NEXT  >>>
 On Tuesday, Boulder enacted the Gluten-Free Ordinance, making any gluten in the city illegal. The policy looms over Boulder, like a giant grandmother who cooks terrible things and makes you eat them, her cooking described by her loved ones as “a unique type of anguish,” “an invitation to suicide,” and “hatred dressed up as love.”
 “We’re looking forward to a bright tomorrow, one without joy or hope,” Harriet Jones, a gluten-free supporter, said. “Some have compared our zeal against gluten to the Salem witch trials and certain terrorist organizations. We would say those are adequate comparisons.”
 The regulation comes as another attempt to prosper the wellbeing of a community already so healthy it was voted “Most Likely To Compost Itself Into A Sinkhole” in 2017 and “Like Portland But So Much Better” in every year ever.
 City council members reinforced that this is not a joke. Residents have until midnight on the first of April to clear out their supply of gluten. The gluten will be collected and trucked to a flat, humid wasteland riddled with ash and dust and poisonous fumes—or Nebraska, as it’s also known. On their side, the Nebraskans are creating a vast hill to warn against the perils of unchecked socialism.
 Many Boulder residents have complained. They state their case eloquently and with a passion that surpasses their engagement in most other things in their life.
 “Some say gluten-free is better for you,” Roselyn Davis, a woman passionate for gluten, said, “and they feel better taking gluten out of their diet and good for them. But, I mean, we could live longer without sugar and cars and the sun and my husband too, but we don’t get rid of them… All I’m saying is I’d rather die than see a world without brownies.”  
 “I like good food,” Jamal Jones said at a rally yesterday evening. He was then forced to stop, as the audience applauded for thirty minutes and then burned down the courthouse. This violated Boulder county’s fire ban as well as the general law against burning down any building.
 This has begun a series of riots consuming Boulder. Demonstrators have been throwing bags of flour into the air at odd hours and poking people with globs of gluten on sticks.
 “As someone who actually has celiac disease,” Maria Jimenez said. “I am offended someone would poke me with gluten on a stick. Have some respect.”
 Jimenez was later found throwing raw chicken breasts at rioters, either in retaliation or because it’s hilarious.   Bakeries around the county have been ransacked, as residents have stashed as many pastries with gluten as possible.
 “I just want my family to be safe,” Gus Jones said, as he showed us his garage packed with fifteen thousand assorted baked goods. “If they take away our gluten, what’s to keep them from taking away sugar or water or my collection of Russian nesting dolls?”
 Several groups filed suit soon after the regulation was enacted. This includes The Group That Promotes Whatever They Happen To Like, The National Advocates For Silly Causes, and The National Advocates Against Silly Causes.
 “We’re going to use dense words and the power of long, boring monologues to keep talking until they beg us to stop,” Attorney Jack Daniels said. “Our central case rests on Section A of Code 3 where the law clearly states that banana bread may be eaten at midnight in the presence of a yak. Case closed, my friends.”
 Pro-gluten camps remain hopeful the ordinance will be changed before next Halloween, where one can only imagine the faces of children as they ask for gluten-free treats.
 “Why ask for candy if it’s healthy?” Nine-year-old Katelyn Clark said, as she planned a costume that is either a fairy or a psychedelic unicorn with wings. “All I’m asking is to have my teeth fall out before I’m eleven. Is that too much to ask for?”
As with life, The Squid Weekly pairs excellently with coffee and friends
There's an email notification here, if you are the forgetful type. Or maybe you just want to get an email from someone every Friday. That's totally cool too.
There is a book available at The Trident Bookstore or Amazon.
It's eleven bucks.