Drunken driving has inflicted untold amounts of pain, misery and suffering, yet we seem at a loss for how to curb its deadly consequences. That’s because we’re not putting capitalism to work, folks. So let’s drink to the end of drunk driving with my new Barstool-Ski Lift Hybrid.
Because my prior epiphanies have successfully altered the course of countless human lives, I decided to expand the Alter the Course R&D department. I recruited some of the brightest minds in the business, and when that I failed, I hired the three people who actually read my blog.
One of the trio (the person not my mom or dad) is a bedraggled, one toothed-man named Stu. He offered to belch forth new epiphanies. As the grand epiphanizer, it was my job to distinguish the breakthroughs from the bile.
The other day, the bedraggled one blurted, “‘Twouldn’t it be cool if, after imbibing in several hundred beers, I could ride a gondola over to your house and pass out on your couch?”
Stu’s epiphany had merit. Many a drunk has dreamed of a gondola ride across the sky. The notion also appealed to teetotalers, who would like to keep the town drunkards off the streets.
I got held up on one aspect of the epiphany, however. Gondolas generally carry 10-14 people. In the land of individualized travel, that’s simply too big.
I decided a ski lift would suffice. Then, upon further pondering, I decided to retrofit the lift with barstools, creating a seamless interface between tavern and transport.
Bring on the Beer Advertisers
As you might imagine, building a barstool/ski lift hybrid that linked town taverns to homesteads was rather expensive. I understood all the benefits of my/Stu’s system, but the town was riddled with whiners who would want the money to go toward education, helping the poor, or some other lost cause.
The village board, perhaps fearing the same, agreed to my program, as long as I came up with the cashola to finance it. “Just get ye some funding,” called out village elder Jeremiah Gerrymander.
No problemo on that one. I phoned the fine folks S—Face Brewing, and before you knew, I had the entire system underwritten. In exchange, every barstool/ski lift had to portray the slogan, “Get S—Face, then Get High!” Perfect.
The barstool-ski lift hybrid was constructed, and soon, barroom drunks were being shipped home. Drunk driving was virtually eliminated.
Then Marty Kowalski came along. Marty, one of the village’s more inebriated souls, was being transported home when he spied a little fawn below. The deer had wandered out from a nearby wood.
S—faced Marty leaned to far forward and fell out of the ski lift, raining down on deer from the heavens above. They found him the next day, passed out atop the deer corpse, its little Bambi legs splayed out beneath Marty’s snoring, slobbering mass.
In no time at all, a coalition called Deer-Lovers Against Drunken Descenders was formed. They staged protests and marches around Jeremiah Gerrymander’s house, demanding the barstool-ski lift hybrid be disbanded. Cowtowing to public outcry, Jeremiah and S-face took the system down.
Let this story serve as a warning. If you’re driving to pay me a visit at 2:30 pm on a Friday night, the inebriated, bedraggled Stu might be weaving along the roadways as well. Sigh. Without public approval of a barstool-ski lift hybrid, it looks like drunken driving is here to stay.