"Oh no all those poor people will have their weed crops destroyed by Hurricane Katrina"-excerpt from My Megalomania At Midnight © 2006

So Far On Our Hurricane Adventure:

A twenty year old, Katrina's father and mother are driving north east to escape Hurricane Katrina. Her mother is frantically trying to figure out where they will stay. 

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She calls up her sister in law. "Yello," Nicky takes a deep breath and her lungs start rejecting the smoke. The good thing is that coughing gets the THC chemical from the weed smoke to the brain quicker.

            She’s got a large coffee table where she dumps all her fresh weed; weed she fresh by storing in their deep freeze in two gallon buckets.

            “Sure hun, come on down.” She replies to her sister in law, then hangs up. Then she starts mumbling some nonsense philosophy of how the world is coming to an end.  She’s staring at their prized television; it’s the only one of its kind, a classic from the 70’s with a combination record player and 8 track built in on top, and speakers below the 35 inch screen. They got it from a will left by her boyfriend’s uncle. It was his most prized position.

             The weather reporter explains how the weather is getting worse, making it difficult for him to even stand. “Oh shit.” He says before the censors can catch it. Nicky giggles at this folly-then a moment of clarity strikes her and a tear slowly falls from her eye. The most horrible thought comes to her, "Oh my Gawd' all the weed smoker’s crops will be destroyed. They won't have any weed to smoke."  Her mouth forms an “O,” and the lit joint she is smoking falls from her mouth along with a steady stream of saliva. Fortunately, her spit puts out the fiery cherry before it adds another dime sized burn on the couch.

            Then she started remembering all those times she was weedless, and how stressed she’d get. Her tears fell thicker as she, in her mind, became the one running away from the storm with just one joint left. 

            Then she licks three rolling papers together, packs it with some shake, tightens it up and rolls it down. She takes a long pull. While coughing on it until her eyes turn blood red an idea comes to her-she could be of saint hood. Redneck saint hood, but to be more precise it would be of hill-billy saint hood. She could be a regular Joan of Arc.

            She then gets on her cell-phone, lets it ring for five seconds and decides to use their rigged up remote to turn up the volume of the “EAGLES Greatest hits.” "Take It To The Limit One More Time"

            They had been arguing for a long while. “George, you don’t know where in the hell we are going? Do you?” George takes the last swallow off of his Luke warm beer that is mostly his own spit by now. And an old feeling returns to him that we all get. It’s that old feeling of helplessness with no solution. But, he tells himself it’s just the remnants of the last of his flat beer.

            “It is not the fact that I really have no idea where we are going either.”-he keeps repeating to himself. Her scorns just added to his insecurity and even worse; he was running out of jokes-so of course-

            Of course he welcomed the cell phone ringing. His wife didn’t though as she impatiently hands it to him after she sees that the ID on it is Nicky “the trailer park queen.”

            “You answer; I just don’t have the patience to deal with her.”

Nicky: “I was just thinking bout’ all those poor folks down there with out any weed to smoke. Think I’ll come down there and give em’ all our weed. Cuzz’ I know folks get crazy without their weed.”

                                                George kept on replying with “Oh yeas” and “reallys” as he takes pauses to hold his phone away from his ear so that their daughter and wife can hear and hold back their laughter. Nicky was really on a tangent explaining how she was going to be “A Marijuana Saint.” purchase by clicking this link