Dumb and Dumber

In 2002 two high school seniors published a book that went unnoticed by me until I saw it at the 2014 Benton House book sale. I’m not sure who did notice the book in 2002, but it is a funny bit of business about “real dumb laws.”
“You May Not Tie an Alligator to a Fire Hydrant” is Jeff Koons and Andy Powell’s senior shenanigans. They researched and allegedly verified laws, codes and ordinances that may have been enacted for “very sensible reasons,” but when read under the glow of today’s compact fluorescent light bulbs, they look goofy and sound giggly. For instance: an Alaskan state policy (section 44.62.270) reads, “It is the state policy that emergencies are held to a minimum and are rarely found to exist.” What? The recent Palin family brawl in sight of Russia certainly does not qualify, but what about hurricanes, tornados and tsunamis? No earthquakes, mudslides or ice floe fires up there?
A Kentucky law, passed in 1922 and repealed in 1948, used to require that “all bees entering Kentucky shall be accompanied by certificates of health,” stating that they were disease free. This law may have contributed to the first wave of “bee colony collapses,” what with all those tiny little lanyards dangling from those bee necks, certificates encased in plastic slapping against their bellies in flight. Who can get “bee-zy” dragging around that kind of luggage?
Another Kentucky ordinance regulated my favorite game: pool. “No person owning or controlling a billiard or pool table shall permit … any minor under eighteen (18) … to play” without an ID card with a signature from his parents. “Mom! Going to the pool hall; can you write the note?” And this other gem from Kentucky: “Any person who displays, handles or uses any kind of reptile in connection with any religious service …” is going to get fined. “Pass the collection plate maw; we gonna have to pay for them snakes.”
Now that I’ve taken the obligatory shots at Alaska and Kentucky, let us examine Indiana laws and ordinances. West Lafayette is home to a sizable college institution, is it not? Lots of young people, milling about? Section 45.04 read “No pedestrian shall cross a roadway except by a route at right angles to the curb or by the shortest route to the opposite curb …” If this section has not been repealed or modified, then when I left a Purdue football game with some friends last year and we beat feet in the street any way we could, we were blissfully unaware that we were scofflaws.
A Utah law may have been the model for a similar one in Indiana: section 30-1-1 holds that first cousins can marry provided they are 65 years old, or if only 55, can certify that they cannot reproduce. (As Jack Paar was wont to say, “I kid you not.”) The Indiana statute says nothing about reproduction, but the state’s governmental war against same-sex marriage puts reproduction at the head of the class.
As for the prohibition against tying an alligator to a fire hydrant, the two writers admit that there is no specific prohibition against it, neither in Michigan nor in Louisiana, where it is rumored to have originated. You cannot obstruct a fire hydrant, or tie anything to it, whether object or animal. But they were budding smartypanters, and when they heard of the ordinance they probably said, “Oo, Oo! Good name for a book, right?”
After having giggled and gagged through 157 pages of their “high school thesis,” I am inclined to agree.