Now I don’t want to get off on a rant here, but America’s war on drugs has turned out to be as fruitless as Pavarotti’s diet.

We seem to be fighting this multi-front campaign with all the cool-headed expertise of the Three Stooges fixing a leaky faucet... I mean, when you think about it, who really is fighting this supposed war on drugs? Let’s face it folks, we have a couple of McHale’s Navy boats, four dogs who got tired of sniffing other dogs asses and that commercial with the eggs. And that is it, okay? Its as easy to get drugs in present day America as it is to get elected Mayor of Washington, D.C. As a matter of fact, its exactly as easy.

The war on drugs is nothing more than a syringe full of platitudes that politicians try to mainline into the public’s happy vein to keep us compliant. If we had any actual commitment, you’d be able to look at a map and see a smoking hole where Columbia once was. Short of that, the war on drugs has failed. Oh wait, I take that back. My kid got thrown out of school this week because they caught him with some menthol flavored Ricolas.

The war on drugs quite frankly is a farce, and here’s why. Getting high is hardwired into our DNA. It’s a basic human need, right up there with food, clothing and Seinfeld. Ever since primitive man first looked around the crude lean-to he’d built and thought "Man, I need an escape from this Arthur C. Clark shit-hole", then loaded some Mastadon dung into bong-a-saurus and proceeded to get so swacked that he would order a slab of ribs that could literally tip his car over, people have used any and all means at their disposal to alter their perception of reality.

Look, we can’t just point our fingers at the drug-producing nations and whine about their lawlessness and disregard for human life, because we’re inextricably entwined with them in a lock-step tango of supply and demand. We comprise 5% of the planet’s population and consume 50% of the planet’s illicit drugs. I got that off the liner notes for Yes songs. You know, we may complain about the neighbors, but we’re rummaging through their medicine cabinet like Gary Busey’s babysitter every chance we get. We need to get the mirror off the coffee table and take a long hard look at ourselves without giggling and realize that our attitude towards drugs is more conflicted than Woody Allen at a family reunion.

Now, I myself don’t do drugs, because as I grew older I began to discover that they are not nearly powerful enough to quell my inner pain. But even I believe that at the very least, marijuana should be available to those who need it for medical reasons. And no, going to see the director’s cut of Blade Runner is not a medical reason. Showgirls, maybe.

Look, the role of the government is to protect us from other nations and other people, the government has no business protecting me from me. But we refuse to accept that you can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved. I’ve come to the realization that America doesn’t have a drug problem, some Americans do. And it is their personal responsibility to fix it, not mine. Their drug problem only becomes my drug problem when they operate a moving vehicle, try to sell drugs to a minor, or corner me at a party and try to explain to me who really killed Bruce Lee. If a fully grown adult in reasonable control of his faculties wants to plunge a syringe full of lighter fluid into his urethra and piss fire, as long as he does it in the privacy of his own asbestos bathroom, I will flick the Bic. .... Let’s face it folks, drugs aren’t going anywhere in America, any substance that helps ugly guys get laid is here to stay. Of course, that’s just my opinion, I could be wrong.


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