Sodas, The New Cigarettes

First they came for the liquor, and I did not speak out, because I wasn't an alcoholic.

Then they came for the tobacco, and I did not speak out, because I wasn't a smoker.

Then they came for the salt, and I did not speak out, because I wasn't a hypertensive.

Then they came for the sugar, and I did not speak out, because I wasn't a diabetic.

Then they came for my soda -- and there were no unskinny people left to speak for Coke or Pepsi.

                                                                        -Morris Workman, 2012

                                                                        (with apologies to Martin Niemoller)

"I told you so."

That was a statement from my wife recently, after a story broke about New York City mayor Michael Bloomberg's push to ban non-diet sodas larger than 16 ounces.

It seems that in a city overrun with crack, murder, crystal meth, and Tom Cruise's ex-wife, the uber-rich mayor believes the biggest threat facing New Yorkers today is the Big Gulp.

Now this insanity has spread to the Land of Lunacy, which is what should be printed on license plates that currently say "The Golden State."

In El Monte, a scary little California city with a population of more than 100,000 people, the city council is considering a tax on what are being called "sugary drinks."

According to a story in the Los Angeles Times, the city is terrified of joining three other California municipalities which have declared bankruptcy this year.  Their answer to save the day?  Charge a city tax of one cent per ounce on Cokes, Pepsis, Dr. Peppers, Mountain Dews, and other sugar-laced soft drinks.

I have to admit that my wife predicted this more than a decade ago.  She warned that, once the health nutzies (pronounced suspiciously like "health Nazis") finished branding cigarette smokers as enemies of the state and making it illegal to smoke everywhere except underwater, they were going to go after the Twinkies set next.

Turns out she was right.

The last line of the Star Spangled Banner should will soon be "o'er the land of the sugar-free," since it seems our country has a problem with individuals making decisions about what to put in their own mouths.  Of course it's up to the government to protect us from ourselves, since they've done such a great job of protecting us from murderers, thieves, bankers, and the Kardashians over the years.

How right was my wife about the move against sweets once victory had been declared in the tobacco wars?

According to the story, El Monte mayor Andre Quintero has a problem with sugary drinks, which he, quote, "likened to cigarettes."

To their credit, while El Monte officials are touting the crusade partially as a nod to a healthier lifestyle, they make no bones about the fact that they're actually using the health nutzie fad to make money for the city.

It turns out that they are the municipal first cousins of another fiscally irresponsible community called Bell, California.

In El Monte they paid their now-retired police chief more than $400,000 in 2011, and currently have two former police chiefs making pensions of more than $200,000 a year, according to the L.A. Times.

So the city wants to tax what they consider bad behavior, using the precedent set when Uncle Sam started taxing the hell out of cigarettes and liquor.

The strategy has worked all over the country, where cigarette smokers are now about as welcome indoors as rock-hard dog turds.

According to a statistic I recently made up but which sounds startlingly true, there are now fewer bars in the United States than at any time before the Whiskey Rebellion of 1791 thanks to the various federal, state, county, city, and HOA taxes assessed against any entity that knows who Jim Beam was.

Now the chubby-haters are going after anything that might have been in John Candy's closet.

The bad news is that sodas will soon become as forbidden and expensive as Cuban cigars.

The good news is that I've started hoarding 12-packs of Mello Yello in anticipation of the black market that is sure to spring up. 

I'm also counting on the Mafia to join in by trafficking in bootleg root beer and illegally imported cases of Canada Dry, while my blood brethren in the hills of West Virginia and Kentucky begin moonshining a different kind of Mountain Dew.

This time around, the coppers, G-men, and revenoors will be easier to detect, because they'll be the rail-thin, pasty-faced, tofu-eating salad munchers in the crowd.

Just remember: When they come for your Big Macs; when they come for your Dominos Pizzas; when the faces of both Ben AND Jerry wind up on cartons of Cherry Garcia as wanted fugitives...

You've been warned.