However, it's not utopia by any stretch: during this on-going Presidential election, thirty-five percent of the people in this county voted for Cameltoe. Sure, it's a far cry-- half, exactly-- from the whopping seventy percent who voted for her in my Murderapolis county: but thirty five percent is still a non-trivial number of people.
And sure enough, on my very walk this morning, as I was walking on the shoulder of a paved country road, not unlike one you'd find in the cities, bordered by private property owned by people I know and who either personally or loosely know who I am, carrying my giant purple water bottle from which I frequently swig water, in broad daylight, I was accosted by an elderly couple in a shitty old pick-up truck, who are undoubtedly two members of that number.
- Random pick-up truck slows down, passes me. An elderly woman shouts out her window, almost howling with frustration: "You're too hard to see!" I can see her face: she has the gummy, barking sounding voice and inflections commonly heard from low IQ women, to go along with the sort of unattractive flabby cheeks and completely recessed-in-skin-and-fat jawline typical of homely, elderly women.
- "Excuse me?" I shout back.
- "Minnesota state law says you need to wear an orange hat during hunting season!"
- I respond, as dryly as possible: "Is that so."
- Clearly not satisfied with my attitude, the husband barks, "It's the law!", to which the woman flabs, "It's Minnesota law you have to wear orange!"
- I reply again, as dryly as before: "Interesting."
- Clearly having expected me to profusely thank her for her wisdom and direction in life while deferentially apologizing for not having obeyed "the law", and not at all having had her expectations fulfilled, she re-states a third time: "You know it's Minnesota law, during hunting season you know!"
- Seconds go past, with no further comment from me, who has merely continued his walk. Finally: "You know, we're just trying to keep you safe!"
- My reply: "I see."
- And finally, "Enjoy your walk", as the truck drove away.
These types of Karens and Kens are so transparent it's not even funny: if you're legitimately trying to keep someone safe, you don't start, continue, and end the conversation by aggressively threatening that person with violence for having "broken the law." "I don't want you to get shot, so I'm going to send government goons to shoot you!"
Instead, you'd broach the subject with a different tone: "Just a heads-up, brighter clothes might be a good idea if you happen to walk through a wooded area." Or better yet: mind your own freaking business! It was clear in this context that I wasn't military-style proning my way through bushes in the middle of the woods with fake antlers strapped to my head. Let me assume my own risk: I'll mind my business, and you mind yours!
Any hunter who would look through the scope of his crossbow or rifle, see a bi-pedal dude with glasses and a bright purple water bottle, walking along a paved, lined county road with cars zooming past in broad daylight, and conclude "A-hah, a deer!" probably would be too stupid to be able to tie his shoes, much less operate a firearm and go hunting.
This was like the rural equivalent of the WuFlu face diapers and Corona Karens. Where can I go to just be left alone, and treated like an adult? I bet if I moved to a deserted tropical island, I'd get UN coastal boats or something telling me I'd built my lean-to too close to a palm tree, violating international ordinances!