The Government Individual

It's a lot different when you put it in terms of two individuals, instead of a faceless conglomerate and society. The next time someone says government rule is for our own good, tie them to a chair and hold them at gunpoint. Tell them if you don't you can't be sure they won't hurt themselves or someone else.

I burst into your house with an extremely overpriced tactical shotgun, laden with unneccesary gadgets costing thousands of dollars. You rise from your chair, startled, and make a dash to the doorway as I let off a warning shot. A pellet enters your skull and permanantly blinds you. Oops.
As I tie you to your chair, you remember how you loaned me all that money last year to buy that shotgun, and how I never paid you back. Taking your wallet, I pull out the cards and cash and stuff them into my own pocket, to pay for the cost of the shotgun shell and rope.
"What the hell are you doing?" you scream at me "This is my private property!"
I shake my head apathetically, forgetting that you're blind now. Sorry about that.
"Aerial reconnaissance and heat imaging shows you're making drugs and nuclear weapons in your kitchen. For the safety of yourself and others, your house now belongs to me."
You remember how you loaned me fifty grand five years ago for that drone, and how I never paid that back either.
"Thats my oven and microwave, dumbass."
"I say drugs and nukes." I reply smugly.
You say nothing. I take this as an admittion of your obvious guilt.
After I've finished tying you up, I enter your kitchen and make myself a sandwhich. As an afterthought, I grab a bandaid and plant it over the hole the shotgun pellet left in your head. That's my job too, afterall.
After a while, you ask me why I've come.
"To protect you from yourself, of course." I reply with a full mouth. Particles of bread spray from my mouth and land on your cheek.
"What the hell do you mean? I was doing just fine. Then you burst in the door and now I'm blind and tied to a chair."
"Oh sure," I reply, "You WERE doing fine. But sooner or later you were going to hurt yourself, or someone else."
"Thats rediculous. I'm a grown man. I can take care of myself without your help!"
"It's for your own safety." I admonish, my voice chock full of sincerity. You start to struggle in your ropes, and I call my bodyguard to watch over you while I head to the drug store. You remember how you loaned me the money to afford the bodyguard, and buy majority stock in the drug store. I never paid you back.

Two days later I return with sedatives and give them to you. You lay back complacently as I turn the TV on to a news program warning of the danger that your neighbour could be cooking meth in their kitchen, followed by a picture of you. Drool slowly drips from the corner of your mouth, and I gently wipe it away with the hem of your shirt. Thats my job, afterall.
Deciding that you need a higher standard of care, I take a loan out on your house (You would remember how you loaned me money to save that bank from imminent failure, but your lights are out) and buy you a neck pillow. I take the rest of the money and use it to buy myself another bodyguard.

As we grow old together, I take more and more loans out on your property to pay for your care. After a few decades I've got a dozen more bodyguards, and have upgraded from sandwhiches to filet mignon. You've gotten stronger rope and five more neck pillows.
Eventually you die, and I sell your worthless property to some poor sap. Taking my bodyguards, I head over to your daughters house. Aerial reconnaissance recently showed she was cooking drugs and making nukes in her kitchen.