This is a useless and illegal document that'll get you into a lot of trouble if you use it unless the fed, state county and city governments change their laws legalising pot.

I prophesy that in a few years locally homemade handfashioned pot taffy will be available behind the counter of your local grocery store.

Typical grocery encounter:

"Excuse me . . . I have been short of money recently . . . so I went out and gathered wild pot and I made this large bag of pot taffy that I made according the famous recipe that Larry Schamber proposed. What would it be worth in the equivalent grocery store voucher?

"Sir, I'll get the manager.

The manager says "Let me see. Can I have a sample?"

He recieves one piece. Unwraps the wax paper . . . Pops it into his pouth . . . chews it for a minute . . . he knows what it tastes like. . . he's tasted pot taffy hundreds of times . . .

"Ok, I would rate this equivalent to 10 pieces of taffy to one joint of pot. I'll weigh this up and count the pieces. . . their is 204 pieces of taffee . . . will $30 dollars be acceptable.

"Sir, I am really hungry. I would prefer $70."

My brother Rick comes in carrying a six foot long oak stake sharpened to a needle sharp point, that he bought at the local hardware store for 50 cents. His hands have been roughened by hard labor obtained by 20 years in the pen for marijuana possession. (Interesting fact, this never happened.)

He recognises the old man and laughs. He's wearing a heavy backpack. He takes it off his back and there is a thud as he drops it to the floor in front of the grocery counter.

Rick says: "I know Ruppert here. His pot taffy is the best I ever had. Three pieces will get you high. I will give you $200 for that heavy bag. I don't give a damn for the commerce clause!!!" Rick is beareded and looks the closest to the classic pictures of Jesus himself.

A heavily muscled, green camoflage wearing man follows him into this store.

He says: "Semper fi, sir, I'll back you up in case of the law sir."

A customer says: "You mean 'pistol packing assholes?'"

"Sir, yes, sir. Hurrah." He is absolutely dispassionate and composed. His eyes are half closed, and he rests like a cat on the balls of his feet and breathes through his half opened mouth.

The manager thumps his hand on the counter.

"Lets deal!" he says "I'll give you $300 in store vouchers."

"OK, I guess." Ruppert says.

Another customer walks up, slaps Ruppert on the back. He is wearing a straw hat, a beard, a white shirt, suspenders, boots, and black pants. He is arguably a Mennonite.

"I believe I would cry 'suicide!!!' and give my own blood to protect this friends right to get a decent exchange rate for his labors. I work in the fields and walk whereever I go. Semper fi, feel this bicep here."

The marine says: "Semper fi, sir. I believe I see a hardworking peace loving man. If you could stand out there where I can see you through the window, you could watch my back and report any cops approaching and drop us a word. Slap that window and scream "cops, man, head for the hills!' that could be helpful."

Etc . . .

Later . . .

A beautiful freckled brown haired girl riding a horse, wearing a white dress, a pained saintly look on her, on an old brown mare, rides up, gets off and walks in. She lets the horse wander.

She walks briskly to the grocery store office. Laughing. . . She slaps her slender perfect ass . . . addresses the manager: "I will hike my dress to here and let you look at my ass for a decent supply of pot taffy."

He gulps and nods.

"Put it right here." She slaps the desk. Ruppert's bag is suddenly there.

She lifts her dress. Apparently she is a farm girl. There is a rustling of her dress. She is wearing petticoats.

She smiles. "I cheated. I'll give you a $100 bucks for that."

"Sir can I tell you secret?? I know who you are. You are the former president of the USA, George Bush, who was disgrace and banned to the isle of Elba 10 years ago."

"What!?" He appears suddenly afraid. His mind screams 'I am George Bush! I am George Bush!"

"You appear to have a face problem. You had surgery." She says. "And you have boils on your skin. In my opinion you stay up all night fuming how you lost the presidency to that man Alexander."

The red faced manager says: "I'll get a gun and kill you if you tell anybody."

"No shit sir, we had a deal. I feel threatened . . . I am leaving with this, Goodbye." She takes the bag of pot taffy swirls and leaves. She is the former KGB assasin Kelly Romanovski, the most famous and accomplished, with more than 800 kills.

She turns and says: "If you wanna have a laugh sometime laugh, come to my place and have some pot taffy and pizza with us. We still love you."

She gets back onto her brown horse, snaps her fingers and says: "go". She has perfect jockey riding stance. The horse runs perfectly up the embankment to the highway and appears to happy_bunny away at an unbelievable speed, as swiftly as the wind, up a grassy hill and through some trees at the top without stopping or slowing down. Cops are nowhere in sight.

Love, peace, Light
man_49