Showing posts with label marijuana. Show all posts
Showing posts with label marijuana. Show all posts

Friday, October 13, 2023

Microstory 1995: Government Grade

Generated by Google Workspace Labs text-to-image AI software
National Commander Apostle Virtue: Director Reese Parsons. Thank you for coming all the way out to the Palace. Ooo, cool tie. I trust you had a pleasant trip.
Director Reese Parsons: Yes, everything is great, Mr. Commander, sir.
Commander Virtue: Mr. Commander sir. Call me Apostle. We’re all friends here.
Special Investigator Eliot: Thank you for seeing us...Apostle.
Apostle: Hey! That’s Commander Virtue to you, or Mister Commander!
Hisham: I’m terribly sorry, sir—
Apostle: Ah, I’m just fuckin’ with ya. Lighten up, Hisham. You gotta be more like this guy. *rubs Reese’s shoulders aggressively*
Reese: *laughing nervously and uncomfortably* Very good, sir. Apostle, sir.
Apostle: *laughing confidently* I can’t tell you how great it is to have another man in your new position. The last administrator really went hog wild appointing all those women. Don’t get me wrong, I love Director Washington to death, but what’s a Commander gotta do to get a little testosterone in the room, you know what I mean?
Reese: I appreciate the appointment. I’m ready to do what I can to protect this country.
Apostle: I don’t care about that. And I don’t make directorship appointments. *mockingly* That’s too much of a unilateral decision. That’s how my lawyers say it. *scoffs* Hey, you two want a drink? You seem like a bourbon guy. I got the best stuff. And Hisham, maybe one of those colorful drinks with the umbrellas? Wadya say?
Hisham: Whatever you think is best, sir.
Apostle: You’ll take the bourbon too.
Hisham: Yes, sir.
Apostle: What did I say about lightening up? That goes for the both of you. Sit down and relax! Why do you think they put couches in the room?
Reese: Thank you, sir. So, I’ve brought the budget, as well as the transcripts from the interviews that Dr. Klement made with the Ochivari. I’ve had my experts draw up some plans to make sure we can insulate our planet as best we can from the alien threat, should a true invasion happen too, but I’m sure you already have people on that.
Apostle: Oh, all that can wait. Let’s just have a chat. Tell me about this bond you have with the convict. Does that mean you buttered her bread?
Reese: Uh, they prefer to be called freepersons. And I’m not sure what you mean.
Apostle: Did you make the devil dance? Did you put the carrot in the salad; hide your friend, the corporal; introduce her to—
Hisham: He means, did you have sex with her?
Apostle: Never. Interrupt me. This isn’t another lighten up joke; this is real. Never interrupt your commanding officer.
Hisham: Very sorry, sir.
Apostle: That’s all right.
Reese: To answer your question, sir, that’s not what the bond is about. They help each other lead productive lives, and keep from backsliding to their old ways.
Apostle: Sounds bor-ring! Let’s do shots. You wanna do shots? I also got government-grade reefer, if you’re more into that. Let’s live. You wanna live?

Thursday, January 18, 2018

Microstory 759: Butts

You’ll be pleased to learn that recreational drugs are not nearly as much of a problem on other worlds as they are here. They do exist, yes, but always under vastly different conditions. Early humans would experiment with what is healthy to consume, and what is not. They test out foods, drink water from new sources, and try out various herbs to see if they hold any medicinal value. Like on Earth, many of these substances end up altering the cognitive abilities of those who tried them. On some worlds, they assimilate these experiences in their spiritual superstitions, believing them to provide them with visions of the future, or some other truths. As civilization forms, however, these outrageous beliefs are always discarded in favor of reality, even while religious devotion persists. As science progresses, professionals begin to study these substances, codify them, and scientifically declare them to be unfit for normal consumption, if that becomes the case. The ones that do end up having some use in the field of medicine are studied further, and modified to be used safely. They are never inhaled as smoke, for the particulates would damage people’s insides, thus unbalancing any benefit they may come with. Side effects, though present in all medicinal drugs, are lessened to the extent possible, with usually even stronger regulations than we have in most countries here. Likewise, alcohol is determined to have little health value, and any positive impact it has on the human body is outweighed by its negative effects, and therefore supplemented by something more responsible. It is simply not worth it. Because of these cultural differences, the drug scene is a deep underworld. It’s harder to find, harder to avoid its consequences, and harder to get out. Few studies have been conducted on the long-term effects of recreational drugs, so recovering addicts find little help by others, even if they decide they want to get better. So that’s one downside. There is less variety on these worlds as well. Alcohol can be made by one fermentant, or another, but people generally don’t come up with interesting variations, or combinations. If you want to get drunk, you take what’s available, and you’re usually unconcerned with taste, or the nuance of ingenuity. On the other hand, this makes some things a bit safer. Nobody would think to add fiberglass to the ingredients for smokable substances, or most of the hundreds of needlessly toxic chemicals found in Earthan cigarettes. The people who make them don’t have those resources, nor the support of society. So, what’s the point of this? Why do I bring this up without tying it into discernible narrative? I’m just letting you know that your dumb way of doing things isn’t the right way...it’s just the one you came up with. I guess that makes me the wild card in this story.

Monday, January 18, 2016

Microstory 236: Perspective Eleven

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Perspective Ten

A few years ago, my father was diagnosed with angle closure glaucoma. As the doctor was prescribing medication, she apparently claimed that he would be better off treating his condition with marijuana. That’s great and all, except that this is a lie. It was relatively recently officially determined that cannabis is no more a productive treatment for his condition than other medications. Unfortunately, my father has a bit of tunnel vision; no pun intended. When you tell him something that he wants to hear, he latches onto it and blocks everything out, even if he’s interpreting the opposite of your intention. I can’t be sure exactly what happened during his conversation with the doctor, but I doubt she legitimately suggested he go this route. Before getting my Master of Business Administration, I earned a bachelor’s degree in biology. The pharmaceutical company I work for has particularly high standards when it comes to hiring their sales representatives. They aren’t just looking for a pretty face willing to seduce a client with ever-imminent promises to make a sale. We are required to actually know what we’re talking about, and to spend a great deal of business hours studying and understanding the products we’re selling. My superiors genuinely believe in our medical treatments, and are interested in making the world a better place, rather than just getting over that bottom line. I’m not saying that they’re saints, but we pride ourselves in selling drugs that work to a certain degree, and have a limited number of side effects. I’ve tried explaining the truth about my father’s condition to him, but he won’t hear it. As far as I know, he’s never wanted to do recreational drugs before, but I get the feeling he just worried about getting in trouble. A lot of people will follow the rules just because they’re the rules, whether they’re likely to be caught or not. When they find a way around it, they take it. I’m not getting anywhere with him over the phone, so I’m flying clear across the country to have a talk with him back home. But first, lunch with an old friend.

Perspective Twelve

Friday, January 15, 2016

Microstory 235: Perspective Ten

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Perspective Nine

My pot dealer is an idiot. I mean, of course he’s an idiot; I don’t know what I should have expected, but it’s pretty irritating having to deal with him. He’s always trying to tell me stories, especially about his FBI agent roommate, but he bungles them up because he can barely remember his own name. I would like to find a new dealer, but this isn’t my world, so I wouldn’t know where to begin. I’ve actually tried to hint to him that I’m interested in taking my business elsewhere, but he lacks the brain capacity to understand subtext, and if I were to just straight up ask him, he would be offended. I don’t know why I should be worried about offending a stoner, but I guess a part of me is afraid that he’ll turn me in, even if it means he gets caught too. He’s that dumb. We live in a state where marijuana is completely illegal, and in a part of the state that’s too far from states where it is allowed. When I was first diagnosed, my doctor prescribed me certain medication, but warned me that it was only going to take me so far. She said that my best option was medical marijuana, but admitted that this put me in a pickle. My worsening condition has made it impossible to continue being driver, and so I had to drop down to an entirely different field. Because of the decrease in pay, I can’t just up and move to somewhere that can serve my needs, especially not since I’m still responsible for taking care of my aunt. And so I’m stuck with this doofus. I think I got lucky with him, though. I’m all right with further decriminalization of marijuana, especially for medical purposes. My problem with it is that everyone wants to smoke, which is disgusting. My dealer has an inventory of edibles which work just as well, and don’t muck up the air around me. And bonus, I get to eat brownies and cookies all day without feeling guilty about gaining a few extra pounds. Why people insist on lighting things on fire and putting them in their mouths is something I’ll never understand. The truth is that they think it’s fun, and the damage to their physiology is apparently irrelevant. I’m not saying that I want it to be me, but I do think if we changed the face of weed legalization to someone legitimate, things might actually change. If it weren’t so terribly obvious that the majority of people in favor of such bills were just wastoids in their parents’ basements, we might have something here. Promote your cause by pointing out the medical and psychological benefits of this medicine, and people who would otherwise be against you might actually start listening. I would give almost anything to not have to interact with this moron again.

Perspective Eleven

Thursday, January 14, 2016

Microstory 234: Perspective Nine

Click here for a list of every perspective.
Perspective Eight

My roommate and best friend is a cop. Well he’s not really a cop but he’s a FBI agent. Now I know what you’re thinking, dude how could you possibly live with a pig given what you do? But he’s cool. We actually started doing weed together when we were kids. I moved on to pursue the business side of things and ever since then he helps me keep me covered. It’s a pretty choice deal. I don’t know how he hasn’t gotten caught yet or I haven’t but I’m not really that worried. I think most of the time he doesn’t deal with dangerous things that much but he come home the other day and tells me about how a guy kidnapped a girl and then she paid a cop to kill him. Or something like that. Like, I don’t really know if I got that right but I know something like that happened. Truth? It’s kind of hard for me to remember things when I’m in my testing phase. Now I don’t normally do drugs myself that’s not my thing. Not anymore at least. But I do have to sample my own product so I know it’s good. But I’ve grown up from being like that. But I feel like it’s, like, my job to foster the young youth ya know? But to make them understand how to smoke properly and safely. But they need to know that they shouldn’t go out driving and stuff because that’s dangerous and I had this friend when I was just getting into the business who was also trying to get the business and he just didn’t realize that he should probably stop getting high so he could keep track of his business affairs and he also didn’t quite never get the fact that he shouldn’t drive and he drove and he died. It was pretty sad I was at his funeral. He had the coolest collection of those cards where the little slave animals live in balls and are only let out so they can fight each other. And all I’m saying is that I don’t get how they live in those balls. Yeah sure it seems like they have some kind of shrinking technology but, like, it doesn’t seem like they use it to shrink anything else? It seems like it would be pretty handy to, ya know, make things go smaller. I was thinking the other day if you could shrink things then you should be a doctor and shrink yourself and then you could go into a patient’s body with a gun and shoot a tumor or something. That would be pretty cool. Have you noticed that the word tumor kind of sounds like a place, like people should live in Tumor, Germany or something. But I guess it would be weird.

Perspective Ten

Sunday, April 26, 2015

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: March 27, 2020

Yesterday, Mateo called his parents and asked that they be in Las Vegas in one year’s time. He spent the rest of the day with his aunt, exploring the city with what little money they had. They got to know each other a little better. She didn’t know where his birth father was, but she suspected that he too was some kind of traveler, and that he was completely out of control of it. It made him feel better to know that the reason Mario wasn’t in his life might be a pretty damn good one. Mateo and Daria gave each other a hug just before midnight. “Oh, dry mouth,” she said. They were departing at the same time. Once he jumped back into the timestream, he walked to the agreed upon motel and knocked on the door. His father, Randall sighed. “Well, we got a vacation out of this.”
He could see his mother, Carol packing behind him. “But it’s time that we leave. If we don’t get back to Topeka in 24 hours, you could be stuck in the middle of nowhere.”
“I wouldn’t want you to have to go through this again. I’m so sorry, mom and dad.”
“Don’t be,” Randall said. “It’s given me an idea. We’ll test it out later.”
Despite the fact that the route was an hour longer, they drove through Arizona and New Mexico to get back to Kansas. They had always had a rule about Utah; in that it was off limits on principle. Ever since Colorado legalized marijuana, it was kept in the same category. They called these locations “loci non grata”. In only a few years, these policies would become impractical, as more and more states were following Colorado’s lead.
Almost exactly halfway into their trip, they were passing through Las Vegas, New Mexico when the car began to smoke. “No, no, no!” Randall cried. There was a loud tapping sound as the old vehicle slowly decelerated to a complete stop. He tried the key, but it wouldn’t turn over.
“Honey, it’s smoking. You can’t drive a smoking car, even if you get it started.”
“Well, I don’t know anything about cars!”
“I think it’s the radiator,” Mateo jumped in. “In movies, they pee on it.”
Randall turned around and gave him the stink eye. “That’s only when they don’t have water.”
“You are not going to spray water all over the engine, not having any clue what you’re doing. We’ll call a tow truck. I don’t even know why you don’t drive an electric car like everyone else.”
Randall ignored her. “Okay, Google...”
“Yes?” came a comforting voice from the aether.
“Would you please send us a tow truck?”
“It’s already on its way. I could also retask a nearby drone to assess the vehicle’s condition before the truck gets here,” the computer suggested.
“That would be great, thanks,” Randall answered.
“No problem, Randall the Man.”
“Randall the Man?” Mateo asked.
“She and I are really close,” his father explained.
Moments later, they could hear a soft buzzing sound, coming from the distance and growing closer. A small drone appeared from the trees and greeted them. Randall stepped out of the truck and lifted the hood. Mateo watched as the drone zipped back and forth, scanning the system and analyzing the data. It even checked the undercarriage. Once it was done, it hovered in front of Randall’s face. “I have begun orders for two parts that you will need to return your vehicle to working condition. I need your authorization for payment.”
Randall began to lift his hand to the drone but Carol stopped him. “Wait, how long is this going to take?”
“The parts will arrive by long-distance drone late tonight. Your car should be ready tomorrow afternoon,” the drone answered.
“Randall...” Carol started.
He placed his thumb on the drone which responded with, “payment accepted.”
“We need these parts, either way,” Randall told his wife. “We’ll rent a car and come back for the truck next week.”
“Would you like me to send the rental car to this location?” the drone asked.
“Make it the cheapest one you have.”
“The cheapest driverless car, please,” Carol corrected.
“Authorization required.”
Randall placed his thumb on the drone again.
“If you would like,” the drone began, “I could play music while you wait.”
“Classical. Please and thank you.”
While they were waiting for the rental car to arrive, Mateo called Leona to ask how things were going. She was liking her classes, but she was swamped. She was taking more than a full schedule of courses, and just could not skip today to see him. She said that she would be waiting for him at the house when he got back, though. He smiled. He had only known her for a few days, but he liked her quite a bit. She had matured so much since he had met her. His parents were about the same as they always had been, and he hadn’t kept in touch with most of his friends. Seeing the changes a young adult goes through over the years in such a short period of time was phenomenal and bizarre. It was like a four dimensional television series. But even that took longer to experience.
It was exciting to be riding in his first driverless car. The seats were faced towards each other, as there was no need to be at the wheel. Mateo was given the whole back seat where he was able to sleep. When he woke up later, he found his parents to be napping. That was just awesome. Why his father refused to move with the times and own one of these himself was something he didn’t understand. They would later tell him that the concept of owning one’s own car was going out of style anyway. Many people preferred to inform an app on their phone that they were in need of getting to a location, and a car would just come get them. If the prospect wasn’t rendered meaningless by his condition, Mateo wasn’t sure he would like that. The freedom of having his own possessions made too much sense to him.
Even with their delays, they got back to the safety of their home by midnight. Leona was cooking them a midnight snack of buttered noodles. His favorite. Mateo was brushing his teeth when he remembered what his father had said earlier. He went back downstairs. “You said you wanted to try something.”
He looked at his watch. “Oh, yeah. It’s almost time.”
“What is it?”
“Say goodbye to your mother and your...Leona.”
After that was done, it was nearly time. Randall timed it out, then held his son in a tight embrace. “I’m going to try to hold you down. If that doesn’t work, maybe I’ll get to go with you.”
“I don’t think that’s going to work,” Mateo said.
“It worked with you and your aunt,” Leona said.
“It just doesn’t...” he tried to find the words. “It doesn’t feel the same. When I jumped to Vegas with her, it felt much different than my jumps. It was...more forceful, more jarring.”
“Well I’m going to try it,” Randall said. “If it doesn’t work, then fine. What’s the worse that could happen?”
A year later, Mateo learned the answer to that question. His father had succeeded in neither keeping him from jumping, nor jumping with him. He had, however, suffered a heart attack, and died.