Revenge of the Pothead Ch. 01-02

Chapter 1

My debt to society, the sons of bitches called it. Did I borrow the pot or somehow damage my neighbors by using it? What a load of horseshit! I got my ass busted by DEA thugs, arrested, charged, tried, convicted, and sentenced to LIFE in a federal prison for "trafficking in narcotics". As if that stuff was for anything but my own personal use. I was just smart enough to stash it up (or dumb enough, in hindsight) so that I wouldn't risk my freedom on each buy.

Look, I enjoy pot. That's just a fact. It was bad enough that the stupid Congress had to outlaw the wonderful weed. Then they had to get really full of it and set mandatory minimum sentences for mere possession of marijuana as part of their "War On Drugs".

Don't we have enough enemies without declaring war on narcotics? Terrorism, at least, IS a real threat. Drugs, on the other hand, include everything from cough syrup to heroin.

Well, I had been in a federal prison for five years of my life sentence when the Great Pulse struck. I don't have any use for anarchists and they fucked up the country (and the rest of the world) with their EMP strike. However, they inadvertently did me a personal favor. You see, the new governments of the various parts of the former USA didn't always share the absurd views of their predecessor: the often unconstitutional Government of the United States of America.

I had lost my cowardly wife, Megan, to this whole drug bust thing. Even though she used some of my pot for herself, she divorced me to salvage part of our marital assets from "civil forfeiture", another unconstitutional action of Uncle Sam that would make the Founding Fathers spin in their graves. I ended up with nothing, while that greedy bitch saved her share. Where the hell is the justice in that situation?

I heard somewhere that she later got caught driving with half a bottle of gin in her system. Now that was some karma! She lost her license, spent a few months in county jail, and had to go to rehab for alcoholism. That's still a far cry from what happened to me. She endangered everyone on the same road as herself and got a virtual slap on the wrist. I, on the other hand, smoked some harmless weed and got sent to a federal hell-hole.

I also lost a five-figure job as a registered nurse, which was the same occupation that my ex-wife practiced. That was how we met. Well, she may have cared about her patients, but she proved completely callous about her own husband. My nursing license was revoked and I had to work in the prison sweatshop, making ball bearings for less than minimum wage. There is no inmates' union, after all.

That was my life for five long years. I had adjusted to it, up to a point. I fucked a cellmate who later got released. That didn't mean that I got laid frequently. In fact, anyone who tried to rape me got his ass kicked. I was mostly nice, but vicious about that issue. My fellow inmates soon learned to leave me the hell alone.

I otherwise made no trouble and got a reputation as a good, hard-working, and even well-educated prisoner. The guards looked down at me, but they didn't have an excuse to do anything about it. I made a point of not giving them one. They just didn't like my attitude of smoldering resentment toward the system.

I had no chance of parole since it was a federal prison and I knew it. The Reagan Administration's policies and Congress's mandatory minimum sentences, as well as the Crime Bill of 1994 (thank you, Joe Biden!) sealed my fate. I would never leave prison alive.

19 August, 2010, U.S. Penitentiary, South Charleston, WV:

"Ralph Henry Walker, wake up!" the guard shouted.

I got startled at the sound of a "screw" interrupting my Sunday morning sleep. Why the hell were they bugging me? I had behaved myself lately, hadn't I?

"Yes, that's me and I'm up! There's no need to sound like my mom," I retorted.

"Come with us to the Warden's office. Something major has happened, not that I have to like it," the corrections officer smirked.

"Then it's good news for me, I take it," I taunted him.

"Shut your smart mouth, prisoner," he ordered me.

I got quiet, not wanting to provoke him too much. If there was good news, after all, I didn't want to blow it by mouthing off to the prison staff. I walked into the Warden's office, past the other cells full of ignorant, sleeping convicts.

"Sit down, Mr. Walker. Something big has happened to you," the Warden instructed me.

He was a tight-lipped, raspy-voiced, chain-smoking bureaucratic jackass with a plain blue suit: talk about cliché!

"What is it?" I demanded, sensing a chance to probe him.

"You're a free man. It's as simple as that," he told me.

"What, did parole get reinstated by the new regime?" I asked him.

"Yes, but this wasn't about that. It was a different kind of insanity. It was a political decision over my head and theirs. If I had my way, you'd still be sleeping in the bunk bed of your cell," he declared.

"Nice to know how you feel about me, Warden. I'm touched," I reacted sarcastically.

"Shut up and listen. You're not out of here yet. I've been ordered to give you the time and means to prepare for your return to society, not that you belong there. There has been a general amnesty for all citizens who are, let me quote this document, 'wrongfully imprisoned simply for possession and trafficking of the drug marijuana, which has been decriminalized'. A quarter of my inmates are about to be back on the streets. I figured that I would start with you, since you're the most qualified for release of the despicable lot.

"Thank your friends in the Republican Front for that. They decided to give all potheads amnesty for their 'consensual crimes'. Let's just say that the new regime has just created a headache for itself, if you ask me. I don't want the likes of you running loose and influencing my kids, but my superiors in Morgantown think that they know better. They claim that they are more 'enlightened' than the good ol' Feds. I beg to differ, but I don't have a say. I'm the low man on the totem pole of their much vaunted 'Revolution'," the Warden snorted.

"So, I can get dressed and walk out of here? Have they decided where I live, not I'm too worried about that. I'm just glad to be headed out of here," I responded.

"You'll be staying in a hostel for newly released citizens. That's what they call it. I hope that you stay out of trouble. You're a pain in my ass, so half of me is thinking 'good riddance'. Given your views and the Front's, something tells me you'll be on their good side for a while, at least," he commented.

After changing into my old clothes (which were loose around my skin), I got my other possessions and headed straight for the gate. There, I was stopped by one of the guards.

"You need this, buddy," he said, handing me a new state ID. It showed my face (from my old, heavier photo) and details about me. It also showed my status: newly released citizen. Another item of interest was the address it listed for me, presumably that of the hostel.

"You also require this card. It's a voucher to 'compensate a newly released citizen for unjust imprisonment'. It's redeemable for fifty dollars provisional in your temporary bank account. The rest is up to you. The State is at war, so it can't afford to 'reimburse' you for all of your 'suffering'. You can stay at the hostel, but you need to find a job ASAP. Life is rough out there, especially for jobless ex-cons," he warned me.

Stunned as I was at being released so abruptly, I was definitely delighted. Luckily, I lived close to the hostel. Apparently, that was the Front's idea, to make the ex-con hostels in easy walking distance of the prison. Basically penniless, I was still free to rebuild my life and, hopefully, my career.

That was another issue. Could I resume my career? There was nothing said about restoring my nursing license. I even had to get a new drivers' license and vehicle. What would I do in the meantime? Would anyone hire me, with the past five years of my life spent in a federal prison? Would I still have the taint of a junkie and criminal?

I didn't have any children with Megan, because she had a hysterectomy twelve years before. That, therefore, was not a concern. I did want revenge on my ex, though, for the way that she treated me during the trial. That would have to wait a bit, but I would get back at her for it!

I weighed all of this on my way to the hostel, wondering what sort of room I would be assigned. I must have looked like a hitchhiker, with my backpack full of books and other useful items, my blue jeans, and my denim shirt. I even had an old baseball cap on my shaved head. Yes, I had done that in jail, since it intimidated people more and I didn't have any women to attract.

What would be next? Would I move on with my life or stay a pathetic ex-con, struggling hopelessly with my past? I decided firmly to do the former, whatever it took. This Republican Front looked like a good place to start. I wonder if they registered members like an old-fashioned political party? Were they more like the behemoths that governed most one-party states? In any case, Party membership wouldn't hurt my cause. The Front seemed pretty cool, especially considering how much the Warden hated it.

Chapter 2

I was jolted out of my slumber by a telephone call. I got up and saw a number that I dialed before on my caller ID. I had a headache, but I wasn't going to let that stop me from answering THIS call. It was from the head of the Republican Front's South Charleston branch.

"Hello?" I spoke nervously.

"Hello, Mr. Walker. This is Dr. Marcellus Simms, head of the South Charleston branch of the Republican Front. I have heard that you are interested in joining the Front. We are always pleased to hear that. Despite what you may fear, there are no restrictions against newly released citizens becoming members. In fact, quite a few of our members are ex-cons. One of the reasons for declaring the amnesty for marijuana users was to help enroll people whose talents were wasted with incarceration. As a matter of fact, the Commandant is considering a broader one to cover so-called offenses like 'statutory rape' and other things no longer illegal.

"Ultimately, the goal of the Revolution is a more liberated and enlightened society, where dictatorship will not necessary or possible anymore. Col. Lomax wishes to be known as the last American dictator. Tyranny by unrestrained majority rule will be impossible too. The courts will be given clear jurisdiction over certain matters, with more specialization to prevent judicial abuses. Legislatures will know exactly what kind of laws they can and can't pass.

"You might think of Col. Lomax as an American Sulla or Marius, seeking to restructure the government to adapt to modern reality, so that it can survive with its institutions intact in the future. This will not be socialism, fascism, or Marxism. It will not be Communism or fundamentalism. It will be something closer to the ideals of the Enlightenment," the man informed him.

"So, you're the leader of the Republican Front for all of South Charleston and you wish to meet me? Any particular reason?" I wondered.

"Yes, as a matter of fact. Your files here say that you were once a registered nurse. To be frank, we need nurses in the Militia. Would you be interested in joining? When the fighting is over, part of the Militia will become a regular army and the rest will be the reserve components or demobilized back into civilian life, just like the old days. You could then decide if you wanted to return to a mostly civilian life. What do you think? Interested in the job? You'd be a least a second lieutenant. Between Front membership and your specialty, you would be respected in the ranks," Dr. Simms explained.

"Would my regular nursing license be restored or would this only be for the Militia?" I inquired.

"Eventually, we would recommend a restoration of your license, if you wished it. The state license board is not likely to disregard our suggestions. In the meantime, you would be assigned to act as a field nurse in a war zone, where they are badly needed. The most likely location would be in Virginia, where the criminal forces of Mr. Marion 'Pat' Robertson are holding onto Virginia Beach. This is a critical area, since we must secure the coastline. Col. Lomax has already overrun all of West Virginia, most of Maryland, the District of Columbia, and all but a few areas in Virginia. Only the cities of Virginia Beach and Norfolk in Virginia and the peninsular section of Maryland are still resisting us.

"Unfortunately, the Robertson forces are fanatically opposing us, causing a lot of casualties in the process. Naturally, this means a great strain on our nursing corps. Hopefully, we can keep your personal danger to a minimum. However, the enemy might still try to attack our noncombatant personnel, which you would be. They are desperate to prevent us from capturing their town, because they are afraid of what we will do when we take it. Robertson is doomed to be shot and he knows it," the party chief announced.

"So, you're offering me a commission in the Militia as a nurse. In that case, I accept. I have nothing better to do, after all. How much party discipline is there? Is this one of those regimes where you have to recite a dogma?" I asked curiously.

"It's not like the People's Republic of Pennsylvania, with their First Secretary Kurt Wagner and his doctrinaire Marxist-Leninism. We are not imposing a permanent one-party state. Like I said, we advocate an enlightened liberal democracy. It's just a question of fighting off the enemies of freedom and national sovereignty. The future America will be a federal republic, only slighter different from the one established by the Founding Fathers.

"We are asking for your patriotic service to the Union and the Revolution. Will you join both the Republican Front and the Militia, offering your assistance to our brave, wounded soldiers? We will be most grateful for your commitment to the nation," he told me.

"Very well. I will also join the Republican Front itself. I had been thinking about it, anyway, as I stated. I will be a good nurse and will try to be a fine officer. Thank you for your confidence, Dr. Simms," I agreed, while chasing some aspirin with soda.

"Thank you for your loyalty to the Republic, Mr. Walker. Believe me, this is a struggle for the ideals of the first American Revolution, being carried out through the second one. We will have to put you through OCS and some basic military training, of course, but that won't take long. I expect that you will do well at helping us defeat the kind of leaders that caused your unjust imprisonment. This training will be expedited because of the urgent needs of war. Besides, you already have training in your specialty," Dr. Simms assured me.

"Very well, sir. I will do my best for my country. So, what is my pay and will it be directly deposited into my account?" I probed.

"You will get a starting net salary of thirty thousand dollars provisional, until the pressures of war can ease the economic hardships on the Government. We're still trying to collect revenue through taxes and war bonds. It's not easy, but we do what is necessary," he clarified.

"And the liberation of those cities in Virginia will improve things by providing income through tariffs and trade," I got the gist of his statement.

"Indeed, it will. You are a smart one. I suppose that is normal for a nurse. Yes, the import duties for foreign products will be most useful in financing the Revolution. We're in a similar situation to the Federal and Confederate Governments in the last Civil War. With any luck, we can get the circumstances changed for the better. Don't worry, we will keep in contact and get you to our boot camp in Beckley. It will done by a C-130 cargo plane. You will be with about 20 other men and women in a variety of specialties," he remarked.

"That sounds great," I concurred.

After Dr. Simms hung up, I started preparing for my new career as a military nurse. It was like something out of the old TV show "MASH", except that this wouldn't be so funny. The country was being ripped apart by civil strife and I had to help treat the symptoms of the national disease. Then again, in every civil war, somebody had to win. I definitely knew that the last thing that I wanted was for the Christian Coalition to triumph. This war meant something. It would save important things like personal freedom and the separation of church and state.

Ultimately, I was better off fighting for great things than rotting in a federal prison for something that should be legal in the first place. Something told me that, if we won, things like civil forfeiture and mandatory minimum sentences for marijuana use would be history. That was the old, corrupt system. The new way of doing things would be much better.

My roommates at the hostels didn't make a big deal of it, except to be worried that I would be killed in action. I told them that I was a noncombatant and that I would be doing what I wanted, instead of bagging groceries for some supermarket. I would be a nurse again. They teased me a little about being a male nurse, until I reminded them that this job would involve wearing a green uniform and learning to fire an M-16 (just in case).

"So, you'll be in the Party now, eh?" Summer, the sister of one of my more obnoxious roommates, teased me after she followed me during my walk.

"That's right, though it's actually called the Front by members," I taunted her back.

"Does that mean you'll be connected?" she joked.

"Probably, for what good it will do me. I'm going to Virginia, remember?" I pointed out.

"And you might still, theoretically, get killed?" she added.

"Thanks for reminding me," I snorted.

"You haven't been laid in years and you might be shot before you can fuck again, right?" Summer noted.

"Oh, another wonderful thought that you had to give me! Look, with any luck, I'll find a girl after the war," I reacted.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to depress you. I was just looking for an excuse to ... um... , " she stammered.

"Get in the sack with me?" I finished for her.

"Well ... yes ... if you're interested," she admitted.

"Since when do you need an excuse for THAT? I wouldn't mind getting some action," I flirted with her.

"Hmm ... well, I like the way you think. I'm sorry. I'm still a little nervous about the idea of fucking someone outside of a relationship. It's why I rushed into my last marriage, which didn't work out so well," she blushed.

"What happened?" I inquired.

"He turned out to be an abusive drunk. What about you? Were you ever married or involved with anyone?" Summer probed.

"I'm divorced. My ex decided that she wanted to save her part of the marital assets from civil forfeiture. Basically, I got screwed out of ALL of my money, not just half like most ex-husbands. She left me when it got a little rough. She didn't have any complaints when I let her smoke my weed, though," I answered bitterly.

"I take it that you're still angry at her," she commented.

"Yeah, a bit. Are you still mad at your ex?" I asked her.

"Sure. He was a brutal man when he drank. Look, I know that she probably didn't deserve to keep half of your wealth after doing what she did, but I needed the cash to survive after Dirk spent most of our pay on booze. The man needed help, but I needed to pay the bills. Sometimes, alimony makes sense," she stated.

"Maybe so, but not when your wife treats you like a gangrened arm that has to be severed. There were no attempts to prove my innocence or help me with my appeals. She didn't visit me in prison or anything! She just left me like that! She betrayed me," I declared.

"I know that and I feel bad for you. The drug laws were stupid and I don't miss them. They meant well, though, trying to save people from addictions like my ex had with liquor. I'm just trying to point out that there are cases where one spouse or another needs a share of the assets. Speaking of assets, though, don't you want to take me out and get me into the sack tonight?" she responded.