Why I Smoke Weed

My friend and I were bored. We were often bored, and that day in August of 1997 was no different.

I had just graduated High School a couple months before, and my best friend (Joe M. RIP 1978-2005) still had a year to go. I was driving my mom's car around our town with Joe riding shotgun; as usual we were looking for trouble to get into.

But we didn't find trouble. Instead, Joe spoke those magical words, "Hey dude, you want to smoke some weed?"

In the space of two seconds I flashed on all the bad things I had heard about weed, from many different people. Then, "Hell yeah, man."

Joe knew a dude, so we went to dude's house and scored our ganja, or whatever the hell we called it back then. We toked up, and after a while I was disappointed. Whatever high was, I wasn't it. But that story blows (and was a one time thing, except that time I bought sage in a bag and had to kick the crap out of another dude).

Fast forward to the next night. I don't really remember if it was the same stuff, but I remember being STONED! Holy sweet Jesus I was baked. Standing in the parking lot of Joe's apartment complex, staring at the streetlights, thinking how awesome this was.

It took me a couple years to become a "regular" smoker. And through it all, I've never quit, or really had the urge to. I've been pulled over 9 times while either smoking or possessing weed. I spent a night in jail, and had to take a dump in front of eight other dudes and wipe with little napkins. I've had U.S. Marshals search my house and take my girlfriend to jail on an unrelated warrant.

I've walked through the projects on dozens of occasions to buy weed, a big white dude (6'4, 270) being asked by even bigger black dudes what he's doing there. Cops driving by, knowing exactly what I'm doing there. I've beaten the hell out of drug dealers for trying to screw me over. I've been screwed by dealers I have yet to get a hold of, and will probably never see again.

So why? Why go through it all? Well, obvious point number one, the high. Besides that, it not only helps my chronic stomach pain tremendously, but makes me feel better in every conceivable way. The only thing it's never done is pull me out of a deep depression, but nothing is perfect. It takes away anxiety, stress, fear, and anger. It slows my thoughts to a manageable pace and crystallizes them.

But above and beyond all that, here is why I won't quit: there is no good reason to. I've heard all the arguments and studied them in detail. They all boil down to other people's wish that I don't smoke. Well sorry, but F U "other people." Your wishes and wants are not my commands. I am a grown man who will rise or fall on my own merits, and as long as I am not infringing on the rights of another, you will leave me in peace.

The paragraphs above where I detail all I've went through to smoke marijuana have one thing in common; they all stem from the fact that marijuana continues to be deemed illegal by righteous hypocrites, most of whom have smoked it themselves.

I love Mary Jane. She has been there for me when no one else was. A dozen years and going strong. Why would I abandon her?

You can find me at facebook.com/joseph.klare and twitter.com/stonerjesus420