A Life Without Fear


A Life Without Fear

Today I've had a hard day in the fields: my new Cannabis harvester had arrived, barely in time and after three acres it had ceased to work, parts of it clogged by the sticky resin that was the goal of my dreams. The reason why my dreams ever had a chance to come true was the landslide victory of the “GI 4 Liberty” Party in the 2008 elections. After a series of international disasters, GIs returning from lost wars had founded a national movement and won every major election nationwide. Our new president, ironically a man named John M. Rambeau, had repealed almost a quarter of a million unconstitutional laws, most of them unknown to the broad public. He had also withdrawn all troops from overseas and caused a terrific wave of unemployment in organized crime.
The latter was the reason for my being in the Cannabisbiz. Two years ago, my father had almost had to file for bankruptcy. Cereals, traditionally being overproduced and subsidized, did not sell any longer for profitable prices, so he had either to sell our farm or try something new. I saw a chance, when Bristol-Myers Squibb announced to produce medical Hashish and I signed a contract to produce crude resin for them. They gave me an interest-free loan to start up and it worked out perfectly. My first harvest surpassed all expectations, and with my second, I would be able to pay back the loan prematurely.
After I had cleaned my harvester, I decided to call it a day and drove home. My heart leaped almost out of my shirt, when I saw a SUV in my driveway, marked “IRA“ The new name for “Internal Revenue Agency“. I remembered the old proverb that a politician lies as soon as his lips were moving, so I expected the worst.
Ma had let them in and they greeted me in the kitchen, where Ma had served them coffee and home-baked bread. They were two nice ladies with laptop computers and lots of paperware spread around their dishes.
Hell, I would not have treated them so nicely, I thought, but they politely introduced themselves as agents for Public Relations and Exemption Affairs, which made me as curious as it made Ma.
“Mr. Becker, we are not here to deprive you of any property as it was a long and sad tradition of the IRS. Quite to the contrary, our job is to tell you, that you as a producer of essential goods are tax exempt in every aspect of your enterprise. Food, drugs, transportation, self-defense, scientific research, art, general service, manufacture and maintenance are considered essential and are absolutely tax exempt. You see, that covers practically everything you can do, so you won't have to pay taxes any more.“
“So much I have understood. But what gives me the honor of your giving me a house call?“
“Mr. Becker, as our government has given up all coercive taxes, it did not give up certain functions, like federal coordination of traffic and foreign policy. Our task is to collect voluntary contributions, to raise funds in order to help our government to fulfill its tasks.“
“Twenty percent of which could be done cheaper and more efficient by private enterprise and 70 percent of which should not be done at all, as far as I understand...“
“That is the current position of our administration, but even the liquidation of an overgrown government needs to be paid. So we are collecting contributions which entitle you to cash in on the revenue raised by the auctions of former government property. What we have to offer to you is a Contribution Certificate for ten thousand Dollars, backed up by ten acres of former government land on the Dollar, just at the border of your property.“
“You don't deal with small change do you? That's half the county up to the army base.“
“Not quite half the county, but the former military base is included.“
Ma dropped a plate, I was speechless. Dad peeped into the kitchen, curious to learn the reason why the plate had been smashed.
“Dad, for ten grand we can buy half the county!“
“Where's the roach?“
“What roach, sir?“ one of the girls asked.
“What roach, in every gift from the government there is a f*****g roach in the enchilada.“
“Well, this time it's no ace up our sleeve. President Rambeau will make good for as many atrocities his predecessors accumulated as possible. You folks have paid fortunes in unnecessary or even illegal taxation, so he wants to terminate this habit. You can either finance sales or directly claim the land. In the latter case, the ten thousand Bucks must be paid at once.“
“I want to see a contract.“ Dad seemed to be serious.
“Here's the paperwork for both ways.“ She produced two legal-sized sheets of paper.“
“That's all?“ Dad did not really hate government, but was far from trusting the 'gang' as he usually called it.
“Yes, it is a contract directly with the president, so we don't need much red tape for that.“
“David, get my checkbook. You're doing fine as a farmer and you'll deserve this, I am sure. I'll sign for ten grand. It's our reserve money, but I bet I could do worse than buy so much land for it.“
Now it was time for the birds to build a nest in my own mouth.
The deal was done, the girls waved good-bye from their car and set off in a dust cloud. My dust cloud from now on.
“David, now I can die in peace. I hope I don't do that today or tomorrow, but I can't tell you what America has gone through to see this day dawning. You'll be the first generation to live the American dream with eyes open.“
The phone interrupted our stand up party. The caller was Jackie O'Brien, an old friend of Dad and a kind of oversized brother to me. He had served a time in Viet Nam and came back with one leg and a half and a couple of napalm burnings which have been torturing him till today. He asked for me and dad handed me the phone.
“Hya, Dave, how's the harvest? Any results?“
“Results galore and a reason to celebrate something. Get your three quarters of an ass over here ASAP.“
“Mind if I take Thi Lan with me?“
“I would whip your burnings if you didn't, you know.“
He had married a nice lady over in Viet Nam. They were a beautiful contrast: He was 6'7“ and had broad shoulders, fiery red hair and a full beard, unkempt since the war, she was mere 5' tall, pretty with long black hair and had preserved a slender figure even though they had two children, both out of home and on their own. They were running a small restaurant where Thi Lan served exotic food of various origins. Jackie's health had suffered from the war and could not stand or sit too long due to his painful burnings which, even after forty-odd years would not heal.
He would use Cannabis as a pain killers, after the other drugs would give nothing but stomach ulcers to him, and the only thing that had kept him from prison was his bad health.
He often would say that the Viet Nam war would be over for him on the very day when he could legally kill his pain with something that would do the job.
They arrived with tires smoking and his lovely wife hauled him out of his special seat. He was sometimes joking that he would be better off with horses, weren't it for the fact that he liked horses too much.
Ma was meanwhile busy in the kitchen while Dad and I briefed our guests about the land deal and my harvest.
“Got a sample?“ Jackie was interested.
“Sure, half a pound enough for the evening?“ I produced a few large lumps of the sticky resin I had scratched off my new harvester.
He crumbled a few grains into his tobacco, rolled a cigarette, lit it and started coughing.
“Hell, did you boost it or add steroids? That is the strongest shit I ever got!“
He relaxed visibly.
“No additives, not even fertilizer. Ain't that difficult to grow a weed here. Just let it grow in freedom!“
As if on command, we all started to sing his favorite song:
“Let the grasses grow and the waters flow
In a free and easy way...“
Hey, life can be good when you can live it your own way!

Edited 0407 12:21 um die bösesten Übertragungsfehler zu entfernen MDS


"... but give me enough of the rare old stuff that's made near Galway Bay!"

Das liest sich einfach so weg und dann habe ich mich gefragt: was, schon zu Ende?
Amüsant, aber auch mit ernsten Komponenten durchsetzt, dein Ausblick in die Zukunft.
Zu der Cannabis-Thematik sag ich lieber nichts. ;)
Aber für so ganz falsch halte ich den Ansatz in deiner Geschichte gar nicht.

Und John M. Rambeau for president...Herrlich!

Liebe Grüße,

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