Rambo Smokes A Joint

The Texas Sheriff’s Association, one of the oldest law enforcement associations in the nation, claimed that considering the legalization of marijuana in Texas is reckless and irresponsible despite 26 states and the District of Columbia currently having laws legalizing marijuana in some form.

"We have never allowed it, and we never will,” the Sheriff’s Association continued. “Our children are the future of our state, and it is irresponsible for us, as adults, to play fast and loose with their minds and their futures. They are not of an age to make these decisions, so it’s up to us to make the right choices."

*****

South Dallas is not Dallas. It's a third world of despairing decay and rejected rot abutting a revitalized downtown with its million dollar condos and skyrocketing rents afforded only by the very few. In contrast, parts of southern Dallas can be mistaken for 1950's rural Mississippi complete with gravel roads. So desperate is the neglect of this part of the city, one can literally be eaten alive by roving packs of dogs.

In this place of forgotten people sat a forgotten man in a forgotten multi-story building. This man himself was also trying to forget. John J Rambo had come back from Vietnam with his body intact but with many parts missing. He could never again be the person he was before he left for the hell of the jungles whose clinging vines still wrapped his soul in tightened torment. The journey out of hell had proven more perilous than the hell itself.

The first step had been denial, to strive to be the whole person he was before. That brought rage. Then came despair, deciding to succumb to the hell and let it devour him. That brought sorrow. Slowly, painfully, over the years he let the regret seep in and the grieving begin. He oscillated between chastising himself and chastising a world he'd never trust again. In time, one thing else became clear: he needed help on an unforgiving planet.

Help came in the soothing inhales of THC-laced smoke. Like every man who'd warred he hungered and thirsted above all for peace if he were to keep his breath. He would not be the whole person of before, he would not be a patriarch to ensuing generations. In fact, he didn't know exactly what he was. But this ancient plant wound between his fingers put Rambo in a place that whatever it was he had turned out to be, it was OK. That brought peace.

As it turned out, fighting for peace was much harder than fighting for war. In peace, he was attacked by guilt and doubt that never plagued him during battle. These enemies scoured his entire consciousness looking for every weakness. The only way to win this battle was to realize his self-worth. Of the wounds he suffered in these conflicts he spoke to no one. But now having found a place of peace he knew he had to protect it - or lose his soul forever. Rambo wasn't about to lose another war, and so gradually, bit by bit, he'd become a warrior for peace simply by virtue of remaining alive.

He'd also become a criminal in the eyes of the law-bred. And when law enforcement authorities were made aware of this criminal they knew they must act!

"Listen, men, today we are fighting to protect the future of our children! Either we eliminate criminal activity or it eliminates us. One person violating the law is a threat to law everywhere. So not even the slightest infraction can be tolerated. People start fucking around with the law then all hell breaks loose! Let's go, boys, and save the day!"

With hoops and hollers the armed mass departed to uphold the thin blue line between civilization and utter chaos. For if that is not the fruit of their blind obedience then agents of chaos they truly be, to be reviled as mindless dogs when the final history of mankind is written. The officers wallowed in the force shield of approval that in their minds made them invulnerable on their way to inflict the law at all costs.

"It's so great being the good guy! We can waste these lawbreakers any way we please!"

"Especially when we go to the poor side of town. So much less stress dealing with people who don't count."

"Got that right. You'll never see a #poorlivesmatter campaign!"

"Yeah, man, I heard what the new AG said: Good people don’t smoke marijuana. We'll get this dirtbag and clean up this country of these degenerate pot smokers."

"Lot safer than going after real criminals or Wall Street traders, that's for sure. I was at my Holy Hypocrites Of America meeting last night and we made damn sure it was OK for us to persecute pot smokers even if we do it ourselves, just like that asshole Obama."

"Know what you mean. At my Anti-Christs For Jesus rally last week we pretty much figured out we're the only ones who know what the truth is. We gotta get this country back on the straight and narrow."

"Amen to that, brother! I hope he has a nice car we can seize."

Rambo was in a particularly mellow mood when his radio crackled with a long forgotten voice. "Rambo! This is Col. Trautman! You're surrounded! Drop your joint and surrender before it's too late!"

"Heeey, Trout-man! How's it going?"

"Rambo, this is serious! Look at the odds. There's over 200 men out here."

"Sounds like you're serious enough for the both of us. Don't mess with my wa. Ain't going back to the jungle in my head or in my heart. You were right. It's over. You wanna come in and smoke some ganja, help yourself. You wanna take my peace from me I'll give you a fight you won't believe."

"It's useless I tell you, Rambo. Come on out and I'll fly you back to Bragg. You can't fight over 200 men!"

"You send that many, don't forget one thing."

"What?"

"A good supply of body bags."

"Hey, that's my line!"

"Suit yourself, Colonel."

Thus the signal was given to raid the house. The first group, however, did not fare that well as they were blown to bits by buried Claymore mines. "He can't do that! We're the good guys!" Reflexively, officers in the streets began to riddle the house with automatic weapons fire. But this only drew a response from radar activated nested machine guns on each floor that tracked the flashpoints of the gunfire to guide their aim (ideal for home defense!). Dozens of men fell in the surrounding streets wailing in pain.

Rambo peered out a slit in the building. "Guess they'll need some more cop guys." Then he took another toke.

Chaos ruled on the crime scene. Amid the confusion and flashing lights and approaching ambulances a decision was made to break out the heavy artillery. Attack helicopters, LAW rockets, and the explosives laden robot that killed the police sniper descended on Rambo's location - but to no avail. A series of interconnected drones overhead fired in coordination nullifying each potential bombardment. "Hey, he can't use drones! Only we can use drones! This is, like, so totally unfair! Might is supposed to make us right! Just look at all the death and destruction that joint caused."

"Fuck it. It's Twinkies time. Just don't
ask me how I got the munchies!"

Tired and beaten, the police sulked away, the dead and wounded too many to count. The press reported that the situation was only contained due to the skilled law enforcement techniques of the officers. Chief Brown responded, "I find that the mind is the greatest weapon. We'll outsmart him and pick him up in a couple weeks working at a car wash in Oak Cliff - like we could have done in the first place."

Rambo could only shake his head as he looked at the casualties being carried off on this war on people who use drugs. He settled back into a comfortable spot, still with so many tears left to soothe. "Why is it people just can't mind their own business?"