I guess I'll tell about an unfortunate event that occurred in my life not less than a week ago. My companion and I had decided that, living the hectic lives we do, it was time to go and purchase a bag of marijuana to smoke and enjoy. Anyway, we accomplished that with relatively little trouble and proceeded to get high, really high, on the way to his house to play some video games. So I'm driving a solid 36 miles per hour down the street to his house where the speed limit has been set at a paltry 30. With the streets being clear of dangerous criminals and all other threatening acts of crime under apparent control, a young police officer decides that the best course of action for the night is to pull over 'lil 'ole me and my friend. Now, granted we both were stunningly high, driving always remains far from difficult, so the harm being done to anyone is a virtual zero. When you open your door and hand a cop your license and registration, and his immediate response is that the car smells strongly of marijuana and both sets of eyes appear visibly red and glazed over, what is one to say? "Uh, no officer. Marijuana? We haven't been smoking any." "Oh, the smell? That was someone else. One of our other friends. We dropped him off." "This tinfoil pipe with marijuana resin in it? Well, that certainly must be said friend's also." And he makes us step out of the car. I see he is young, inexperienced, and looking a little intimidated, because if I were to choose I could thoroughly kick his scrawny ass. He doesn't even know how to administer the roadside sobriety tests. He has to read them out of a little pocket notebook. I stand on one leg, the other leg six inches off the ground and slightly in front of the other for 30 seconds, with little effort required. I follow a light with my eyes. Right to left. Up and down. Side to side. Don't move your head. I'm performing circus acts or something. I walk a line, one foot in front of the other. I don't sway. I turn and walk back, doing it again. I pass the sobriety test, and he looks visibly disappointed. A female officer arrives on the scene. Also young and inexperienced. She is good-looking, and I think about having sex with her as she is standing there. I'm still pretty high. The officers search my car. "That bag of marijuana? That glass pipe? Well . . . no, those aren't ours. Who could those be? I wonder." The male officer at first wants to send us to court for this, but we convince him to remember his younger days, recall how many upstanding young men use marijuana, so he writes us each a $137 ticket. The blond dyke wants to cite me for driving under the influence, even though I passed the roadside sobriety test. She is a bitch, and I think about having sex with her again. As my friend and I sit on the curb, while the male officer is looking up secret police stuff in his car, the dyke stands before us. I attempt to lighten the mood. "Hey, did you know marijuana is, like, legal in the Netherlands." I laugh. "This shit should totally be legal." She goes off on me. She is screaming at me. I've been making a joke out of this, she says. I have not been showing respect to the police officers, she adds. If it was up to her, I would be in jail, facing a DUI. She knows I'm high, she says, pointing her finger at me. She doesn't care what I say. She repeats the phrase, thinking this will have a stronger effect. I hold my tongue, and inside I laugh, for I know my pride must be held in during situations like these. I think how she's lucky she's wearing that uniform, or else I'd tell her to make me a pie, knit me a sweater, and get down on her knees and blow me. She later comes to apologize for yelling at me while the male officer is writing up the tickets. She offers us jobs as "informants" to get the tickets erased from our records. We could turn in dealers, wear wires, and be a part of a secret police bust. It would be kind of cool, I think. We get her card, and say we'll think about it. I don't actually consider it, however. I have morals. She walks away and says the other officer will have the tickets ready soon, and I look in my rear-view mirror as she walks away and think of tapping that ass. We get away with a ticket and a scolding. I am required to call my probation officer about any law enforcement contact. She says I could potentially face up to 90 days in jail. What the fuck, I think. She says, however, that is unlikely. She says I may have to do community service or serve a few days in jail on the weekend. What the fuck, I think again. I had marijuana. I wasn't dealing cocaine to kindergarteners or raping little girls. I am a little concerned. Now I have to go to court anyway for a violation of probation hearing. And I'm out $137 and a bag of good weed. Shiiiiiiiit.