In a stunning new development that surely comes as no surprise to anyone paying even the slightest bit of attention, Florida’s specific brand of “natural disasters” has taken an intriguing turn. Residents in underserved communities across the state have found themselves enveloped in a toxic smoke cloud, courtesy of another booming industrial venture. The state government, which has previously received accolades for prioritizing the needs of its wealthiest citizens, has decided to step up its game by unleashing a new “Toxic Smoke Shuffle,” ensuring those least equipped to deal with it get an extra dose of respiratory challenges. Sources confirm that the state’s latest economic initiative, affectionately dubbed the “Ash and Cash” program, encourages the establishment of waste processing plants right next to low-income neighborhoods—because who needs clean air when you have the sweet smell of capitalism? Citizens in places like Dusty Pines and Smokeville are now treated to a fog of pollutants that can only be described as “an immersive experience” in environmental injustice. “The smoke has really brought people together,” says Cheryl Green, a local resident operating a makeshift lemonade stand at her front door, the only viable business left in the community. “Now we’re not just neighbors, we’re all cough buddies! I think it’s really brought us closer.” When asked how long she expects her children to play outside, she simply shrugged and replied, “Eh, they’ll toughen up. It builds character!” Meanwhile, state officials are perfectly content with this turn of events. Governor “Toxic Tango” has assured reporters that the smoke “is just part of the natural cycle of capitalism.” He also invoked the ever-reliable “jobs, jobs, jobs!” mantra, promising that the plants will generate at least twelve new jobs—many of which will likely end up being part-time and without benefits. “We’re a state that believes in innovation,” the governor proclaimed from the comfort of an air-conditioned conference room, “and part of that innovation is allowing big business to choose where they operate. Why wouldn't we want to let them take advantage of less affluent neighborhoods?” Environmental groups have chimed in, albeit while wearing gas masks that offer only limited protection. “This is a travesty,” said a representative, exhaling dramatically, “but let’s face it—these communities are used to dealing with the worst. Why not give them a little extra spice?” When pressed about possible health risks, the representative shrugged, citing “exposure increases immunity”—a notion that’s as wildly optimistic as it is scientifically questionable. In a newly released study, experts have assessed the short- and long-term impacts of chronic exposure to toxic smoke on underserved communities, concluding that the effects are pretty much the same as living near a coal plant, a landfill, or—in some tragically comical circumstances—even a family of wild raccoons known for their “interesting” culinary habits. But don’t worry! Local leaders are on it. They’ve promised to organize monthly “Smoke and Mirrors” community meetings, where residents can come together to discuss how toxic fumes and poor air quality are simply part of their “unique culture.” Meanwhile, city planners have started working on a new initiative to provide residents with scented candles and air purifiers, which they’re hopeful will distract folks from the smog swirling around their homes. One local mayor proudly proclaimed, “It’s the least we can do, given that we’ve effectively sacrificed their well-being on the altar of economic progress!” As the toxic clouds gather strength and local residents learn how to navigate their newly formed atmosphere, it becomes abundantly clear that what Florida lacks in equitable environmental policies, it more than makes up for in twisted creativity. So, pop on those gas masks, folks—Florida’s toxic smoke shuffle is just getting started, and you won’t want to miss a single puff!