Bear with me hear, I'm making a point...
I wrote a letter to all of three of Kentucky's senators about my CSA vs. the state of Kentucky raiding my home and every inch of my privacy because I was growing mj on my property. In response to me perpetrating a victimless crime over a substance made illegal with (in the classic definition of the word) propaganda, the state of Kentucky saw fit to send four men in two cars and a fucking helicopter over my house. They then went literally through every drawer, nook and cranny in my house. Then they charged me with a felony and compelled me to plead guilty with falsified evidence of hand-scales that weren't at my house. (This so I was sure to look like a dealer; to which my lawyer, an ex-state prosecutor, said to me, 'If they say they found scales then they found scales and there's nothing we can do about that.' Being an ex-state prosecutor I later deduced that he was on the other side of this at one point and knew that falsified evidence flew just fine in the Kentucky courts.) Then, after having all of my privacy invaded by these four fucking classic single-cell meathead organisms known as cops, I got asked about all of the porn and aberrant sexuality stuff in my house by a neighbor who had read about it in a now-defunct local "newspaper" that was just about crime. So, basically, these four fucking sack of shit meathead cop-bullies took my private life that they knew all about because they got to raid my house over a victimless crime made criminal with propaganda 70 years ago and they told it to some reporter. These "LAW" men, hafuckingha...
Now, compare that to when:
I called the Crimes Against Children Unit of this exact same police force, the Louisville-Metro P.D. I called the CACU a couple years after realizing my abuse and when I worked around to the point that getting justice became predominant in my thoughts. On April 26, 2007, with a whole lot of fucking psychological effort, I called the CACU and got... drum roll please... a fucking answering machine!!!!!!!! I left a message and waited and waited and waited... So, TWO WEEKS LATER, on March 9, 2007, when I had not heard back from them, I called the CACU again. I got a real live person this time! So I say, "Yeah, I called you all on the 26th last month and I haven't heard back and-" That's when the cunt on the phone cuts me off to YELL AT ME, "We get two thousand calls a month!" To say I was stunned would be to abuse that word. I was quite literally floored into utter submission. I found myself meekly agreeing to be forwarded to Lieutenant Jackassorsomething. So I was forwarded and the line rang and rang and rang and then... drum roll please... an answering machine picked up! I left my message and I'm still waiting for that call back.
When I wrote to Kentucky's three senators about the disparate experience of being a perpetrator of a victimless crime vs. being a victim of as heinous of a crime as there is short of murder, the only one who responded was Mitch McConnell with a rambling incoherent issue-dodging fatuity. The other two probably figured they'd have to come up some equally stupid rationalization and issue dodging crap and they just didn't respond. (Kind of like the Crimes Against Children Unit of the Louisville-Metro Police Department.)
So, until someone wants to stand in front of me and have the balls to say, "Hey, child sexual abuse is no big deal to me but smoking pot, well, I think I should get to raid your home, invade your privacy, expose your privacy to the public, take away your voting rights and saddle you with a $130,000 tax bill for that", then I say to anyone who has a problem with me smoking pot that they can go XXXX themselves.
Also, I should say that I nearly drank myself to death in my twenties with Jim Beam but I haven't had a drop of alcohol in over 11 years. Of course, I can drive to half a dozen places within a mile of my home and get as much alcohol as I like and drink as much as I like and "society" doesn't deem this as illegal: i.e. feel like a shameful outlaw who belongs in the shadows if not in handcuffs. (Until pot is legal, I don't even listen to the 'it makes me feel paranoid' comments. Yes, you're breaking the law! Of course, you feel paranoid.)
Finally, I want to say, if you decide I'm a pothead because I smoke pot, know this: I've written three novels, a play, and countless great poems. I'm the second most well-read person I know. I make gorgeous handmade furniture. I make handmade wooden cover books of my own design. I do leather work. I make beautiful canes with inlay and leather work from tree limbs. And I'm a damn good cook. I also eat really well and I am a whole five pounds heavier than when I graduated high school in 1988. (Almost to the letter, all of my life's problem can be linked to my CSA. Outside of the fallout/issues of my abuse, my life is pretty good.)
But, of course, do as you like and don't ever do anything because of what other's say/do. Don't smoke if you don't want to smoke. It doesn't make you cool or any of that BS. Like everything, look inside yourself for the answer to what is right/wrong for you and then trust yourself. Peace.
The whole world changes in a single bloom- Me in a poem