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A Canny Christmas Carol- Part II


John Ashcroft slowly straightened in his chair and opened his eyes. “What a horrible dream”, he said out loud. The room looked normal and John took a sip of his now cold tea. Everything seemed normal and he was awake but there was a shuffling sound behind him. Ashcroft turned in the chair to peer into the gloom behind him and there stood a stooped figure with fleshy jowls dressed in an ill fitting suit. It was President Nixon.


“Thank God it’s you Mr. President, I’ve been terrorized by a marijuana smoking black man and forced to re-live my childhood”, exclaimed Ashcroft. “You of all people know how terrible that stuff pot stuff is, I mean you’re the one that alerted us that marijuana was a plot of Jewish psychiatrists”.


“That may be my boy but since they are the chosen people maybe we need to listen to what they have to say”, intoned Nixon. “Besides John, when I made that silly statement I was really loaded on Thorazine. You know how the pressures of office can get to a guy”. “I was a depressed, anxious, and paranoid person even for a President”, declared Nixon. “If I’d had medical marijuana I just might have been able to laugh Watergate off and finished my term but no I had to stay doped and liquored up. Dumb mistake, John”. “Dumb mistake”.



“I am the Ghost of Christmas Present, General and there’s something we need to go see.”


“Oh no, Mr. President, I just couldn’t stand another trip”, begged Ashcroft. Nixon took the Attorney General by the hand and whispered into his ear, “When you eat brownies you are going to take some trips. That’s the way it is. If you can’t do the time then don’t eat de kind”. Once again Ashcroft was taken by the hand and flew off through the window into the dark Washington night.


They seemed to fly forever but gradually they came down through the mist and clouds to a beautiful mountain garden in the hills above Santa Cruz. Ashcroft could see hundreds of tall green marijuana bushes growing in neat wide rows tended by old people in wheel chairs. “This is the WAMM medical garden Mr. Attorney General. You know the place where terminally ill folks grow their own medicine and support one another in their final illness”, declared Nixon. “They look very happy for sick people”, said Ashcroft.


As the two watched, black SUV’s arrived at the garden and flak jacketed DEA agents tumbled out with automatic weapons at the ready. They drove right through the garden ordering the patients out of their wheel chairs and down on the cold ground.


“What are they doing Dick?” What’s going on here?”


“They’re following your orders Mr. Attorney General”, stated Nixon matter of factly while teams of agents handcuffed the patients to their wheel chairs and cut down the plants they had been tending. Many of the patients were crying while others tried to block the agents from taking their medicine. “But I thought all of that medical marijuana stuff was just a smoke screen for tie-dyed hippies”, shouted Ashcroft.


“Well see that old lady shackled to her chair over by the porch? The one with cancer and painfully thin? Well, she’s has a tie-dyed shawl. Does that count, John?” As the agents piled the years medicine into their vans the patients wondered out loud what they were to do.


“Oh Dick, they are going to hate me aren’t they?” Ashcroft said softly. “Well, John, I had the secret bombing and invasion of Cambodia to deal with and you’ll have to live with the massacre in Santa Cruz”, stated Nixon. “Not everyone is going to hate you but they will wonder why you didn’t protect the sick people from the bad guys instead of being the bad guy yourself.”


“You see John, you have to answer that age old question, Assuming you’re not now a son of a bitch, will you know if you become one?”


“Well, I just don’t know Mr. President. How could I know?” declared Ashcroft. As the pair looked out at the ruins of the hospice garden and the desperate patients Nixon couldn’t help but say, “Well John I think the answer is pretty darn clear. Do you want to pick up some buds before we fly back?”


“No Dick, no. That green stuff is nothing but trouble. Pretty soon I’m going to need it myself”.


“Truer words were never before spoken General. Let’s go, it’s going to be a long night.”


Ashcroft was so upset he didn’t even remember the trip back but simply found himself back in his study. Damn that Crotchless, he thought, I’ll bet he’s the one who slipped me that brownie. Maybe, just maybe, there’s something to this deal about medical marijuana but then again, he thought, you have to suffer to grow. It was getting very hard to think. The room seemed to swirl about him and he drifted off inexorably back into a deep and troubled sleep….


(End of Part II)


Go to Part I    Go to Part III



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