I blame the Spanish for creating the travel and tourist industry
Carl Hiaasen practices a little wishful thinking in Tourist Season.
Wiley tossed his rum glass into the sand. "So there'll be no revolution, in the classic sense, but chaos? You bet. Shame. Panic. Flight. Economic disaster."
"Pretty ambitious," Keyes said.
"It's the least I can do," Wiley said. "Brian, what is Florida anyway? An immense sunny toilet where millions of tourists flush their money and save the moment on Kodak film. The recipe for redemption is simple: scare away the tourists and pretty soon you scare off the developers. No more developers, no more bankers. No more bankers, no more lawyers. No more lawyers, no more dope smugglers. The whole motherfucking economy implodes! Now, tell me I'm crazy."
Brian Keyes knew better than to do that.
"So the question," Wiley went on, "is how to scare away the tourists."
"Murder a few," Keyes said.
"Skip, there's got to be another way."
"No!" Wiley shot to his feet, uprooting the beach umbrella with his head. "There...is...no...other way! Think about it, you mullusk-brained moron! What gets headlines? Murder, mayhem, and madness--the cardinal M's of the newsroom. That's what terrifies the travel agents of the world. That's what rates congressional hearings and crime commissions. And that's what frightens off bozo Shriner conventions. It's a damn shame, I grant you that. It's a shame I simply couldn't stand up at the next county commission meeting and ask our noble public servants to please stop destroying the planet. It's a shame that the people who poisoned this paradise won't just apologize and pack their U-Hauls and head back North to the smog and the blizzards. But it's a proven fact they won't leave until somebody lights a fire under 'em."