Visions in a Park
At least eight states will have marijuana legalization laws on their ballots this November. California, Nevada, Arizona, Massachusetts, and Maine will be voting for or against legalizing weed for recreational use. And Missouri, Arkansas, and Florida will attempt to legalize pot for medical purposes. Way to try to go forward, Bible Belt!
I’m from Cali, and wasn’t sure which way to vote on this. And then my wife and I visited Capitol Reefer National Park. While at this enchanted park I saw several visions, and these revelations convinced me of the wisdom of legalizing Pakaloco.
In my first vision, a great white president rose before me. He was enwreathed in a mysterious, sweet-smelling smoke. Although he seemed happy in this smoke, he was holding his breath and refusing to inhale it. He introduced himself to me as the Great Clinton. In a raspy voice he proclaimed that in the capitol there are many reefers. He stated that this park was named in honor of all the great leaders of our nation who have secretly toked on the sacred herb of Mary Jane. And then he disappeared into a bush.
In my next vision, a great black president emerged from a bush, eating macaroni and cheese. Magic smoke swirled about his serene face, and he could be seen to breathe deeply of it. He fixed his gaze on me, then uttered, “There’s a reason why I am known as the Great No-Drama Obama. Reflect on it, man.” Then he sprinkled some salt and pepper on his macaroni and faded away.
Around 4:20 in the afternoon a third vision appeared. An older blonde lady in a pants suit was mowing the grass. She was working hard, and huffing and puffing like a dragon. Then she stopped and sparked up a conversation with me. She told me she was up against the stem, and asked if I belonged to the Tea Party. I told her no, and she said, “Well you win a gold star for that.” Then she pulled out a couple of pocket rockets and handed one to me. We torched up while she asked if I had ever seen the Northern Lights.
Yes I had, a few times, I revealed. “In fact, I belong to Triple A, so I have no problem driving up there.”
She got the wind of what I was saying, then got the good giggles. Finally she asked, “Do you know who I am?”
“Sweet Lucy!” I replied, “No, who?”
Her eyes drooped and got dewy and her face went solemn. “I have come from the Great Clinton,” she muttered in ghostly fashion. “And I shall be the new Great Clinton. I am going to leave the great Trump in a ditch, after he crashes the speedboat he’s on.
“And after I become the new Great Clinton, I shall make it possible for all Americans to visit this beautiful park.” She spread her arms out wide, gesturing to the desert hills all around her. “Yes, when I achieve my greatness, no one shall be denied entry. The leaders of our country shall no longer bogart this place for themselves. It shall be shared with everyone, and all people will be allowed to toke the sweet air, admire the red buds, and wake and bake beneath the trees.”
These words were as refreshing to me as a leaf salad. I recalled how so many people had to sneak into this park, and how some of them went to jail for a very long time, after being caught trespassing. I suddenly got very excited. She had won me over. I asked the aspiring new Great Clinton what I could do to help her.
She stared at me sternly and murmured, “Vote to legalize ganja.” And then a strong breeze lifted her up, with her sleeves and pant legs flapping enthusiastically, and she blew away in a vortex of golden leaves.