then, baby, you ain't got a car or truck worth pissin' at. Look, it signifies you're a man. Real men have a God-given right to tell all those hundreds of people in a two-mile radius what virile beasts they are. And noise tells 'em. Hooboy, does it ever.
Like on the beach. The beach is a truly great place to make a noise. You put up your windbreak, you show off your dark coffee-colored tan, and you blast your boombox so that everyone on the beach can hear it. Like, for miles. Because, like, it's not like you're doing everyone else a favor, because your music is the best (though you definitely are, because it definitely is), it's because you can. It's Florida!
But what really makes you a man is the coolest thing in the book: parking in handicapped zones. OK, I know that sounds a little juvenile, but let me explain so that you can understand the real beauty of this one. Parking in a handicapped zone means you don't give a damn about the rules! You're your own person! People trying to tell you where you can and cannot park? I mean, are we friggin Socialists here? Not in Florida, we ain't. No, sir. (Note our natural Southern politeness here, please.) No, sir. I park where I dadgum please. And the best thing is (listen up: this is good), if you can put your black-and-white, skull-adorned, racing-striped monster truck in one of them places, that's really sticking it to those namby-pamby, latte-sippin Chardonnay types, with their rules, their LGBY, girls-in-my-urinal, politically correct, caring-for-others bullcrap.
Look, Oaf (aka "The States = ME!") is one of us. So what if he's destroying 200 and whatever-it-is years of the entire American system of democracy? So what if presidents after him (if there are any) will be completely untethered to the laws of the land? So what if he's a crook, a pathological liar, a man without morals, a textbook narcissist, our own little autocratic Hitler or Mussolini, a baby wannabe Xi or Putin?
He's one of us. He's a Florida man.
Jeremy Yudkin wrote the column "Vote for Oaf!" on Nov. 27, 2019.
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