I'm moving to Sweden.

Now, I went to school in California, so basically all I know about Sweden is that they invented porn and furniture that collapses if you have any hardcover books. I just read in the paper, though, that there's this guy named Julian Assange, and the Swedish government is spending literally millions of dollars and thousands of hours of police time to extradite him from Britain so he can be tried on two counts of having condoms break while he's having sex.

Is that incredible? Millions of dollars, thousands of man hours. The country must be a paradise. In New York, if somebody rapes you, you call the police and they refuse to write up a report. They say, "Hey, count your blessings! Just be grateful he didn't shoot you in the head!" Something tells me if you call them up and say this guy wouldn't stop fucking you when the condom broke, you shouldn't actually go outside and listen for sirens.

In Sweden, though, this serial condom breaker is Public Enemy Number One. You can imagine his photo tacked up at the post office, next to a photos of this year's yodeling contest. Under "Description" it'll say, well, part of his dick is kind of beige.

It makes you wonder about the Swedish penal code. I'm picturing undercover policemen in the public restrooms waiting to catch a dude who leaves the toilet seat up. You can picture the scene outside jail on Monday mornings: "Say goodbye to your sister, Bobby," a tearful mother would say. "She used her teeth when she gave her fiancé a blow job."

Of course, this no-crime wave could be a temporary anomaly. They might totally forget about Mr. Assange if, like, some kid steals a tulip out of his neighbor's yard, or somebody's grandma gets a flat tire on her Schwinn. Maybe Mr. Assange will stop making the news when some senior citizen announces he's going to build the world's largest cuckoo clock. But this just means I've got to head there at the earliest opportunity.

Now, I'm realistic. I know life in Sweden isn't going to be some glorious heaven with all-you-can-eat gravlax and lingonberries. I shudder to think about living in the same country as this lawless monster. Still, I believe in karma. I know that while I'm with the law-abiding Swedes discussing recycling in some cement sauna left over from the sixties, the police will be searching the penal code day and night to find something on the dude to justify the bucks they've spent catching him.

And I have faith. At the very least I know they'll lock this bastard up and teach him the basics of sexual lubrication before setting him on his way. I think that'd teach him. He'll get no high-fives, no "Yo, dude, when you're chillin', sounds like the women be willin'!" No, just set him free amid a barrage of judgmental glares. Because even if there's no legal way to justify more than a few minutes in jail for Mr. Assange, I think we can be content in knowing that for the rest of his life he'll stew in his own private hell where the whole world knows he's got a giant dick but isn't entirely sure how to use it.