A Friend in Weed

Pot coulda been a contender in DeVore race. Then the Terminator harshed his mellow

Mercy, I would never want that.

You wouldn't?

Heavens, no. You know how much I haul in being available only on the black market?

Well, yes, but, come on: we all know that many of industrial hemp's supporters just see its farming, distribution and use as a first step toward making you more acceptable, that people will be so psyched about industrial hemp's many uses that they'll logically say, "Hey, I wonder what other organic uses we can enjoy from other plants in the same family?" and that in no time at all restaurants will have toking and non-toking sections, PTAs will have pot plant sections at their bake sales and Girl Scouts will be knocking on our door selling loaded brownies along with their cookies.

Whether the baked goods Girl Scouts sell door-to-door are loaded or unloaded, I still figure into the equation.

Speaking of equations, hemp is already a $300 million-a-year industry in the United States, and North Dakota has been successful after a similar bill there won bipartisan support and the support of their governor. Won't the market simply force the issue in California?

Easy, boy: my accountants have them pegged at only $270,374,060 and 31 cents.

Only?

Heh-heh, my boutiques—what you call medical marijuana clubs—haul in more than that when no one's looking.

And if we legalized it all—pot and industrial hemp, you and your cousin—we could tax you both up the wazoo to solve our state's myriad fiscal problems.

Ta-ta-ta-ta-tax? Bite your tongue, heathen! You know what, I changed my mind: Schwarzenegger was right. Where's my buddy Mike Schroeder to sic the sheriff on you? Down with hemp! Down with hemp! Screw Jared Leto! Vote for Danny Glover!

 

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