Let me be clear: if you didn’t know already, I’m of the opinion that James Larkin is amongst the best editorialists the Crimson has on deck right now. But being in my good political and stylistic favor doesn’t grant anyone exemption to go around lobbing insults at the Glorious All-Correct State of New Hampshire. My mother has socks that say “Live Free Or Die.” I cannot let this one slip through the cracks.

Let’s begin at, well, the beginning, where, in the first three sentences, it becomes abundantly clear what type of complaint we’re dealing with:

Consider the silver Volvo 940 station wagon, getting on in years and miles, but not yet spent. At certain moments—full of folks, lacing homeward through more or less verdant New England highlands—it seems almost joyful, purring the meaningful purr of a world-weary cat. Now, consider the capped and casual New Hampshire state trooper perched alongside Interstate 89 who, with a radar gun and a wave of his mighty hand, might snare that family vehicle just as Tony Soprano might spear a bit of veal on the end of a fork.

The astute reader will note two points of interest. First: Volvo 940 station wagon. Second: Interstate 89. This is the classic formula for “tourist to Vermont merely passing through the highways of New Hampshire which happen to run between the urbane apartments of Boston and the urbane Yankee theme park of Vermont.” I don’t know where exactly Mr. Larkin was this weekend. But I will hereby, in public, put $20 on the fact that he was in Vermont.¹

And there is nothing that gets New Hampshiremen going more than Vermonters, or, more accurately, the beflanneled yuppies who every summer and every nice autumn weekend make their way up to Vermont to visit picturesque rustics and then light their Vermont Castings stoves with the Globe as firestarter. If Mr. Larkin had been driving a rusty F-150 on Route 145, this would be an significantly different story. No such luck.

Yes, we do have speed traps in New Hampshire, arbitrary ones which tend to sniff out Massachusetts license plates and Sears X-Cargo roof racks. Yes, they are petty. But not giving a damn about pettiness, or, to put a point on it, not giving a damn about Massachusetts drivers with Sears X-Cargo racks, is exactly what our state is all about. Witness:

He likely has some incentive to racking up a certain number of dollars in traffic violations, reaching into the pockets of those very libertines—modern-day Patrick-Henries, all—whose tax-averse lifestyle the Granite State so loudly pretends to endorse.

Traffic fines are not, in fact, inconsistent with our proudly tax-averse ethos, but instead part and parcel to it. This is because, in the absence of taxes, traffic violations, along with liquor stores, cigarette sales, and fishing licenses, are what allow the state government to keep running. Some may call that ‘unfair.’ Said some may also be from Massachusetts, where they are all about paying taxes to pay for highway tunnels with ‘auto-detachable’ roof tiles and where the toll-booth employees regularly skim off thousands of dollars of highway funds.

Mr. Larkin’s speeding ticket may have been taken out of his Felipe’s budget, but it goes to educate my younger brother in public high school. Nowhere in the Constitution is it written that states have to be polite to each other. In my view, they may as well rip the hell off of other states for all they’re worth. If it means I can pay sticker price when I go home, no weenie-liberal sales tax, then God damn it long live the land of the free.

¹ To the four or five readers of this blog: I expect you to keep quiet if I lose.