Alcohol, Alcohol, Alcohol is Free

I don't live in a republic. Wouldn't want to, either. Ever been to France? A thoroughly beautiful country, which the Frenchman has ruined with his republican ideals. Damn disgrace.

Were I king, however (sorry; that should've been when I am king), and had absolute power over my country (as is only right and proper), I know what I'd do. Won't want to be king for long, mind; uneasy rests the head that wears the crown, and all that. I'll need a week, perhaps, to set it all up. A week, then I'll be gone.

What I will do is, start saving up. Take a little bit out of the country's budget each day. Monday, your civil servants don't get paid, Tuesday, the army, Wednesday, the politicians, and so on. Not that I won't be using the country's existing finances; we've all got deficits these days anyway.

What I will start doing, during this week, is buying up all the booze. All of it. Beer, cider, spirits, red wine, white wine, champagne; the lot. I'll buy it all up, and start setting up distribution centres. No-one's allowed in until Saturday, and up until that day, everyone's just going to have to go without. Sorry, alcoholics, should've thought about the possibility of this happening before hitting the sauce quite so hard, shouldn't you?

And then from 5am on Saturday morning, alcohol will be free. All of it. To anyone who can take it, as much as they can carry. No stockpiling; anyone found in posession of government-marked alcohol come Monday morning would be summarily executed (I am also introducing summary executions, but that's really not the point, is it?). This alcohol is for drinking, as God intended.

All businesses would be closed by law, so that everyone can get on with the job in hand. Everyone - absolutely everyone - would have the day off work. Anyone suspected of labouring on the weekend come Monday morning will also be summarily executed. All minimum drinking ages will be abolished for the weekend. I know what you're thinking, but don't worry; the average child really can't handle his drink, so there'd be plenty still around for the rest of us.

At around 12pm, when everyone has had time to get good and slaughtered, the giant speakers set up around public spaces will begin playing drunken classics. You know the sort of thing; Living on a Prayer, Don't Stop Believing, Fairytale of New York (this may or may not occur around Christmas, I have not yet decided). An unfortunate side-effect of everyone in the country singing off-key in unison is that it will probably awaken the race of lizard-men in hibernation on the moon, but the horrors of their invasion are a story for another time (check my portfolio, I'll probably have it up in a day or two), and everyone will be too drunk to care. I imagine that everyone will pass out around 4 or 5pm, but will be up in the night for another round. Saturday night, kebabs, pizzas and burgers (which, forgot to mention, would also have been bought up) will be distributed en masse, along with another round of booze for anyone who's run out. I'm sketchy on the details, but in basic terms, this will continue solidly through until 11:59pm Sunday, when a big bell would go off to let people know they had to go to bed. Anyone suspected of being outside after 1am on Monday morning will be subject to (you guessed it!) summary execution.

It's not all upsides, I suppose. There'll be a lot of fights, quite a few deaths, and more public urination than you'd have thought possible. On Monday, our economy will be ruined, our nation will be a laughing-stock, and everyone will have the worst hangover of their lives (it's not the ones you're afraid might kill you that are bad, it's the ones that make you wish they'd just hurry up and get on with it). It would probably have consequences for generations (think of all the bastards that would be concieved!), and cause tragedies beyond counting, but that's not why I'll do it. No. I want poor people to taste Dom Perignon for once in their wretched lives. I want the middle classes to get utterly gazeeboed without having to worry about what their friends think, because they're getting gazeeboed too. I want the landed gentry to drink a can of Special Brew, and understand what some of their countrymen have to go through every day. I want everyone to experience, just once over the course of the weekend, that blissful, perfect moment of drunken euphoria, when everyone is their best mate, and everything is right with the world. For some, it'll come when, along with a thousand other people, they are imploring the night sky to "DOOOOOOOOON'T STOP! BELIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEVIN'!" For some, it'll come when they finally tell their best friend's spouse how they've felt for the last twenty years, and learn that the feeling is mutual. For some, it will come when they finally get up the courage to punch their lazy, abusive boss in the mouth. Just as long as it happens, I don't care; I want that for everyone in my country, just once in their lives. That one moment of pure, perfect happiness that only alcohol can bring.

And at 11:59pm on Sunday, I will have boarded my private jet, the crown jewels stashed safely in the overhead compartment. Once I have left, people will rail, curse, and spit on my picture, and I don't mind. As long as they've had that one perfect moment to carry with them forever, I won't mind.

Of course, most people will get so drunk, they'll probably black out the entire weekend.

Hmm.

Ah well, sounds like fun anyway. Altogether now: WHOOOOOOOOAAAAAAA WE'RE HAFFWAY THE-ERE WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAOH! LIIIVIN' ONNA PRAAAAAAAAYER!