Since Thursday of last week the dope hunting choppers, fully equipped with soldiers, ion detecting devices and fully automatic weapons have buzzed my property four times. I'm starting to feel like an Iraqi citizen in the war zone. This is getting really close to harassment.
It should be obvious, even to a zygote, that I would not grow weed on my own property or anywhere nearby. DOH! I wasn't in 2002 when these fly overs started, haven't in any subsequent years and am not this year. I admit to having an affinity for the green, leafy, plant material and it's true that I wish fervently that I could plant it along with my tomatoes, peas and corn....but I can't. And haven't. And won't until doing so no longer involves life-long torture and years of same sex rape in a cage all courtesy of our good old American government. Gawd bless Americuh! Land of the Free!
So, let's review. I was not growing marijuana plants in 2002 when the first flyover took place that started me on the road to politics. I haven't, in any years since, grown marijuana plants. Not even that year while I was in Colombia, South America, and my husband mooned your sorry asses while you were hovering a hair above that big pine tree that now makes up the corner of the dog pen. You know the tree I'm talking about. Hell, by now you know every speck of dirt and blade of grass on my place. I wasn't growing them last Thursday when you first flew over, last Friday the second time you flew over, last Saturday the third time you flew over nor am I growing them today. I won't be growing them tomorrow or the next day either in case you were planning to fly me again.
Please put your helicopters to use hunting children who are the subjects of Amber Alerts and put the national guard to good use by having them eradicate Kudzu, which is a true menace to our society.
All of this does sort of put me in a Copperhead Road kind of mood though.
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