“I understand the board’s proposal to lower the neighborhood speed limit from 25 miles an hour to 20 in order to reduce the risk of harm to our children. However, I would be remiss to ignore this opportunity to suggest an alternative future for our subdivision. Instead of crawling to our homes at 20 while our dinners cool and our loved ones worry, let’s imagine screeching around the entrance sign and gunning past the pool at 95, rocketing with our eyes closed and our hands off the wheel. Tunes blaring, ripping the air guitar, brutally bombarding across yards, all jostle and clunk. Our big, hot tires chew grass, digesting the flower bed where Doug and Christine were wed. We press harder on the gas, to 110, 120, demolishing Heather’s daughter’s swing set as our ribs crack against our steering wheels, our battered bodies laundry-tumbling because we have outlawed seatbelts. We haul ass and surrender control as our vehicles destroy the gazebo where Judy’s son celebrated his high school graduation before donking down the mailbox in which Judy received notice of her son’s death in combat. We fracture our skulls on our windshields and hear our teeth clatter; dice in the cupholders. Screaming for help, yelling in terror as we thunder up the hill, begging for some hero to fire a bullet through our heads and end this hell. Our broken arms cannot wipe the blood off the windshield. With no other option, we stomp the pedal and blindly charge the historic oak in Greg’s front yard where we gathered for Judy’s son’s funeral, our vision blacking out save a pinprick of that maxed-out speedometer and that Airbags Disabled light. And our cars slam into the ancient tree, killing it immediately, and fire our cadavers through our windshields. Gasoline glugs, a spark, inferno engulfs the streets. Our roasted bodies skid across Kelly’s kids’ hopscotch grid while our automobiles roll backwards towards our own homes like dropped bombs. They accelerate, run over our dogs, then goose up our porch steps and shatter our glass doors as the flames reach the tank and detonate our vehicles, blowing up our homes and the family reunions they host. Before we can enjoy the grace of death, possums drag what’s left of us to an evil den in the woods. An air of terror descends on the neighborhood and no one feels safe to go outside, knowing that all of our neighbors are driving in such an unsafe fashion, now that we enforce a mandatory minimum speed of 95 miles an hour.”
The board deliberates for a minute before passing the resolution unanimously.