Watertown, NY By Hans Wilder
Listen up, Watertown, NY, you geniuses are yammering about voting to hoist the pride flag—like it’s some noble, feel-good victory lap for humanity. Sure, wave that rainbow rag, soak up the applause, and tell yourselves you’re the good guys. But here’s the steaming pile of reality you’re ignoring: crack that door even a hair, and you’re not just inviting a breeze—you’re unleashing a goddamn hurricane of lunacy. This ain’t just a flag; it’s a Pandora’s box with a pole, and once it’s up, good luck stuffing the chaos back in.
You think it’s gonna stop at the pride flag? Think again, sunshine. You’ve just greenlit every half-baked cause with a stitching kit and a chip on its shoulder. First it’s pride, then it’s the vegans with their leafy green banner, then the flat-earthers with their “Globe’s a Lie” flag. And don’t kid yourself—some jackass will roll up with a swastika, claiming it’s his “heritage,” and you’ll be stuck with your jaws on the floor wondering how the hell it got this far. You can’t just scribble a rule saying, “Only nice flags allowed,” ‘cause feelings don’t follow rulebooks—they breed like rabbits on a bender. One day it’s a celebration, the next it’s a circus, and before you blink, you’ve got a skyline of freak flags flapping in the wind.
And oh, the lawsuits—sweet merciful crap, the lawsuits! You think this ends with a vote and a handshake? Nope. Every yahoo whose flag gets rejected is gonna lawyer up faster than you can say “discrimination.” The pride folks might sue if you take it down, the Nazi clowns will sue if you don’t put theirs up, and the pigeon lovers will sue because their “Save the Birds” flag didn’t get a fair shake. The courts will be drowning in paper—taxpayer money hemorrhaging while you fend off every crybaby with a grudge and a legal pad. You’re not just sliding down a slope; you’re tobogganing into a litigation shitstorm.
Stick to the U.S. flag and the state flag, folks. They’re the only ones that mean a damn thing without turning your town into a battlefield for every personal crusade under the sun. Watertown’s too busy chasing claps to see the cliff ahead—they’ll get it when the first swastika lawsuit lands and the legal bills start piling up like confetti at a parade gone wrong. That’s the slope: steep, greasy, and now it’s got a dollar sign on it. Buckle up.
