This has probably happened to you.
It's Saturday night. What to do? There's no monster truck event around. How about some cow tipping? But you did that last weekend. You could go out to your favorite biker/redneck/yahoo bar and get royally tanked and start fights with total strangers just for the fun of it. Then again, you do that during the week.
At last a bully idea alights. You turn to your significant enabler, Betty Sue Betty Bob Betty Jo, and you say: "Hey, Sweetums! I got a great idea. Let's head over to Hector's House of Half-Wits and do some dwarf tossing tonight!"
Whew! Crisis averted. A social life saved.
Alas, back in 1989, those fuddy-duddies in the Florida Legislature banned the tossing of dwarves, a gross injustice and threat to individual liberty that has remained on the books ever since, no doubt leaving tens of thousands of dwarves without the opportunity to be tossed, not to mention the legions of patrons yearning to breathe free in the quest to toss as many dwarves as humanly possible.
Supply. Demand. Can't get much more capitalistic than that.
But perhaps this egregious government intrusion into free enterprise may yet come to an end. If Rep. Ritch Workman, R-Lilliput, has his way, Florida's draconian ban on munchkin pitching will — finally! — be repealed and little people can sail through the air. Cue America the Beautiful.
What might we call Workman's landmark legislation? "The Bumpkin Entertainment Preservation Act"?
Workman, R-Oz, is of the opinion that there are simply too many restraints on our independence. What better example of that than the police state-like ban on hurling people of modest physical stature as far as possible?
To be sure, there are many odd and bizarre rules on the books. But for the most part laws are created to address some kind of aberration in human behavior.
For example, a couple of years ago state Sen. Nan Rich, D-Deliverance, embarked on a campaign to ban bestiality. Who knew this was an epidemic problem?
But apparently Rich was worried that way too many goats were signing up with the bridal registry at Crate and Barrel. It took the Florida Legislature a couple of years to agree with Rich that perhaps it might be a good idea to discourage barnyard romance before passing the "Don't Even Think of Looking at Bessie That Way Act."
Workman, R-Billy Barty, has defended his Right to Bear Really Small Arms Act as an effort to reduce an assault on the civil liberties of Floridians who simply want to toss dwarves in peace. He has argued repealing the ban would open the door to dwarves who aspire to be tossed but are cruelly prevented from realizing their full potential in pursuing a career as a professional discus.
It's merely a guess, but it is a somewhat dubious proposition that the state's dwarf population believes its only salvation in these hard economic times is to become a human fastball.
Would Workman, R-Mini-Me, have anyone believe that after 22 years on the books his office has been deluged by countless entreaties from the Florida Association of Yokels, signed with John Hancock-esque X's, pleading with him to please lead the charge to rid us of the state's oppressive imperative to ban dwarf tossing?
Every legislative session invites the state's lawmakers to introduce inane bills that have about as much chance of passage as having Tallahassee approve "Fidel Castro Appreciation Day."
Already there are proposed bills to bring back the state's electric chair, and Workman would like to abolish a statute requiring motorists to use their headlights during twilight hours.
Out, foul spot of socialism. Requiring drivers to use headlights when it starts to get dark. Where does the tyranny of it all end?
And so Workman, R-Give Me Mickey Rooney or Give Me Death, continues his lonely, patriotic quest to once more make Florida a place of rugged libertarian freedom with a dwarf in every potted honky-tonk.
Who says Floridians don't know how to have a good time?