Secede, probably not again. But they could fire us. Now, hear me out.
At some point in your life you must have been a hell-raiser. You know, chased too many women, drank a tad too much beer, called in sick far too many times. Sooner or later, your boss called in and said something like, "We believe we're going in a different direction, and I have to let you go..."
So, what if we picked a really nice area. We all bought Harleys with no mufflers. The local government provided a stipend for beer, which would be tax free if delivered in metric tons. By law, all company managers would have to be lesbian drama majors from Vassar, but chocolate was ruled a "controlled substance." No cocoa products could be imported. Every reported infraction resulted in that the management staff had to go through six weeks of sensitivity training in a locked down Howard Johnson's, no fraternization--and of course, no chocolate..
Every company had to provide at least 280 days of vacation and/or sick leave, and you had to take them to get paid for them. If any one person on an assembly line called in sick, the entire line had to be shut down.
Okterberfest starts on May, 3rd of every year. All clocks show only the designated times from noon until 3:00 PM. All other times read as "beer-thirty."
Taxes can be paid in their weight of beer bottle caps or handwritten IOU's.
Now how does this help us? Well, I figure that by about mid April, when no tax revenue is delivered, a herd of really cranky girls from Vassar are all going to submit their resignations at the same time. Not one single government contract will be filled--except by beer besotted scrap, which cannot be used for anything. Of course, the government also owes 1.7 trillion in unpaid sick leave.
About this time, the red "Bat Phone" will ring out in my garage. I'll be polishing my completely street legal 122 CI blown Dyna, with State Patrol sanctioned straight pipes.
"Governor Tourist?" President Hillary will begin, "I'm afraid that I have some very bad news you..."
"Hey, babe," gesticulates Hizzoner, "don't stress, it causes laugh-lines. Do what I do. Have a beer, it's cheap and tax exempt..."
"Well, about that," The Prez rambles, "I've had several of my old sorority gals in here, and doggone it, things just don't seem to be working out."
"But, Hillary, we delivered over 27 tons on time and almost within budget. Yikes, we had a 'blue-flu' epidemic here that would have choked an intern. I stuggled day and night until about 3:00PM to get that delivered..."
Yes, yes, Tourist," she rebukes, "And we will struggle to find some use for it after it's done draining. But the scope of this call is a bit wider, I'm afraid."
"What's wrong, babe?"
(sigh)...well, it's just not working out as we had planned. I fear that my Presidency is just moving in another direction, and I'm afraid I'm going to have to let you go..."
"Just me?"
"Oh, no, merciful heavens," Hillary intones, "I mean the entire midwestern state of New Feudal Wisconsin, the oligarchy and all! And I mean north to every drunken yooper and as far south until cheese rots on the flatlands. All of it--you're fired--every square inch--out, out--begone with you!"
And that, my friends is how you properly secede. You make it look like their fault, and they're glad when the door kisses your keester. Had I been running the CSA, old Atlanta would still be standing, Clark Gable would only be known as the grade-B actor in "The Misfits," the Confederate dollar would rival the EU and they'd be trucking in foreign subsidies by the container.
I did tell you I was a credit manager and a biker, didn't I?
