20100428-pooyie-0101C’EST BON
It was like the Olympics for political fanatics for about two hours last Tuesday as the city-majority members of the Lafayette City-Parish Council pulled a parliamentary triple back flip with a half gainer off the dais as the stunned parish councilmen looked on. Poetry in political motion. The city men put aside their workaday ideological differences to band together and force through a substitute ordinance creating a charter commission with much wider discretion in what it recommends, including deconsolidation. We’re not advocating repeal of the charter, but the original ordinance didn’t even grant the commission the authority to consider it. All options should be on the table. Now they are.

The bickering between Lafayette and Broussard reached a chattering crescendo last week when Broussard, through a kind of land-purchasing sleight of hand, acquired a parcel of property between the Ambassador Caffery South extension and Les Vieux Chenes Golf Course, effectively blocking Lafayette from reaching the course — a city-owned property maintained with city taxes — to annex it. It’s just the latest plateau in escalating tension between the two municipalities, which, as they’ve grown closer together geographically over the last 20 years have grown further apart politically. From the view in Broussard, nixing Lafayette’s annexation was a brilliant gambit; Lafayette obviously sees it differently. On Monday during a special meeting, the CPC annexed another strip of land and reached the golf course after all. The day when everything between the two cities has been annexed and all this squabbling can cease cannot come soon enough.

College kids smoking pot? Who’da thunkit? So when four UL students — all of them members of the Ragin’ Cajuns football team — were busted last week on charges of cultivation of marijuana, our outrage-o-meter remained mired at ho-hum. But where this otherwise garden-variety police blotter fodder ascends to the rarefied air of Mount Couillon is in the PD’s accusation that the gridiron grosse tetes were growing the ganja on the balcony of their Stewart Street apartment. The balcony? Get torched on the porch, fellas; don’t raise the reefer! We can’t imagine that when the cops came a-knockin’ these jocks were shocked. Dude!

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