Population Control

One way to possibly control our soon-to-be-/already-done-been-a-thing population problems could be to make random rules where you die if you break them. Like when you draw a Jack(?) during that random drinking game, only with permanent irrevocable consequences.

But myriad legal issues. Say our first rule is, “anyone who says the word ‘derriere’ ever again will be humanely euthanized ASAP.” Immediate Fourteenth Amendment challenge on basis of national origin from the French. And what of the farmer who lazily comments on the crisp smell outside the milking stall one morning? “Big Pun: How an Off-the-rolled-up-denim-cuff Remark Killed One Sleepy Rural Town’s Beloved Mime.” Because his hobby was doing mime stuff. As a farmer they could take him or leave him; something about seedy pasteurization practices.

And honestly even the “beloved” part was a stretch: lacking the spatial confines of urban life, his routine consisted of acting out his freedom to explore the vast, open country, manifesting in his running off in a premeditated but undisclosed cardinal direction for hours, sometimes days on end. While a small handful of townsfolk, most of whom had done a stint in some epicenter of commerce or other themselves, championed the farmer-mime’s avant-/apres-garde (d)evolution of the art, most instead regarded the dramatic disappearances as eccentric jaunts, if not the fugues of an outright madman.

The “big pun” thing, too, is really just a blatant misunderstanding of what wordplay even is, and invoking an oversized former rap artist truly sounds the falsest of notes in this homogenous white agriscape, provoking several readers of the weekly local newspaper to query whether the fall of said medium might be more merits-based than previously believed.

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