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A legislative committee has approved a bill offered by Rep. Steve Acquafresca which will prohibit the disparaging of agricultural products. If this is like most bills, then if it is approved, the new law will take effect July 1.
Thus only 145 days remain before that well-known broccoli-hater, George Bush, must curb his malicious tongue when he visits Colorado. Nor will Bob Martinez, the drug czar, be able to speak here, since about all he does is disparage agricultural products like hemp.
In some ways, though, this new law will simplify daily life, especially when parents have to deal with children:
Jason, as your Parental Authority Figures, my
Significant Other and I would be very pleased if you would
eat your nutritious, delicious cauliflower.
Bleccch! Cauliflower is yuck. I'm gonna report you
for child abuse if you try to make me eat it.
Sorry, but you don't understand. I'm calling the
police now to report you.
Me? What did I do?
You disparaged an agricultural product. And I bet all
they serve in jail is cauliflower with red meat.
Beleaguered waiters and waitresses (waitrons
in
Vail and other enlightened places) will also enjoy some
empowerment:
I'll have the special, but can we substitute for the
peas?
Sorry, no substitutions.
You mean you're going to bring me those mushy, Civil
War-surplus, canned peas? Why not mashed cardboard?
The waitron is actually an undercover cop, enforcing the
new law. She/he pulls out her/his badge. That wisecrack
about peas is going to cost you some hard time, buddy. You
want to say anything about liver and onions, or do you want
to exercise your right to remain silent?
While it is still legal to disparage vegetables, I want it known that canned red beets are actually a by-product of ink manufacture, just as canned okra is really some slimy stuff that they couldn't figure out how to use at a glue factory. And I hate Brussels sprouts.
On that account, I've always been jealous of my brother Kurt. When Brussels sprouts appeared on the table, I tried the usual tricks. But I was too clumsy to palm them into my pockets, and the family dog, lurking under the table, was too smart to eat them. I figured out that if I swallowed them whole, I missed most of the taste.
Kurt discovered that the table had hollow metal legs, just the right size for hiding Brussels sprouts. Eventually the odor of rotting vegetables permeated the kitchen, and an exhaustive search discovered his crime. But for many months, his lips never touched a Brussels sprout, and all that time, he never shared his secret with his suffering brothers.
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