Andrew Kirell asks the right question:
In light of these stories, shouldn’t President Obama offer every American the right to “choom†(verb, to smoke marijuana), instead of continuing to lock up marijuana users for hitting three-foot bongs like he did?
… in his article Why Won’t President Obama Support Our Right To ‘Choom’ A Doobie Like He Did?
Young Obama apparently was also a bit of a bogart when it came to communal marijuana smoking:
Barry also had a knack for interceptions. When a joint was making the rounds, he often elbowed his way in, out of turn, shouted “Intercepted!,†and took an extra hit. No one seemed to mind.
In light of one of this administration’s drug policy fetishes, I also find it a bit ironic that Obama had actually developed a special way to smoke pot while in the car.
It is the most hypocritical thing about Obama,,because you and all who ever smoked know he sat around and discussed”If only the government would legalize pot,it would solve a lot more problems than it could ever cause”,,,as we all have since our first joint.
One of the first bongs I bought when I was still a lad was a 4 foot monster. Those things didn’t work, even if your toes were talented enough to flick the Bic.
Why?
Because people who oppose prohibition don’t contribute (enough) money to Obama’s campaign.
When the people who oppose prohibition donate gobs and gobs of money to the politicians, politicians will do their bidding. Just like they do now for the people who support prohibition (and who currently donate gobs & gobs of money so that prohibition will continue).
What are you talking about? I sent him $4.20 in 2008.
Want it legal? Contribute to Ron Paul’s campaign, send him gobs of money so he can win the nomination and an end to the drug war is assured in the next year.
Obama was elected by anti prohibitionists. His campaign even said recently they’ve been having a much harder time this year becuase all the college students who donated their time to the campaign in 2008 are not donating their time to his re-election campaign. We aren’t donating, time or money, to him anymore because we honestly believe he is full of shit.
Money isn’t the solution, votes are. In order to change this no one has to donate one dime, what they need to do is refuse to vote for anyone who doesn’t support reform AND actively vote for whoever does. Both. Not just one. BOTH!
And I don’t mean when you feel like it. I mean every single election. No matter what. If the choices are Obama, who opposes legalizing cannabis, and Satan’s bastard child who happens to be a Singing Dancing Chicken, that supports legalizing cannabis, you vote for the Devil Chicken. Even if the chicken is batshit crazy on every single other issue. Even if the chicken supports legalizing rape, YOU VOTE FOR THE CHICKEN! Why? Because once politicians realize a solid voting majority will only vote for politicians who support legalizing cannabis they will start supporting legalizing cannabis.
Not one penny needs to be spent because politicians are smart enough, or better put selfish enough, to realize “before I can collect all that lobbying money, I need to get elected and hold the office.”
Now its clear: He just wants it all for himself, ol`bogart….
It occurs to me that Obama may have actually changed his mind about pot. It would not make him very unusual if he, reaching, oh, the age of 30, decided that it was time to “put childish things away.” In my observation, a lot of people are oh-so-gently guided to the conclusion that *real* adults don’t use cannabis.
Or, maybe he’s just really, really hypocritical.
1. “Smoking pot is childish.”
2. “We have to keep pot illegal to protect THE CHILDREN.”
Drug warrior logic is so hard to follow. And if enjoying cannabis really is “childish,” shouldn’t selling to minors be like a mitigating factor?
Penn Jillette made a great start with calling him out on his “bit of weed and blow” etc. I expect to see more of this in the coming months. Now if we could only find a Kronkite to publicly denounce the drug war as unwinnable, followed by the president resigning on this issue, we could make some progress:
“We have been too often disappointed by the optimism of the American leaders, both in Vietnam and Washington, to have faith any longer in the silver linings they find in the darkest clouds.”
We do have a “Cronkite” in William F. Buckley, Jr. He was a staunch conservative, yet was out front with his position that the drug war is a failure.
If you read excerpts from his book, he does a classic Obama issue straddle. On one hand he acknowledges it and even sort of jokes about it, but then in order to explain it, he talks about the reason for doing it was to escape struggling with his identity issues. So at first he seems to imply that using was fun, normal and harmless but then switches to characterizing his use as an abusive act. Drug use to escape difficult life issues.
I agree with Matthew Mayer that one gets the impression that Obama views his use as a youthful indiscretion that he successfully grew out of and ultimately regrets even as he winks while telling it. A nice happy ending human story for a politician to tell. “I was weak in my youth but I learned and grew from it and now I’m as serious an adult as anybody”.
This is the American Puritan “morals and values” line of reasoning for Prohibition. And why it’s so hard to get politicians to reform the laws. It’s immoral to “get high”, therefore the state should ban it, because the state must represent our, ahem, “highest morals”. Even if the collateral damage is arguably even more immoral.
“So at first he seems to imply that using was fun, normal and harmless but then switches to characterizing his use as an abusive act. Drug use to escape difficult life issues.” That makes it hypocritical on yet another level. If the drug is Prozac or Wellbutrin, and prescribed by a doctor (who in our culture only the rich have the luxury to visit for something like …”difficult life issues.”), it is perfectly acceptable and clearly not abusive. But if you find that relief in Cannabis (or any other licit or illicit drug without a visit to the expensive gatekeeper), you ar going to jail. Most of the working class people I know save the expensive doctor’s visit for more serious “difficult life issues”, like severed limbs.
I wouldn’t be one bit surprised to find out he still indulges in smoking pot and perhaps even snorting “blow”. A real case of “Do as I say, not as I do!”.
Windy! Where you been hidin’?
here we go .here we go take a seat right over on pete’s couch,don’t mind the jizz stains.pete couldn’t contain himself.ranting about the harms of prohibition so hard,he’s panting from mental masterbation.It’s stimiulating. call me crazy . ima little lazy with this. but it’s still another hit. Bitch pass me the cheetos please. they so tasty.butter milk biskets they flakey. Ima rape thee in tha ass,rocking a sergical mask,doctor’s outfit,on a malpractice trip. bang you.you just been hit.smother you with cloraphorme.drag your ass in the shadows of the dorms. this shits my norms. cut your dick off.john walters is soft. fang gorlia..ill burie with kevin bacon.druggies i know you hatenin me.get urself some physical therpy.have a nurse whip ur nuts with her purtty mouth. push push bobby oh bobby cum for me baby cum all in my pussy.pull out baby pull out…
now this wigga has a right. to give you mental scars from the words i write.ima sober to the end.no tragics from within. never once commited a sin,apond my brethern,these druggie need to fuck away from my kin.slice you with a razor.your lifes gushing quickly say your prayers.your not living soon.eyes be shut before the moon rises.your no jesus.no second cumming.unless its your daughters mouth. vivid production,my cock gave her suduction,now shes down on her knees suckin. crying cause mommy and daddy were out huffin paint thinner.fucking drug users are losers.never win bitches ima get a grammy.run to your house and beat ur grandma with it and leave the evidince behind.becouse she deserves it.murder pot heads
You are totally bugfuck. Go away.
huh… i forget the year but.. i remember me and my usual gang of village pillaging, raping, disease riddled junkie friends were going about our usual business of pillaging and raping and spreading disease all the while we were hardly able to get off the benches off central park because we were so nodded. it was about this time a young lad, funny, looked quite like the lad in the photo came up to the lot of us and said hey now you fellas look like the sort of fellas that know how to get some good SMACK! never being one to not answer the call of opportunity when it cometh, mind you, a junkie is always in need of money and thought he situation comes up often and thus one must be suspect of potential clients, you never know when youll be dealing with a narc or an undercover but the lad was a dark skinned lad, so any fear of that flew out the window, nevertheless he did sound like bill cosby so there was some initial fear. I gingerly told the lad, well youve come to the right bench. i said itd be 100 for a whopper and the lad was fine with it. he did seem somewhat nervous, the virgin nervousness of never banged/snorted/used opiates before – so i said listen lad your here with my mates and all will be fine. he then asked a question not unheard of but rare and never truly asked from a new or basically new client – he asked for collateral. Being the kind hearted diseased pillager rapist junkie i laughed as did my mates, a sweet chuckle. I said okay lad, sure. I said lad, aside from my HIV and Hep C addled veins, i have really nothing of value. The new client frowned somewhat, as it began to dawn on me his face…it recalled memories of the muppets for some reason..but that was a different life, one before aids, hep c, pillaging, rape oh and the glory of heroin. Thats when it dawned on me, AH! Lad, you’re in luck! I shouted. That muppet face perked straight up. I said, i just realized, i DO have something of value you can use as collateral. Thats when i reached into my pocket and produced my gass, ash black, covered in dried blood syringe. The beauty was about a year old, dull as a butchers knife thats gone unused for a centuray and stabs you like a horror movie villains frenzy. The muppet faced lad smiled, accepting the basically black, once clear, syringe and before i turned to go he stuck out a skinny hand and said, “the names, Barry, old chap! Put her there! Glad to meet you! I cannot wait to try out some of the diacetylmorphine you gentleman appear to be enthralled with.” I looked at his hand and then looked at mine, being a junkie, obviously, cuts, growths, mushrooms and bizarre creatures grew from my hand, i looked at the other lads, all in the same shape as me, i nodded at Barry and said, “good to meet you man.” and went off. about an hour later i came back. Barry was near a heart attack but was glad to see me. Without going into details, the first thing you learn is you always got to wait (hes never early, hes always late) Barry didn’t like that though. I think in retrospect Barry mustve been one of those college kids from nearby, used to that lame ass weed they smoke and since its their friends they buy it from and can just walk in and out of their apartments always welcomed, laughing, whatever, they dont have to wait on the corner, in the cold, for hours. Barry didn’t like the waiting. But he loved the smack. How do i know this? Well, i never saw him again, well, not anytime soon but about a year ago i was doing what i do best, well, not raping, pillaging, spreading disease mind you, but nodding out on that same bench. yeah, some of the old lads are still with me, some of them have died, some of them were coerced into AA and may as well be dead because they’re lifeless zombies anyhow. Somehow that aids and hep C i have havent got me yet. Anyway, catching the nod as i was, suddenly, i mean, the personification of DEA/CIA appeared and us junkies were scared stiff. Suddenly awake and pissed because black suited, white gentlemen in shades were b-lining straight for us. We’re used to stupid undercovers frisking us. its NYC – privacy? ha!! So we do the quick mental check, works? no. empties? no. anything? done it all. we’re cool. The suited lads come up to us and look us down. They seem to be comparing us to mental pictures when one says to us, “The Muppet Man sends his regards.” And then I knew, and the lads remembered. But what was this all about? Was the dope bad? Was he a mafia man now sending his suited lads to off us cus he, on his own fault, didnt know how to bang and gave himself an abcess and now forever blamed us? “Alright” i said, not really knowing what to make of this. “Well, the Muppet wants more.” I felt a chuckle coming, i stifled it. Looked to my mates then back to the suited lads. “Listen fellas, the muppet is your boss, you say? Well…. Look here lads, that was, what? 20 years ago maybe? I mean, we were all young then. I’m an old man now. I don’t do that anymore. It was just a phase… I mean… you don’t really think I’d still be doing that..really…i…i..uh…” they weren’t buying it. I could feel them looking me over. I thought to myself, well, it’s not DEA and even if it is, they’re run by the Muppet so i should be okay. “Well, alright. but the muppet did come 20 years ago lads and its a different time now. It’ll be 150 for a whopper.” They produced a roll of hundreds and i reached for it.. The lad with the money pulled his hand back. “Nuh-uh.” He said in some very white, nerdy way. “The muppet told us we need collateral.” That’s when i reached into my pocket. She was still there, yup, glass, dull, more weapon than works now. Maybe im a masochist. So i went off to wait for the man, for Barry the Muppet once again. I reached the usual corner ive been going to for the past…40..50..60 years.. and waited. I may’ve crossed a street at one point when suddenly a bustling limo burst down, nearly taking my legs off in the process. The limo zipped by me and i barely dodged it. I spun around, cussing as I was when the limo stopped. It pulled into reverse a bit and the rearmost window pulled down. It took a few minutes for the cloud of marijuana smoke to dispurse before i could make out the face and i couldn’t believe what i saw. The Muppet, pot high as hell. He gave me the Italian F-U, but in a strange way and then sped off. I digested this and walked back to the waiting spot, resolved not to move at all until the deed was done. I thought about the Italian FU i just got from The Muppet, whose accord I was there for anyhow. I realized that the Muppet, was not giving me the Italian FU but rather was attempting to gesture some form of dope banging comradery with his inner forearm. I shrugged. I walked inside a bodega nearby and grabbed two bottles of water. Any dope banger knows why. and the other was for the Muppet. As I went to pay i noticed behind the fat latin man handling the business exchange a giant poster with the muppets face. It said, OH BAM YA!!! Well, at first, thats what i thought it was trying to say, maybe a latin musician? But it was spelt OBAMA, so… i figured it was just spanish… So the muppet wasn’t african american, but just a dark skinned latin? Whats with the Muppet being a limo riding big deal here 20-30 years later?? I asked the clerk. “Hey who is that?” and he shook his head. He doesnt think im serious, i thought. Well i asked again? And he said “huh? what? what you mean?” and i pointed at the OBAMA picture. “I know that guy. What does he do? Is he a singer?” The clerk looked at me. Clearly he could tell i was a junkie, hes seen me for decades. seen plenty of junkies. He’s prejudiced against us. He has bit the drug war propaganda machine hook line and sinker. But he realizes im serious and he laughs. “What? ju mean judo know el presidente?” And i was floored. I quietly purchased the water and went back to the corner… realizing now what i was doing. playing middle man for the president. I waited…and waited…in the most bizarre irony one could ever imagine thinking.. “wow… there’s something real f’d up about all of this.” huh…
C.J., Really good stuff for a creative writing class, it would get you some good feedback, and maybe even a decent grade. But you need to learn to pick your forum and your audience more carefully. Everyone here has read Burroughs and Bukowski, as well as ALL of the lyrics by Jim Morrison and Lou Reed. Not to mention gone down the opiate road a time or two. It’s just not going to have ANY shock effect on the jaded old bastards sitting here on Pete’s couch. I suggest you print that on pamphlets and hand it out at your local baptist church to the nice church ladies. Then you can watch people scream and flee from your presence.
i see youve moved on from de quincey to william burroughs
I am still reading Louis Lamour :<(
Sometimes politicians do the right thing.