Most nights, I lie on my bed staring up at the ceiling. Dreams spew like smoke from my mind as the THC comforts the void of my thoughts. Another blunt seems far out, but far from reach – my brain cells are now more capable of travel than the body, their poisoned receptacle. What if I offered to smoke out A.S.? Would we conquer the problem then? First, I needed to get one of those water bottles Michael Vick used for toting his purps around town in – another victim of the blatantly absurd restrictions choking marijuana’s positive benefits from the American population. Approaching this fork in my mind’s highway, I usually merge to my dreams, but not tonight. Tonight, I’m left wishing that someday stoners won’t have to act like nerf-herding smugglers in their eternal adventure to stay high.

I’d like to thank the NORML crew for their efforts in hosting the third annual Joint Rolling Contest coming up this Saturday in Anisq’ Oyo’ Park. Their determination to enlighten the ignorant is beyond praiseworthy, and now I’ve got an excuse to roll outdoors with my brethren. Don’t worry, A.S., I won’t skip you guys in the rotation, whatever your intentions were in funding the event. But forget the benefits of taxing what could become California’s largest cash crop. The social advantages that would arise from the legalization of marijuana are far more substantial to America’s collective frame of mind. And I really don’t want the government profiting from my dreams, especially the country’s law enforcement. Are we supposed to forget the years of persecution, forget the bongs they shattered in the fight? At least A.S. is funding my afternoon entertainment, though. I’ll still be hungover at noon, but I promise not to forget to pass the primo their way – unless the party gets busted by some super troopers, but then again, this isn’t Vermont.

I met a girl from Vermont the other day. Nice, tiny girl, great conversation, until, me being me, I ask her if she likes weed. I was expecting her to say no – it was little more than a hunch. Yet after my modest question clanked around in her eardrums, she just stared at me. If anybody had entered the room at this stage in our conversation, it would have seemed like I had asked her to strip bare-ass and dance pornographically on the edge of her father’s gravestone. I didn’t understand. It seemed a reasonable question, like asking what perfume she wore or whether she enjoyed listening to Robert Johnson’s music. I saw hatred in her eyes, eyes that didn’t understand.

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, Yoda said that “fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate and hate leads to suffering.” Well, I don’t know too many stoners who would wield a light saber in ignorance’s name, especially ones that wouldn’t first try to light a snapper with the Jedi’s sword. I still can’t understand why our peace of mind fosters the ignorant hatred towards us, but I realize that that little green Henson creation was right. Found something he did. Even if Master Yoda didn’t know the difference between his Master Kush or the fresh Trainwreck, his words of wisdom clearly give credence to a joint rolling revival.

In a time when the future of our inalienable freedom is shrouded in smoke, the Joint Rolling Contest may serve as a fundraiser for the legalization of marijuana, but more importantly it brings the community together to smoke out ignorance while we still have a chance.