Wow, sorry.
Yesterday's post was angry, and I apologize if anyone was taken aback.
It was actually a great representation of what writing ideas look like raw, before the "funny" is later injected into them. Good humor is, in my opinion, based on anger. Arrested Development, for example, is angry...and funny. According to Jim is not angry, and thus not funny. Still attracts a million morons a week, though.
I'm hoping that the Sharon Stone bit will turn into my next column for the Gazette, but first I have to allow the Willie Wonka machine in my head work on it, extracting the rage and adding lighthearted humor. The result will hopefully be a piece allowing readers to share in my bemusement at the enigma that is Sharon Stone while belying the very real desire I felt to leap through the television screen and rip the jugular vein from her throat, spraying her $1 Million imported rug and adopted son with a steaming mist of her blood.
Anyway, here's this week's Gazette column. It's about drugs.
MEDICINAL MARY JANE
The Minnesota Senate Judiciary Committee passed a bill last week which would legalize medicinal use of marijuana in our state. I can picture the committee members adjourning after a long day’s debate, mopping sweat from their brows and slapping one another on the back exclaiming “Nice work, everybody: It’s Miller time.”
Democrats on the committee favored the bill; Republicans were agin it. I can only assume that this was due to differences in their respective experiences with marijuana back in the day. The Dems likely used pot as a gateway to free love and mind expansion while the Republicans simply clung to their beds for dear life while the dorm room spun, vowing to spare others similar agony.
God bless those brave Republicans for standing their ground. Nothing exudes family values like fighting tooth and nail to ensure that terminally ill people are prohibited from tolerating—if not enjoying—the remaining months of their lives. Buck up, GOP: You may have lost the medicinal marijuana battle but there’s still a chance to outlaw dandelions before a generation of impressionable youngsters begins wantonly experimenting to see if they like butter.
Perhaps we should outlaw the Make-A-Wish Foundation while we’re at it. Sure, eight-year old Billy paints a sorrowful picture wasting away in his hospital bed from the ravages of childhood Leukemia. But I for one don’t want it on my conscience if he breaks an arm during that trip to Disneyland he keeps harping about. Anyway, a week in the Magic Kingdom can’t hold a candle to the prospect of soon being escorted into Paradise by a God who—for reasons only He in his infinite wisdom can comprehend—killed an eight-year old boy slowly and painfully.
The question is not whether marijuana possesses medicinal qualities but rather what the definition of “medicinal” is in the first place. During my four decades on this orb I have been prescribed any number of medications. Some were to cure ailments while others simply eased the pain. Countless Baby Boomers can attest to Mary Jane’s prowess in the latter respect, and whether a dying person seeks such relief in pill form or swathed in Zig-Zag rolling papers hardly seems to be the business of Big Brother.
I’m of the mind that when it comes to perks for the terminally ill, medicinal marijuana should be the tip of the iceberg. Want to drive on the sidewalk? Go for it. Don’t want to pay income taxes? No problem. Always had the desire to “streak” a Ponies game? Be our guest; just let the Gazette know so we can have a photographer there. Want to do all of the above with lungs full of pot smoke so thick it could be sliced with a Ginsu knife? Knock yourself out: YOU’RE DYING.
I can hear the cacophony of voices from crotchety St. Croix Valley residents. “Bonnett’s a doper,” they mumble, and it’s understandable; drug use would go a long way towards explaining the content of my columns. Alas, my writing is attributable solely to little old me, not THC. Call me a doper, a pothead or a crazed left-wing bleeding heart, but I simply don’t lie awake nights worrying that we’re one step away from opening the Stillwater branch of Needle Park because a bedridden, terminal patient weighing 80 pounds—half of which is cancer—rolls a doobie under the watchful eye of their physician.
I propose we gather the volumes of evidence both refuting and proving the medicinal effects of marijuana, put it in a big pile, light it on fire and have a hog roast. We’ll invite the Senate Judiciary Committee and every terminally ill person in the state of Minnesota. Let’s make a quick detour to DFL Party headquarters to secure a couple pounds of Colombia’s finest, assemble the remaining members of Steppenwolf and then embark on a magic carpet ride together.
The Democrats on the Judiciary Committee fought for and earned their right to party like it’s 1999. And the Republicans—well; the GOP has provided an opportunity for a wonderful teaching moment about the medicinal affects of pot. Medicinal marijuana couldn’t possibly cure what ails the Republicans on the Judiciary Committee; that would require invasive surgery to remove the broomsticks from their collective derrieres. However, a puff or two of wacky bakky might help them realize that sometimes a person has to look beyond doing what’s righteous and simply do what’s right.
It was actually a great representation of what writing ideas look like raw, before the "funny" is later injected into them. Good humor is, in my opinion, based on anger. Arrested Development, for example, is angry...and funny. According to Jim is not angry, and thus not funny. Still attracts a million morons a week, though.
I'm hoping that the Sharon Stone bit will turn into my next column for the Gazette, but first I have to allow the Willie Wonka machine in my head work on it, extracting the rage and adding lighthearted humor. The result will hopefully be a piece allowing readers to share in my bemusement at the enigma that is Sharon Stone while belying the very real desire I felt to leap through the television screen and rip the jugular vein from her throat, spraying her $1 Million imported rug and adopted son with a steaming mist of her blood.
Anyway, here's this week's Gazette column. It's about drugs.
MEDICINAL MARY JANEThe Minnesota Senate Judiciary Committee passed a bill last week which would legalize medicinal use of marijuana in our state. I can picture the committee members adjourning after a long day’s debate, mopping sweat from their brows and slapping one another on the back exclaiming “Nice work, everybody: It’s Miller time.”
Democrats on the committee favored the bill; Republicans were agin it. I can only assume that this was due to differences in their respective experiences with marijuana back in the day. The Dems likely used pot as a gateway to free love and mind expansion while the Republicans simply clung to their beds for dear life while the dorm room spun, vowing to spare others similar agony.
God bless those brave Republicans for standing their ground. Nothing exudes family values like fighting tooth and nail to ensure that terminally ill people are prohibited from tolerating—if not enjoying—the remaining months of their lives. Buck up, GOP: You may have lost the medicinal marijuana battle but there’s still a chance to outlaw dandelions before a generation of impressionable youngsters begins wantonly experimenting to see if they like butter.
Perhaps we should outlaw the Make-A-Wish Foundation while we’re at it. Sure, eight-year old Billy paints a sorrowful picture wasting away in his hospital bed from the ravages of childhood Leukemia. But I for one don’t want it on my conscience if he breaks an arm during that trip to Disneyland he keeps harping about. Anyway, a week in the Magic Kingdom can’t hold a candle to the prospect of soon being escorted into Paradise by a God who—for reasons only He in his infinite wisdom can comprehend—killed an eight-year old boy slowly and painfully.
The question is not whether marijuana possesses medicinal qualities but rather what the definition of “medicinal” is in the first place. During my four decades on this orb I have been prescribed any number of medications. Some were to cure ailments while others simply eased the pain. Countless Baby Boomers can attest to Mary Jane’s prowess in the latter respect, and whether a dying person seeks such relief in pill form or swathed in Zig-Zag rolling papers hardly seems to be the business of Big Brother.
I’m of the mind that when it comes to perks for the terminally ill, medicinal marijuana should be the tip of the iceberg. Want to drive on the sidewalk? Go for it. Don’t want to pay income taxes? No problem. Always had the desire to “streak” a Ponies game? Be our guest; just let the Gazette know so we can have a photographer there. Want to do all of the above with lungs full of pot smoke so thick it could be sliced with a Ginsu knife? Knock yourself out: YOU’RE DYING.
I can hear the cacophony of voices from crotchety St. Croix Valley residents. “Bonnett’s a doper,” they mumble, and it’s understandable; drug use would go a long way towards explaining the content of my columns. Alas, my writing is attributable solely to little old me, not THC. Call me a doper, a pothead or a crazed left-wing bleeding heart, but I simply don’t lie awake nights worrying that we’re one step away from opening the Stillwater branch of Needle Park because a bedridden, terminal patient weighing 80 pounds—half of which is cancer—rolls a doobie under the watchful eye of their physician.
I propose we gather the volumes of evidence both refuting and proving the medicinal effects of marijuana, put it in a big pile, light it on fire and have a hog roast. We’ll invite the Senate Judiciary Committee and every terminally ill person in the state of Minnesota. Let’s make a quick detour to DFL Party headquarters to secure a couple pounds of Colombia’s finest, assemble the remaining members of Steppenwolf and then embark on a magic carpet ride together.
The Democrats on the Judiciary Committee fought for and earned their right to party like it’s 1999. And the Republicans—well; the GOP has provided an opportunity for a wonderful teaching moment about the medicinal affects of pot. Medicinal marijuana couldn’t possibly cure what ails the Republicans on the Judiciary Committee; that would require invasive surgery to remove the broomsticks from their collective derrieres. However, a puff or two of wacky bakky might help them realize that sometimes a person has to look beyond doing what’s righteous and simply do what’s right.
posted by Admin Worm at 11:40 AM
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