copyright © 2020
by Robert L. Blau
You know how you can sometimes walk through the back of your closet and
find a magical land on the other side? Well, I did that, and you might
be surprised at what I found.
First thing I noticed was ... it was really hard to notice anything.
That was because of the air pollution, which became very obvious
the first time I tried to breathe. Then I tripped over something,
or someone, as it turned out, after I had clawed aside a couple of
handfuls of air. And found myself looking down the barrel of
some kind of assault rifle.
"Excuse me," I stammered hastily. "My bad, I'm sure. Didn't see
you in the pollution. Er, still don't, very well."
"Ah," said my new acquaintance, "you must be one o' them wardrobe
tourists, eh? I can tell because you're unarmed and still seem to
have most of your lung function."
"Yes, yes," I agreed. "You've spotted it right away. Are you a
faun?"
"No, sorry," he replied. "We don't have anything like that here.
My name's Thomas. And this is the Land of Wiscaahnsin."
He extended a hand.
"Are you Mr.Tumnus?" I asked eagerly.
"No, no silly names, either," said Mr. Thomas. "Just Thomas. And
before you ask, there's no Mr. & Mrs. Beaver, either. Last
beaver in these parts choked to death a decade ago."
"Sorry to hear that," I said with true sadness. "So I suppose you labor
under the yoke of some White Witch, eh?"
"Wrong again!" grinned Mr. Thomas. "We in Wiscaahnsin are free people.
We answer to no form of gummint whatsoever. No witches, no
kings, no queens, no governors, no magic lions, nothin'! Only the
Supreme Court1 Which we keep to protect our liberties."
"Ah," said I. "And what liberties would those be?"
"Why, everything," he
replied. "Startin' with guns,
of course." He preened shamelessly with his
super-size firearm.
"Of course," I agreed. "Haven't you ...ever
... had any ... gummint?"
"Oh, of course we did," said Mr. Thomas. "They had all kinds of laws
about what kind of fuel we could burn in our cars and how much ...
whatchamacallit ... "
"Carbon dioxide?" I suggested.
"Yeah, that ... we could release into the air and similar. But
the Supreme Court said that
was a restriction of our freedoms!" Mr. Thomas swatted away a
hovering chunk of air.
"Ah, so you have cars," I observed to show that I was paying attention.
"Yet you seem to be on foot. I suppose you have a car parked near
by?"
"Aw, I don't drive much," said Mr. Thomas. "Too dangerous.
Intersections are murder."
"Don't you have traffic lights or stop signs?" I asked.
"Usedta," said Mr. Thomas, "but the Supreme Court ruled that all that
telling us when we could stop and go was a restriction of our freedoms.
Now, the intersections are full of the bodies of people
exercising their rights."
"And speed limits ...?"
"Restriction of our God-given liberties!"
"Of course. What about police?" I asked, regretting it
immediately.
"Yep, usedta have some of those, too," Mr. Thomas allowed, "but they'd
stop us from driving faster than their arbitrary limit, breaking into
someone else's house, or killing each other."
"And the Supreme Court ruled ...," I prompted.
"Violation of our freedoms!"
"And to protect yourselves ...?" I actually knew the answer to
this one.
"That's why God gave us guns!"
"So, no more gummint," I suggested, "because ... "
"Gummint is a restriction of our freedoms!"
I think I'll take my chances with the White Witch.