Patrick Henry on Evanston's Brothel Rule
Dear Fellow American Patriots, When I was abruptly raised from the dead and brought to Evanston last night, I was astounded and amazed by a number of recent developments. First was the taste of menthol cigarettes, which I find absolutely delightful. Second was my surprise that, somehow, a slave had become President, while a martian that looks like the progeny of Snooki and the Cheetos mascot was serving as the Speaker of the House.
But what really got my pantaloons in a bunch was the totally bullshit nature of Evanston’s recent decision to enforce the so-called “Brothel Law.” My fellow patriots and I did not fight the entire fucking British Empire just so a handful of bitch-ass aldermen could restrict the number of unrelated people living in an apartment in retaliation for a couple of drunkards’ tendencies to shout about their love of blowjobs. Speaking of which, I could really go for a blowie right about now. Whatever happened to Jefferson’s Sally chick?
Yet I digress. If there’s one thing that really pisses me off, it’s when an unrepresentative government passes legislation that curtails the historic rights of man. Besides shredding Northwestern’s sense of community, placing undue stress on the economic well-being of both students and local Evanston businesses, and perpetrating Evanston’s repressive and boring nature, this Brothel Law is going to make it a total bitch for me to live with all of my slaves and PIKE brothers at our apartment on Ridge. And if you think I’m moving to Wilmette, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
I’m not saying that the ability to throw a triple-kegger is a civil right afforded to all citizens. I’m saying that it’s a goddamn motherfucking natural right, a divine God-given inherent right found in all men, so inalienable that not even the concerted actions of Chuck Norris and Bear Grills could ever take it away. Evanston residents who support enforcement of this law should probably spend more time focusing on removing the gerbil stuck up their collective arses, and come accept all the consequences that come with the benefits of living next to one of the greatest universities in the country.
When I said, “Give me Liberty, or give me Death,” I fucking meant it. If Northwestern students are as indignantly pissed of as I am, then they ought to start doing something about it. I’m not talking about just some peaceful petition either. I’m talking about real politicking, showing the muscle of the student body here. Let’s piss on Jeffrey Murphy’s lawn, shout about bl**jobs in front of Betsi Burns, and streak through Burgie Howard’s office on our way to the January 31st City Council meeting. That’ll get the point across, I’m sure.
That’s all of the fiery writing I can supply for now. I really must get going and figure out how to get back to 1793. That bastard Hamilton is in desperate need of a patent Patrick Henry verbal facial, and antifederalism needs passionate defending. So long for now, but I wish you luck in fighting for your right to party against the tyranny of Evanston’s repressive anti-fun laws.
Sincerely, Patrick Henry