Frances Freakout
The remnants of Hurricane Frances finally reached us here in Canada in the middle of the night last night, and I awoke this morning to drizzly rain and my marijuana plant out on the porch bent over in it’s pot like one of those token windswept palm trees you see in those on-location weather reports. So here I am at 7:30am, out in the rain in my underwear lashing down my beloved plant like a desperate sailor battening down the hatches of his doomed vessel. That’s about as close as I EVER want to get to a natural disaster!
If anything had happened to that plant I would have been instantly transformed into one of those disaster stricken Hurricane victims being interviewed outside their devastated homes, although inevitably I wouldn’t be taking it nearly as gracefully. In fact, I would be taking in any way other than in stride. No sir, there would be no positive glass-is-half-full attitudes from me!
“I just thank God that none of us were seriously hurt and that we’re all alive. So now we can begin the process of rebuilding our lives and getting back on track”.
Horseshit! I’d be on my hands and knees over my broken plant balling and screaming like a journeying pilgrim, at long last returning to the sacred Jerusalem Wailing Wall.
“Why, Oh Lord? Why have you forsaken me? From now on, I have NO God!”
The people whose rooftops are currently in the next county and whose cars are lodged in treetops, would be gently consoling me and attempting to bring me back from the brink of hysteria.
“All my precious weed…GONE! My life is over!”
I’d be a field journalist’s wet dream come true. I’d rival any distraught mother mourning the loss of her last son to the horrors of war any day! CNN would be preempting programs just to run the footage of my pathetic victimized ass.
If anything had happened to that plant I would have been instantly transformed into one of those disaster stricken Hurricane victims being interviewed outside their devastated homes, although inevitably I wouldn’t be taking it nearly as gracefully. In fact, I would be taking in any way other than in stride. No sir, there would be no positive glass-is-half-full attitudes from me!
“I just thank God that none of us were seriously hurt and that we’re all alive. So now we can begin the process of rebuilding our lives and getting back on track”.
Horseshit! I’d be on my hands and knees over my broken plant balling and screaming like a journeying pilgrim, at long last returning to the sacred Jerusalem Wailing Wall.
“Why, Oh Lord? Why have you forsaken me? From now on, I have NO God!”
The people whose rooftops are currently in the next county and whose cars are lodged in treetops, would be gently consoling me and attempting to bring me back from the brink of hysteria.
“All my precious weed…GONE! My life is over!”
I’d be a field journalist’s wet dream come true. I’d rival any distraught mother mourning the loss of her last son to the horrors of war any day! CNN would be preempting programs just to run the footage of my pathetic victimized ass.
posted by crazytigerrabbitman at
6:06 PM
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