You remind me of one of those campy old Star Trek episodes where all of the planet’s residents are controlled by some supercomputer with blinking lights. You all walk around in slow motion with a blank expression and vacuous smile. You have a form of government that appears assembled by a sixth-grade social studies class, you elect imbeciles to run it, and you’re amazed it’s dysfunctional. Your police force can muster an army for a parade, protest, or riot, but can’t be bothered with stolen cars, break-ins, or felons. Your highways are 60 years out of date, but you allow engineers to reduce traffic capacity to make gridlock even worse. Dressing up to dine out means putting on a less-dirty pair of jeans or a muumuu. You crow about your planet’s “livability,” but allow its parks and neighborhoods and green spaces to be overrun by criminals and vagrants. You’d better hope Captain Kirk shows up soon to talk your mind-controlling computer to death—before it’s too late.—Anonymous
The Portland Prime Directive
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