JayJumping the Shark

I don’t think that I will ever agree with the current crackdown on jaywalking in the CBD.

I can’t imagine that I will ever have any sympathy for the clowns that think this is a good idea.

I doubt that I would ever be able to hide my contempt if I was ever charged with jaywalking.

For mine, the traditional non-enforcement of jaywalking laws in Australia was the definitive differentiator between us and those bible-bashing gun-toting racist idiots across the Pacific.

No matter which arguments they produce, whatever statistics they generate, or how many emotional trauma stories they retell from their back catalogue of their PTS therapy diaries, I am not with the program.

This is simply not an act that exists in the country that I imagined as my own.

I now feel like a displaced person. As though I have woken up from a dream and, although the place looks like home, the all-controlling evil genius has shifted things just enough to make me weirded-out and uncomfortable.

This is the moment when the collective – the department of transport, the police, the swill in parliament, and maybe the whole country – JUMPED THE SHARK.