Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," your first stop for individual freedom and the right to be a lunatic, so long as no one gets hurt and the furniture doesn't get stained.
Are there any among my multitude of readers who look all over the house for the cream cheese, only to find it sitting front-and-center on the kitchen counter ... and then you can't remember why you wanted it in the first place? Or this one: You start down the basement stairs, get halfway down, and think: "Why am I going down the basement stairs? What did I want to do in the basement?"
Scary, isn't it?
I'm a tad too young to be coming down with Alzheimer's Disease. But it does rear its ugly head in the good ol' family tree here and there. It's a nasty ailment. Hard for those who have it, hard for those who love those who have it. My dad just "Went West," as we druids put it, and he spent the last 5 months of his life on an Alzheimer's unit. Made me think about all those end-of-life issues - the sort of thing you usually tuck into the mental filing cabinet right behind the recipe for Jello-mold with crushed pears.
But there's light in the tunnel even for the poor souls who have Alzheimer's. And I am just sorry this research didn't come to light before Ronald Reagan "Went West." Because he might have ben helped by this stunning new discovery.
In a small, carefully-controlled scientific study, Alzheimer's patients with particularly intractable temper issues were given ... drum roll, please ... cannabis. Lo and behold, it improved their mental outlooks to such an extent that family members who dared not visit them could come and see them again! The Alzheimer's patients who were given cannabis were ranked for signs of depression, aggressiveness, ability to relax, and overall quality of life. Geez, big surprise here. The ones given cannabis were happy, the ones given placebos continued wrecking the joint.
Now this little message is going out onto the Internet, where even Osama bin Laden can read it if he wants to. (Osama, the bored gods are NOT happy with you, pal.) So HEAR YE, HEAR YE, HEAR YE!
WHEN ANNE GETS DEMENTED, GIVE HER A DAILY SPLIFF!
None of this Marinol. It's like a pina colada with no rum in it. I want the real thing. I've never smoked a cigarette in my life, but I bet I'd catch on fast.
Yeah, I can hear all you Chippies out there. You're saying I'm already demented. I've got a canister of cream cheese downstairs that would agree with you. But I can still drive a car and write a check and help my daughter, The Spare, with her social studies. So I'm not quite ready to toke.
But when the day comes, I WILL WANT MY THC!
Time for the nuclear option! Let's load the bench with conservative judges "of faith," who will make such a mockery of justice that an inevitable liberal rebound will occur just about at the time I go loony. Then I'll get the right medication for my aggressive, nasty form of Alzheimers, and I'll be able to sit by the window and watch the fairies all day, until off I fly with them - West.
And no one will get hurt, and the furniture will all be plastic anyway.
ANNE REALLY DOESN'T SMOKE POT, SHE JUST WISHES SHE COULD