Despite the reformers endless efforts to encircle mankind, some persist beyond the broad extent of their casted net.  In the backwaters of the new Republic, for instance, the distant rumble and flicker of Saturday night hootenannies still befall yonder the mighty oak groves.

In defiance of all things good and proper, the unconsecrated gather under the pale moonlight and jig step to zydeco washboard rhythms while downing tipples of corn syrup and fermented grain.  These knees-ups certify that, even in this era of big government, there remain places in the lower forty-eight where freedom reigns.

Similarly, the backwoods of the old world, rare as they may be, have not been entirely defamed.  Though old world songs are more rigid – and drinks more dry – there are still places where people come together with gusto, and without interference, to dance the polka around the maypole.

Across the planet, no doubt, there are still pockets of liberty where individuals can lawfully expel into toilet bowls that use more than 1.28 gallons per flush.  These places are uniquely exceptional with their own distinct rhyme. Continue reading →