The R.A.G. Files

Ft. Stewart, Ga. The R.A.G. Files salutes Sargeant Kevin Benderman, mechanic for the 3rd forward support battalion.
Sgt. Benderman was being charged with desertion for refusing to go to Iraq. He commented that he did not want to go to war and was awaiting "conscientious objector" status he had applied for after his first tour of duty in Iraq.
He stated that he does not like war, has nothing against his "brothers at arms" who are there fighting now, he wants everyone home and raising their families. Benderman was also accused of demoralizing the rest of his unit after he refused to deploy with them just recently to Iraq.
Sgt. Benderman was acquitted of the charges of desertion, but was charged with lesser charges that have him behind bars for 15 months.
The R.A.G. Files do not beleive in war, but realize it's a necessity in this imperfect world. We are supportive of our troops who defend us home and abroad. And we salute the fallen. And Sgt. Benderman, we thank you.

World Stage. For all of you conspiracy theorists out there, this one's for you.
Did you know, that there is something you can do to your car, a piece that you can remove, that will double if not triple your gas milage? It's true, a man took his car in to be looked at as the gas gauge didn't seem to be moving. The dealership noticed that a part was missing giving the vehicle high gas milage and they made a recall on all makes and models of that vehicle.
Did yo know that there is a cure for cancer? There is, but they cannot release it or market it as thousands of people would lose their jobs and businesses would go under if it was released. Scientists are waiting for a new disease before its release.
Did you know that the majority of surgeons are paid on a system like commision? Yes, most are. And most, do not worry about getting the alotted amount or meeting the quota of the medical association, but then, there are some....
Did you know that by law, if you do not have insurance, hospitals can charge you whatever they want for anything from a visit to major surgery?
Did you know that hearing aids are shipped out without being listened to or passing quality control. Most times, they are put through "quantity" control, a system used by the Board of Directors when the numbers are low.
Food for thought.

Paradise, S.C. As it happened thousands of years ago, it happens again. There is a mass exodus of Fundalmentalist Christians to the community they have named Paradise in South Carolina.
Fed up with what they have dubbed a "not conservative enough" Republican government, and the sins of the country they live in, they have decided to start their own community and their own government. They want a place to be free to be the upstanding christians that they are and be able to judge the world in peace.
"We are ready to succeed from the Union if need be if this government doesn't start doing things the way we want them." stated founding member of Paradise Hyman Hippocrates.
The White house has answered this statement with this, "If you panty waists think you can take a state from us, lets see what you'd do if'n we just blew up the entire state with a nuke!"
It's the R.A.G.'s opinion that they have the right idea, they can have their own state, and do their own thing on their own soil, but who would they go door to door to?

Omaha. Can you get arrested for having sex with your wife? If she's 14 and your 22 you can.
Omaha police arrested Kevin Soso, 22, for having sex with his 14 year old wife. It seems, they have been dating since she was 13, and then she got pregnant and her mom gave Soso permission to marry her daughter, as it was more acceptable to have her 14 year old married and pregnant then unwed and living in sin with a bastard child. The happy couple were married in Kansas where that type of thing is acceptable.
Omaha district attourney has decided to press charges of child molestation, statutory rape, and just being a freakin' cho-mo!
"I like 'em young."Soso stated, "'Sides, it ain't like I'm molestin' her. We done make love...we have a love that ain't no one can understand."
His young wife stated, "This just ain't fair! I done love him! He gives love my daddy could never gimme! And so much for gettin' my spot on Jerry Springer!! Now how am I gonna feed my baby?"
Soso faces up to 50 years in prison if convicted.

Faremount. When it comes to the needs of the citizens of Moon Valley County, children rank at #231. At least if you're applying for assistance.
Nicole Beotch, case worker for the welfare services of Moon Valley, stated that she is there to make it as hard as possible for mothers, especially single mothers, to get any assistance.
"So many women take advantage of our fine taxpayers." Beotch stated, "For instance, this one chick from Faremount here, was on our program. I made it as hard as I possibly could for her to receive any. But she jumped through the hoops and passed all of our credentials. Argh, it's frustrating! But I'll get her next time!"
The woman in question, we'll call her "Suzanne", reluctantly went for assistance when the bills were mounting, and her 2 kids were hungry. She followed protocol and jumped through as many hoops as they dished out. Not receiving any child support from her childrens "sperm donor", as he can't stay out of incarceration to save his life, finances were tight. When her boyfriend moved in with her and took on the burden of the bills, she reported the financial help to welfare whom in turn said with the added income to her household, she could receive $5 a month in food stamps.
Now, her boyfriend moved to Omaha, and she applied to receive food assistance until her boyfriend can send more money to help.
"I was chomping at the bit when she came back." stated Beotch, "There she was on her knees begging for help! I told her that if she didn't have her paperwork filled out she couldn't receive the assistance! That threw her off her game! She tried to fill it out in my office, but I told her 'nope, you'll have to reschedule'. I don't have time to wait for you to fill out your paperwork."
"Suzanne" then rescheduled, Nicole told her that they couldn't fit her in until several days later. Until then, her kids will have to eat lint.
Only certain women receive the assistance needed. Those women are ones who normally leech off the system, have a strong desire to stay on the system, and are drinking buddies with Nicole Beotch.

Liverspots, UK. While most London children are deathly afraid to walk out into the dreary atmoshpere of Terror-stricken Britian, one child is busy starting his own airlines.
16 year-old Nigel Wanker III has just received his pilots licence and opens his "Lil' Wanker" Airlines starting November 1st of this year.
"It was really simple, actually." Nigel stated, "Once I 'ad me permit to fly, me thoughts it would be rather funny if'n i'd could fly chaps aroun' and me mates. So's I looked into it, an lo and behold, it twas easier than me thoughts."
Nigel found financial backing from a mysterious benefactor from Saudi Arabia, whom was willing to finance the entire project.
"Me mum's has about 25 quid invested, but those blokes in the middle east ave more say then me poor ol mumsy. They only ask me to fly them under other names to certian destinations without telling anyone...oops, guess me brain wasn't workin there, aye guv nah? aye wot?"

North Omaha. The North section of Omaha, Nebraska usually houses a large African American community. As the south houses a large community of Latinos, and the rich filthy bastards in the west. The exception to this is the Borence neighborhood.
Filled mostly with retired white folk who were transplanted here from elsewhere back in the day when dirt farming was at it's boom.
This found when Lost Bird and his sister went to look at a house that was for rent. Living in the windowless basement of one's mother's home and eating fish heads like the family secret is driving both insane.
The landlord, one Bob Wayitwas, and his darling little wife Mrtyle showed us the home. It was a nice 4 bedroom, with a fireplace, screened in porch, and a nice master bedroom. Lost Bird asked the nice retired man with a southern drawl, (think Larry the cable guy, at 85) if the neighborhood was nice.
"Well," grumbled Bob. "I reckon it's nice. Retired fellah done live on the one side, poor fellah just lost his wife, and a collert fellah done just moved in on the other. Normally, we don't rent to collert folk. They bring in their drugs and those nappy headed brats of theirs, and it's all over."
Lost Bird's sister grumbled under her breath, "Collert people?"
The man answered, "Yep, them nigra's ain't moving in this neck of the woods, hyuk."
Despite his ignorance, The home is only $500 a month. Month to month lease. And they didn't require a deposit. That and the fact they didn't have a problem having a half-breed (mexican/eskimo=meximo) living in their neighborhood.

Purina. While out spraying his parking lot of his Bus company, whilst his negro sweeps it with his corn broom, Hyman Assole noticed one of his tenants with something new.
One Jerry Faglione, a self-employed subcontractor who remodels kitchens, was at his shop that he rents from Hyman. He had his old college buddy, Lost Bird, with him who had moved down from Minnesota to find a better paying job.
"I actually, came over to his shop to collect some late rent." stated Mr. Assole, "You know how them Guinea's can be? Anyrates, I see him with a Wetback, so I says to Jerry 'Hey, you done got yerself a mexican to do all your shit work, huh?"
Jerry replied, "Uh, yeh, meet Pedro."
"Hola, senior!" Lost Bird greeted.
"Yep," Hyman continued, "I done only afford me a negro, I..I'm sorry, I mean a nigger-American. Peeps is touchy now-a-days, but you done got yerself a top of the line Mexicano! Business must done be good."
So now, I am known as "Toasted Marshmellow" in Brewman, MN, and "Pedro" in Purina, NE.

Faremount. Before heading down to the doomed metropolis of Omaha, Nebraska, Lost Bird was renamed by the matriarch of the Spinner clan.
I was going to leave for the big "O" at noon on Sunday 10th of July. But for reason's of complete insanity, I couldn't. It mayhap been because spending a wonderful evening with Suzanne Spinner under a starlit sky and pulling bullheads out of the dam til 4am could have been it. Or perhaps the lack of "fluids" in my system. But, after seeing young Bannana Bear Spinner and Sparkles Spinner with their big round eyes, I couldn't leave at my appointed time.
I didn't leave until 8:30pm to be exact. I said good bye to the two youngin's at their mothers place of employment and sobbed like I lost my left arm. Giving a mad and frustrated Spam SPinner a choked up leave.
After leaving, Spam and her grandaughter Bananna, dubbed me Toasted Marshmellow. As I may be hard on the outside at times, I am really a soft gooey mess on the inside. I will miss them dearly. Especially their mom, Suzanne, whom I'm madly in love with.

Surreal. In the renegade outposts in the land before dawn, the dwellers have roundly citicisized the Method of Ignition, stating that it cannot abide the peoples' manifest needs, nor any longer provide the means to progress. Indeed, Chief Quuuo Vike has said she is searching the spirit for another better Method. "We need a new Method," she said. "One that won't spill, one that won't make us crash our cars. The Olde Method must back down now or feel the flame."

The Olde Method of Ignition worked by the power of three's, often inciting violent, in-dwelling energies to consume entire worldviews and speed up the power of entrophy, thus annhiliating the future. This future killing force was then harnessed to release shock waves which could be re-processed into Love Everlasting Soul Power for enhancing the greater good. In this way evil was captured harnessed and twisted to create good but the Method of Ignition has grown tired fom extended eons of use without rest or repair. It stumbles on wearily, creating dangerous aftershocks and unstable forces that threaten to doom the people who dwell in the Valley of Omega in the place before dawn.

The Rag Files will continue to provide updates as this story develops.

Omaha, Nebraska. Wild fires, terrorist acts and bicycle accidents have resulted in the greatest loss of kitchen cabinetry in this Midwestern town since WWII. Due to this ongoing catastrophe, thousands of city residents have resorted to storing food in their socks, pockets and outdoors causing outbreaks of scurvy, starvation, cannibalism, typhus, brain fever, and irrepairable clothing stains. In one corner of town the residents have been ravaged by Berry Berry, a disease that causes malnourished people to slowly and irreversably turn into blueberries. When that happens they become prey for wild dogs, starving people and roving bands of unchristian crank zombies. Overwhelmed by the crisis, Omaha mayor Bent Medsetter has decalred a state of anarchy, promting even more disaffected teens to turn to punk rock and huffing glue as solutions to their problems. At first a state of masrhal law was ordered and anyone caught violating curfew was shot on sight but this led to protests by human rights groups after several meth zombies were decapitated and voluntarily immolated for the betterment of the community. Later on, the policy of zombie suppression through confinement proved futile, as zombies began crowding the city jail in ever growing numbers. In a complete loss of control, the police were forced to retreat from the jail in the face of a massive crank zombie prison break. The zombies savaged and terrorized anything that stood between them and the kitchen cabinetry of ordinarey citizens. In the final stages, what was left of the starving, desperate and disease ridden police and civillian population barracaded themselves into the remaining four blocks of Omaha still under human control at the heart of the city center. There they lobbed makeshift grenades, sharp impliments and burning rags until the crankheads finally broke through the front lines and brutalized whatever kitchen cabinetry remained untouched. In a final radio shotwave broadcast that made a desperate plea for help, the voice of the radio operator can barely be heard over the cacophony of zombies smashing in cabinets. Weeks before that the city government had already officially disbanded and fled along with the entire police force.

It is against this backdrop that the National Kitchen Cabinetry Brigade has been called to arms by the governor of Nebraska. The govenors of several other states including Minnesota have pleged millitary support and are mobilizing regiments at this very moment. Among those called up was the editor of the RAG Files, Lost Bird who will now don a utility belt, skill saw and nail gun as he becomes Lieutenant Lost Bird and leads his platoon on to glorious victory victory for the fatherland! He received his marching order several days ago, and will soon join the NKCB 4th Battalion, 7th Battle Group, B Company, 2nd platoon of the famous "Crankhead Crusher" special forces regiment. The forward units will advance with artillery and infantry, immolating zombies and reclaiming any kitchen cabinets they may find intact. A second wave will retrieve survivors, mop up itinerant zombies and establish perimeters. The third wave will begin rebuilding kitchen cabinet infastructure, including kitchens. The fourth wave will build kitchen cabinets.

According to General James Cornbore, "We will not cease building kitchen cabinets until every can of spagettios, Sam's Choice Pork and Beans, Uncle Ben's Kipper Snacks and every can of SPAM has a home. We will not stop until every box of Tuna Helper, Hamburger Helper, Ostrich Helper, Dog Helper, Unidentified Roadkill Helper, Cheesy Mac, Lipton noodles, Lipton rice, Rice-A-Roni, Ramen Noodles and Noodle Roni has a home! No! We shall not cease our efforts until every last Flav-O-Rite can of stewed tomatos, every last can of Squeezy Cheese, every jar of artichoke hearts, and every can of Choosey Choice Potted Meat Product with pureed beef hearts finds a goddamn safe shelf free from the harassment, assault, annoyance and grievous molestation of kitchen cabinet destroying heathen zombies!!!" Unfortunately, immediately after giving this rousing speech, the 87 year old general keeled over and died from a fatal heart attack. Counted as the first millitary caasuality of the capampaign, he will be buried with full honors and his speech will be engraved onto bronze plaques which will be riveted onto heavy boulders which will be cvarried into battle by each soldier so that they will never forget why they are fighting.

During Lieutenant Lost Bird's absence The RAG Files will not be without an editor, since Lost Bird will periodically send in dispatches from the frontline and return from battle for R&R in his beloved city of Rearmount. Before he left for the front, the brave Lost Bird handed me a poem about his favorite city which he asked me to post, and I shall do so forthwith.

For Love of Rearmount

Rearmount, Rearmount
Mount of the rear
How I love thee
Though I be not here

Rearmount, fine city
Full of honor, safety, pride
The creativity you inspire
In knots my heart you tied

Rearmount, for glory
progress and the will of freedom
It be the good shyt
the booty and the blessing of Jesus God

Rearmount, so diverse
80% Swedish and 20% German
Your cosmopolitan artist scene
Makes me dream the wettest dream.

Rearmount, ho!
and to the battle station!
For thee I gladly
offer up my life!

Thank god I only need to build some cabinets.

--LB

Yer Full O Shyt, Scotland, UK. In this small town named by its angst ridden ancestors, President Curious George Bush has done it again, choming pretzels and crashing his bike in the rain and tanking hard even after donning his "thinking cap" for the important annual G-8 summit meeting. Fearful of everything from eco-terrorists to animal rights protesters converging on their small hamlet, village residents boarded up shops and closed businesses in anticipation of riots. Even as security forces outnumbered townsfolk by a margin of 5-1, none were at peace thinking of the possibility of terrorist acts like car bombs or violent hippe protesting. With images of dreadlock and nose ring clad angry malcontents racing through their heads, little did the villagers realize they were most in danger from a bicycle riding president.

According to sources, the president decided he needed to ride his bike in the pouring rain because, "unky Dick done tol' me I could if I ain't wet me-self in a week." Unfortunately, the president not only wiped out and wrecked a perfectly good bike, he slammed into a local Scottish security officer, who responded with a quick beat down and the reply, "I don't care who y'are ya fucking yankee bastard, Aye come from five generations of arse kicking bastards who take no pity on them's got shyt fer brains!" The policeman was tazered and pulled off by members of Bush's secret service detail, and then shipped to Guantanamo Bay "Home of the Bad People" where a leatherbound Koran was forcably inserted into his anus.

This was not the first self inflicted accident the president has caused. In 2000 he nearly choked to death on preztels while choking his chicken and watching the super bowel half-time cheerleaders. Then in 2002 he crashed his mountain bike into a tree at his ranch in Crawdad, Texas. According to the secret service threat assessment inventory, "the biggest threat to his security right now is himself. We keep watch day and night. At some point we may have to tie his hands down so he can't hurt himself anymore." Part of the inventory anticipates future ways the president might hurt himself. Several full time analysys are employed in this task, because the list of potential hazzards is exhaustive. Full details of the list are secret but some items include pretzels, and tripping over dogs. When it was pointed out that this seemed a very restrictive approach to presidential security, the secret service responded, "sir, we take presidential security very seriously, even if we have to protect him from himself."

Spinner Ranch, Brewman. It was "that time of year again" as members of the Spinner Clan and friends expressed their patriotic love of fireworks by blowing up that which they love, fireworks. Indeed. Four days of madness began when Bathan Spabor ambled down to the P-Ranch from Minneapolis, prepared to light fountains and nervously tap his foot while persuing everyone with a cold bottle of Rolling Rock held aloft like the blood of Christ. Against all advice, he took 169 instead of I35, creating a four hour drive out of what might have only been three.

"Why did you do that Bathan?" asked the Rag Files.

"Oh, I don't know," responded Spabor. "Just felt like it maybe."

Day Two began with the shelling of of the P-Ranch with high powered mortar rounds, more fountains and roman candles. As the madness took effect, hordes of friends and family converged from miles away, frantically tearing at the ground and grilling burgers and brats while imbibing great quantities of Bud Light and Miller High Life, the champagne of beers. "More! More! More!" they all screamed until all the fireworks, couches, window frames, beer brats, burgers, charcoal and clean air had been consumed in the flames of perdition's revenge. From the ashes of this chaos, thick plumes of black smoke arose and hooded, jackboot clad occultists traversed the landscape with ritual swords, calming beheading any survivors.

And then there was even more fireworks, upon the less than timely but still welcome arrival of Hair-e's sober brother Dalius from the cities. Temporarily released on a day pass by the will of his gay dad's, the brother arrived in a fifty foot lincoln continental aircraft carrier replete with undulating missles, sparklers, snakes, glow worms, mortars, fountains, roman candles, bottle rockets and lighters. After giving up drugs and alcohol, he had to sign a pledge stating his willingness to cut down trees and light fireworks at every opportunity. And the 12th step of AA is, "God grant me the serenity to light off the things I can, to always avoid getting caught, to burn the fucker down and the wisdom to know when I hath burnt mine self." Toward that end, poor Dalius did not succeed. Part of his problem involved the Method of Ignition. My brother's prefered method is to line up a bunch of rockets, light several sparklers and hold them by the rockets until everything blows up. Unfortunately, sparklers burn hot--as evidenced by a KARE 11 news story that showed what sparklers can do when handed to careless manniquins. In a sad display that demonstrated that manniquins had better reaction time than he, my poor brother lit his thumb on fire whist attempting to light stuff off. I came running with first aid, but my offer was soundly rejected, even as I bagan to choke on the smell of burnt thumb. "No man just wait! I gotta do these mortars!" was his reply. When I finally gained access to the thumb, it looked black and red and wider than it was long, courtesy of a mountainous blister.

Despite such tribulations the event was mostly filled with violence, stress, panic comradery and warm feelings in unequal portions. The former were fleeting and felt only upon the onset of separation anxiety, the breaking of bones or the spilling of blood. The latter were felt more or less continusly and celebrated by the drinking of mass produced liver poison and the burning and eating of dead flesh. Tents and blood pressures were raised, but not flags. Tempers were lowered, fires kindled and laughter in and of the darkness and the dark things we laughed about: Little Bear Spinner's Tale of the Bloody Finger, Lost Bird's tragicomic sufferings from which he'll rise above eventually, the burning of brothers' fingers and stubborn refusals of first aid, rain, wind, wet heat and the near biblical torments, and burning hydrocarbons released unto the great lung of mother earth.

These were the times that were ours.

Faremount. As Lost Bird finishes his career in copywriting at KFMT/KSOM, the R.A.G. Files will be on hold until Lost Bird settles in his nest in Omaha, Nebraska. Of course, Hair-e Guy will more than likely submit his articles here while I'm away, so stay tuned.
Some recommended reading while I'm away: The Farten County Sabbatical-written by Get-a-grip and Ol' Kentucky Shark...who's Farten County is very simular to Moon Valley, as well as Rearmont to Faremount....it's uncanny and just plain wacky. Also, check out Hair-e Guy's Restroom Reviews, Teerlinck's TeePee Town, and anything Teer-linked to him. I'm fortunate to have him on board the R.A.G. Files.
Thanks for sticking around. I should be back online 11th of July. Bye for now!

Faremount. The following is a description of a day in the life of Lost Bird recorded from 2nd of July 2005 to 3rd of July 2005.

Saturday:
10am: awake. Lawn mowed.
12:30pm: Lunch at Bubway with Suzanne Spinner and kids. Then, out for a nice drive around town.
2:30pm: Off to the Faremount Aquatic Park with kids. Met Spamela Spinner there.
3:40pm: Left Suzanne, kids and Spam there to set up and sound check with Down Tyme at the Sir Loin House. Hand stamped so I can return to park.
5pm: Ran through "Dream a Little Dream of Me" about 6,000 times until drummer was happy with it.
5:30pm: Back to Aquatic Park. Everyone went home.
5:40pm: Home. Supper with the family. Laid in bed with girlfriend for awhile.
7:20pm: Sir Loin House. Vodka Sour and a cigarette.
7:50pm: Call from Suzanne. Her car ignition won't shut off. Battery drained and dead. Bass player's wife goes out to jump start her car.
8pm: Band starts.
9pm: Captian Cokes now. Suzanne finally arrives, her sister drops her off. Bananna, the oldest is freaking out and calling thorughout the night. Having panic attacks.
10pm: See friend "Sparky" sitting alone. Sit him next to Suzanne so they have someone to talk to.
12am: Band is done. Clean up. Bananna calls again and talks with me and Suzanne.
12:30am: Clean up done. Suzanne wants to continue partying so we get Sparky and Blarnie to come with us to Doogin's in Wellcum, they're open til 2am.
1am: Doogin's. Mean game of Foosball insues. Then 8 ball.
2am: Bar closes and we go home. We decide to let Sparky crash at our place and have a bonfire.
2:30am: Burning chair and drinking cheap rum and cokes. Suzanne goes to bed.
3:15am: I turn in, Sparky turns in.
6am: Dizzy our dog starts howling like a banshee. Then a tap on the bedroom door, "Lost Bird, I need some help, dude."
I go out and Sparky is laying in the hallway with laceration on head and penis out of zipper. There is blood all over the floor in the hall, bathroom and Bananna's bedroom. He says he went to take a piss and passed out. He won't go to the ER because he informs me he's on "zero-tolerance" parole and if he gets busted drinking he'll go to prison for another 10 years. Also, informs me that he's diabetic and his blood sugar is real low and doesn't know where his kit is.
He has me call Blarnie. She comes over and takes him home. The entire time he keeps saying, "Yeah, dude, I'm taking a piss and 'boom boom out go the lights'!"
7:45am: Sleepy time.
11:30am: Bananna calls. Ready to be picked up. We awake and head to Brewman to pick her up.
3pm: I tell Suzanne to get a nap in, and that I will take the girls to the park with the dog.
3:30pm: Seemore Crack Park. The kid's and I have a blast. Take the dog swimming and check out the new trails there.
4:50pm: We wrap things up and decide to head home. Put the dog in the back of my truck.
5pm: Girl's scream as dog jumps out of truck and skips off the road like a flat stone on a pond.
The dog, still alive, starts chewing up my hand as I try to pick her up. Bannanna jumps out of the truck into traffic screaming and crying. Then a car load of morons pulls up and starts yelling at me because I put a puppy in the back of my truck. I punch their hood and scream back at them and leave.
Tried to get ahold of someone at Faremount Vet Hospital. No one answers the door. Drop kids off at home with their mom and then went to Sheerburn to vet in country. Says Dizzy needs pins in her leg and will cost $500.

St. Paul. The Explore Minnesota publication is changing it's format as now Minnesota is free of government now that the Minnesota Government is shut down.
Minnesota is free of beuracracy, taxes, and anything else that happens to annoy the Minnesotan voter and taxpayer. Because of the latest legislative session was fruitless and neither sides could come up with any solution save one decision, they've decided to shut down. And what a coincidence it's Independence Day weekend. Because we as Minnesota citizens are now free to drink and drive without worry of police arresting us. We won't have to pay the taxes to our non-working state workers. The peoples are dividing themselves into clans now, ruling territories they have taken by tribal war. Gone are the county lines, gone are the city limits, gone are public state elections. Gone is Guv Nah Plenty.
See what happens when I decide to move out of state? Everything crumbles to the ground! I am drunk with power!
Also, gone is law and order. And state aid to those who really need it. Not you system-using, loser leech bastards that are able to work but are just too damn lazy!! So untill the government tries to open up again, I am ruling this section of the former state of Minnesota which I am calling "New New Zealand".