Last Roundup
We were so fucking stupid, thinking we were clever.
The legalization movement had reached critical mass. Society could no longer resist the onslaught of popular opinion. Conventional wisdom was prevailing: give the people what they want. So eager were we to have peace, we rushed headlong into compromise.
Marijuana would be legal across the entire U.S. Growers and users would simply have to register with the federal government and accept a small, unobtrusive tracking chip subdermally. To protect the children, that ancient device.
The bill was signed into law, and we all jockeyed for position, eager to sign on for our implants. Low serial numbers became status. Badges of honor. Finally, we could cultivate and commune in peace.
For two years, liberty and prosperity ruled the land. Then they came for us. We were complacent and defenseless. Collectively, we had traded fear and paranoia for the eternal bliss of pot smoking.
Conveniently located by the chips that had enabled the most free period in American history, we were herded into camps and forced at gunpoint to eradicate our own plants with machetes and broadleaf weed killers. But even in the camps, we were allowed to smoke. Naturally, we stockpiled more that we pilfered during our day jobs.
We were determined to make the most of it and ride it out, convinced that the country would return to its senses in due time.
Eventually, we were released without fanfare. We still had weed in our pockets as we streamed back out of our prison gates. Like lemmings to the slaughter.
Great celebrations were held. The first American smoke-out began in earnest and lasted two days. Afterwards, we slept it off, our stashes now burnt offerings.
There was no more pot to be found after that. Clever bastards that we were, we only smoked sensimilla. Seedless dope. We had no way to grow more, legally or illegally.
But somewhere, deep in the forest, a sprout pushed its head out of the earth, hungry for sunlight...
The legalization movement had reached critical mass. Society could no longer resist the onslaught of popular opinion. Conventional wisdom was prevailing: give the people what they want. So eager were we to have peace, we rushed headlong into compromise.
Marijuana would be legal across the entire U.S. Growers and users would simply have to register with the federal government and accept a small, unobtrusive tracking chip subdermally. To protect the children, that ancient device.
The bill was signed into law, and we all jockeyed for position, eager to sign on for our implants. Low serial numbers became status. Badges of honor. Finally, we could cultivate and commune in peace.
For two years, liberty and prosperity ruled the land. Then they came for us. We were complacent and defenseless. Collectively, we had traded fear and paranoia for the eternal bliss of pot smoking.
Conveniently located by the chips that had enabled the most free period in American history, we were herded into camps and forced at gunpoint to eradicate our own plants with machetes and broadleaf weed killers. But even in the camps, we were allowed to smoke. Naturally, we stockpiled more that we pilfered during our day jobs.
We were determined to make the most of it and ride it out, convinced that the country would return to its senses in due time.
Eventually, we were released without fanfare. We still had weed in our pockets as we streamed back out of our prison gates. Like lemmings to the slaughter.
Great celebrations were held. The first American smoke-out began in earnest and lasted two days. Afterwards, we slept it off, our stashes now burnt offerings.
There was no more pot to be found after that. Clever bastards that we were, we only smoked sensimilla. Seedless dope. We had no way to grow more, legally or illegally.
But somewhere, deep in the forest, a sprout pushed its head out of the earth, hungry for sunlight...
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