Jersey continues to shoot itself in the face with ridiculous laws
In the ever-evolving modern world, Jersey remains triumphant in its stance to sack off any technological improvements, and now, apparently, logic.
Blake Dempsey has been investigating the radically political and social changes our island is going through, and it’s safe to say, he’s not best pleased. He has outlined some of the recent changes that islanders have brought to light in an attempt to gain clarity and ‘find purpose’.
“Let’s start with something close to my heart…”
You Can’t Fucking Fish at Portelet
“Gone are the days where I’d wake up at 6am with my fishing rod lugged in the back of my Citroen Saxo to fish with the gang (gang gang). Now, I’m told that if I’m caught rod in hand (there’s a sex joke there) I could face up to a £250,000 fine or forced to inhabit the sand dunes for six years”.
Blake was recently gifted the opportunity to speak with one of Jersey’s finest policemen, Officer Duck:
Officer Duck: “We received a 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10 this morning (probably murder or something equally dismissive) but this was swiftly followed by a ‘code black death’ – which is, of course, code for ‘someone is fishing again at Portelet”.
“We have lost too many innocent lives to careless fishermen. I lost my brother when he was reeled up, filleted, and eaten. The fisherman’s trial was dismissed on the grounds of ‘misidentification’, stating he believed my brother to be nothing more than a common mackerel“.
“In the mean time, murder and domestic abuse can take a seat. We have fishermen to catch”.
You Can’t Fucking Drive
According to unreliable sources, the recent speed changes were suggested by cults governing the Jersey parishes:
“I’d love to know the thinking behind these ideas, and let’s be honest, ‘parish assemblies’ is just a conservative term for ‘cult'”.
“I know they meet every Monday morning (probably way too fucking early) around their giant cobbled table made from shattered pieces of St Mary’s ’roundabout’, plotting more ways to piss off islanders”.
Blake was able to sneak into the chambers when the new speeding bill was being passed:
“What shall we sort out today in the chambers lads?”
“Well Michael, I know house prices are fucking skyrocketing, and literally no one under the age of 65 can afford them, but I think we should focus all our attention on lowering the speed limit for the millionth time”.
“Fantastic call, Susan, another genius move”.
“Also, let’s throw the entire police force into St Helier with the speed fun guns to piss off the community for the next six weeks“.
“Jesus Christ Susan, you’re one intelligent minx”.
“I know Michael, I know”.
“So, motorists who tipple over the 30mph mark are slapped wet in the face with an £85 fine, but cyclists bombing it down Queens Road at 90mph with nothing but unnecessary Lycra and sunglasses that resemble an athletic Jimmy Saville get away scot-free?
“Well done Jersey, checkmate once again”.
You Can’t Fucking Camp Anywhere
“On a serious note, who the fuck is in charge nowadays? Is it one 500 yr old Catholic man with questionable sunglasses? Or is it an anti-Avengers-based squad that has decided to plummet our world (island) into despair and depravity?”
“It wouldn’t surprise me if the next bill they pass is turning the 5 mile road into a fucking heritage site. Parents will take their kids there in many years time and describe how the old world used to be:
*After the Island’s nuclear fallout*
Mother: “Charlie, this is a truly historic site”.
Charlie: “What is it mummy?”
Mother: “Well, son, once upon a time, people use to drive on this road“.
Charlie: “Fuck off mum, you’re mental”.
You Can’t Actually Do Anything Anymore
“What’s next? No cars, they’re unsafe, no teenagers either, wankers. In fact, no one on the island must be under the age of 50“.
“There’s probably some defamation clause that prohibits me from writing this very article”.
“All you can do now is drink to ignore the future or drink to descend into the nostalgic heroin-induced parody of the past”.
Blake seeks to take matters into his own hands in the near future:
“I’d like to let everyone know that I’ll be running for governor, or prime minister, whatever title it takes to run this island. Because I know damn sure I could do a better job than the blind, misguided pensioners running it at the moment”.
Blake has drafted a few radical ideas he’s hoping to put forward:
- No speed limits.
- People over 70 should not be allowed on the roads (especially if they own a Range Rover Evoke).
- Camp anywhere you fucking want, it’s literally the reason ‘camper vans’ were created.
- Don’t let teenagers with fake ID’s hoodwink bouncers. If they look 12, don’t let them in just to throw up in The Yacht. I don’t give a fuck how tall children are becoming.
Blake hopes to table these changes in the next parish meeting.
It seems as though Jersey’s straitjacket is becoming tighter by the minute and at some point, the government will muzzle its mouthpiece, making people like Blake effectively redundant:
“We live in sad times, but I hope to put a few things right…
“On that, note, I’ve noticed that The Living Legend is still closed? We just going to continue ignoring that? Bring it back.“