Deal With This!

SATURDAY, JANUARY 14, 2012                                               6:37 P.M. E.S.T.
SORTIE 4 OF THE DAY  
PILOT F. Irish S/A    
EQUIPMENT Commodore Barry   


ENTRY 1


     Long, long start to this year. Found out what it was like to have none of the modern conveniences I that take for granted, and it sucks. Got a new designated dealer, worked through a hook-up/connect, and very pleased. B. Cents and his blunt fucked me up good, and I got to see the hottest little number I know for a short bit. So much was discussed marijuana-wise in the past twenty-four hour period that I've gotta stop, take a hit, and think about the thoughts I wanted to touch on.

HIT! x2

Let's just go with a simple subject, one that has been a major concern for a bit: Dealers. I don't know of a single dealer that I would consider a Stoner, and mind you, dealer does not mean a friend you get pot off of and shoot the shit with for the rest of the night, but an acquaintance of a strictly business nature. Let's face it, unless you've been going to the dude for a good bit, or you have a generally great report (reputation), most dealers are just looking to get your money, give you whatever they have, and be on their way. Unless they were exceptional businessmen (I was blessed with that type of dealer at college), or like minded individuals, I don't think I have ever had a dealer I would trust.

HIT!

     Dice...that was the 'name' of the first dealer I got a bad vibe about. We (J. Rags, Cate Hills, and I) were in the middle of a pretty bad drought, finished up our resin, and decided, at 4:07 A.M.. to go for a walk. We're walking around, talking about all the good bud we had had, how we missed it so tremendously  much, and how we needed to get more ASAP. And as we are walking, smoking cigs, this skinny white dude rolls up on a bike.
"Can I buy a smoke off ya?"
"Just have one," I offered him a smoke, and he continued our conversation.
"What're you three doing walking around at this hour?"
"Outta trees to burn," J. Rags knew more of the lingo than I at the time.
"I have some, but I didn't bring it out cause I figured it was kinda late for that. [**At a certain point in the evening, you reach the point of no return...calls. Pot dealers go to bed or some shit.] How much are you looking for?"
After getting the whole deal squared away, we made it the next morning. He rode up on his bike, made a quick exchange, looked around shadily, then rode off. I was baffled. He made it look like he was dealing meth or something (he may have, cause he did hint to the fact that he dealt everything and anything), in fact, I would kinda say that may have been the first time I felt like I was a criminal. I was oblivious to the idea that what I was doing was wrong, and I do still fervently believe that marijuana is not the devil that my government believes it is. But Dice was not the last dealer who had the ability to make pot a bad thing.
     I found a dedicated dealer back home, about a year after I returned. My 'own' dude with whom I dealt exclusively (I prefer this kind of situation, as it allows for a better working relationship between dealer and stoner). After many months of great service, the dude switched right around. I had to go out of my way to get a hold of him, and even further to get bud. Then he started short changing me, giving me less bud, or charging more using some bullshit excuse to validate his claim. The last straw came when he shorted me half of my order, 3/8 instead of 3/4, and this came AFTER he alerted me to a price hike. I was so agitated that I called him up to talk to him immediately. I got his voice mail, which further infuriated me. Let's just say he refused to deal to me, or be anywhere in the area if I was around. Last I heard he moved away, and frankly good riddance. Finally, a more recent dealer of mine has begun to fill my bags with mostly stems and seeds, primarily handing me half shake, and low ass quality at that. He is ten in the red cause he never had the damn five dollars change too. People like that should not be providing me with marijuana, especially since it isn't a  hobby that I dabble in every weekend.

HIT!

     The issue lies in the fact that marijuana is illegal where I live. The penalties of getting caught selling are extremely high as well. No one wants to go to jail, especially Stoners. What I do is a victimless crime, something that doesn't harm anyone else. Dealers are at a higher risk of committing crimes that result in victims, or being associated with individuals who do, just because of the nature of what was created as a result of the War on Drugs. Even then, dealers create victims out of their own clients, safe behind the curtain of mutual knowledge. I can't blow a whistle on a dealer who is horrendous, and steals from me. I would effectively implicate myself in the criminal process. I can't take that dealer down without going down myself. A Catch 22, one that favors the actual criminal.

HIT!

     There's a lot of fucked up shit that must be dealt with to find what I call medicine, and with the stroke of a pen, all of the danger and criminal elements would be wiped from the culture. One pen, one signature, a future that may better serve our nation than any other choice we may have.