The Scene: a Restaurant and the Street Outside.
Grammy: I’ll have a cheeseburger, a piece of cheesecake and one of those drinks with the little umbrella in it.
Waiter (apologetically): Sorry, ma’am, but this morning the government has declared those foods harmful, so we can no longer serve them. They're illegal.
Grammy: The drink with the umbrella isn’t a food. Can I still have one?
Grammy: What do you have? (Looks at menu.) Raw carrots? Decaffeinated herbal tea? Zucchini? Are you trying to finish me off?
Waiter: The government is here to protect us, ma’am.
Grammy: It isn’t here to protect me or anyone else. It’s here to hurt all of us. (exits restaurant)
Bureaucrat (glaring at Grammy): Wait a minute! My Sooper-Dooper Advanced Nanny-State Snooper indicates you have tobacco on you!
Bureaucrat: In your purse you have a pack of unfiltered Camels! Hand them over!
Grammy: Who are you?
Bureaucrat: A government bureaucrat!
Grammy: Get lost.
Bureaucrat: Tobacco has been illegal since this morning! Now hand them over or I’ll shoot you!
Grammy: Okay. (opens her purse, takes out a Colt Python .357 Magnum and points it at the bureaucrat’s head) You were saying?
Bureaucrat: You can’t do that! I work for the federal government!
Grammy: You’re going to be a dead ex-bureaucrat in about two seconds if you don’t hand over your pistol. You’re a disgrace.
Bureaucrat: Okay! Sure! Whatever you want, ma’am!
Grammy: Look at you, crying like that cop in “Thelma and Louise.” And you’ve pissed your pants, too. You’re nothing but a bully hiding behind bad laws. If you’re a decent human being than I’m a banana. Now go away before I get really mad. Treat an old lady like that. You should be ashamed of yourself.
Bureaucrat: Oh, I am!
Grammy: No, you’re not. You’re a liar. Now go away and if I ever see you here again I’ll shoot your left nut off, then your right one. Would you like that?
Bureaucrat: N - n - no!
Bureacrat: I’m gone!
Grammy (lighting up a Camel): Buncha morons. And if people don’t do anything about it they’ll take over the world. But not if me and my pistol have any say about it. Yay for .357 Magnums making punks into polite people!
Waiter: Here’s your drink.