11 May 2006
Rumour has it there is a grow-op in Dope City so motherfucking big its gross domestic product dwarves the entire economy of several cities around here. And it has been operating at or near capacity for many, many years. While impossible to substantiate such a rumour it would make perfect sense. Some operations have been shut down elsewhere in our green land that have directly employed huge numbers of people. There are probably several such industrial farms on the go.
The pot we used to have to buy before airplanes started spraying paraquat on outdoor crops, forcing growers to adopt indoor growing as a means to avoid such grotesque attacks, was very often loaded with seeds. When I had my first punk rock apartment I germinated a bunch of seeds and covered my balcony with the small plants. They looked pretty fucking cool licking up the sun beside my beer fridge and the stack of empty stubbies. I was going to transplant the juvenile plants near a creek where I would not have to water them and see what happened.
As usual I had no clue.
One night after all the beer had been drunk, the dope smoked, the pizza ate and everybody had gone home, around 4:00 AM, the police bust in my door with their motherfucking German Shepherd and everything. "We're looking for stolen pizza you fucking punk," said the cop to me as I stood there dazed and naked. There were many pizza boxes lying around.
"All the pizza here was bought and paid for."
"Where's the fucking receipt?"
Luckily I had the fucking receipt. Not that that was good enough however. Officer Sedenko barged through my apartment with his dog. I guess some pizza guy must have been clobbered good for his pies. You had to give the cops credit for being imaginative enough to think maybe the punks in apartment 101 might be responsible. This was in the days before Canadians got themselves a Charter of Rights and the police could barge into your place any fucking time they wanted. That is why the police and their sycophants continue to cry about the Charter - they still think they should be able to snoop around innocent law abiding citizen's places like mine without a warrant.
The cop eventually headed to the balcony with his dog and his flashlight. I held my breath and braced myself for the shit to hit the Canuck fan. He shone his flashlight over my young crop and peered in the mouldy fridge. No fucking pizza. He probably thought I had committed the perfect crime.
He left my place to join his fellow pizza police rousting everybody else in my block.
The next morning I dumped the gardening idea.