The important thing, she said, “is to spread tourism out, so that it’s all over the country — and all over the year.” Seriously. You so do not get it. There is too much of this nonsense. Some of us have said Stop. Just Stop. Not one more inch. It’s called greed. The money is big. Frankly, I do not care. Go get another job. The planet does not care. One word: Appalachia. What is wrong with you. Population numbers will drop dramatically. No one can afford it. Dystopia is not tourism. I am autistic. I hide. I am literally a hermit. Again. When I leave my woods, I look around, I return to my cottage. I would advise Norway to run or be overrun. Don’t you know, witches live in those Blue Ridge woods. You cannot buy hootch in town. I’m not leaving my tree. Hurricanes, come get me. Entertainment. I will dance for tourists if they give good coin. Little Jimmy wants to know what Big Bears are. Fortunately, population numbers will drop dramatically. The earth has given you enough. Give back or die. I am autistic. Literally a hermit. Have you seen the one where barbarians will run up the hill for you, and the whole wood-sword greek gig, I advise Norway to run. I put hexes on them. All you voyeurs would see is another naked man in a tree. We had more tourists last year. Tourists Land On Oslo From Parachutes. In Key West, it was vomit on the sidewalks the night before. They love old men and dogs on biker photographs. I have millions of them. I was on vacation. – tim barrus