Earlier this week California became the first state to insitute a state-wide ban of trans fat use in restaurants and bakeries. This was perhaps inevitable, given that our governor used to be a champion body-builder. (Meaning that he now has geriatric man-teats.)
The usual lolbertarian retards are bleating about nanny states and bodily autonomy. I will grant them the irony of one of the biggest marijuana consumers in the union (and one of the few with legalized medical marijuana–I swear officer, I have glaucoma!) banning a delicious fat; but as usual they’re being so obnoxious about it that I simply can’t find it in me to take their side.
I can’t get worked up over a fat that’s only around because managers are too lazy to change the fry oil at McDonald’s. It’s not as if this gunk is necessary. It’s like getting upset that toymakers aren’t allowed to use lead paint on pacifiers: trans fat doesn’t add anything to food, it’s just cheap and allows that suspiciously dirty-looking doughnut place in the ghetto strip mall to sell the same batch of bear claws all month.
Honestly, the thing that annoys me the most about this? The inevitable Terminator references that pop up in Google News when I research it:
Ha ha, did you know that California’s governor was the Terminator?! I don’t know how the MSM is going to amuse themselves once term limits kick in. Maybe we’ll actually get Jerry Brown again and they’ll drag all their old “Governor Moonbeam” jokes out of mothballs.