The Green Mouse stopped into the Tilted Anchor Tavern after work for a pint of Session Barley Wine. His friend Boomer was at the bar, muttering to himself just like always.
“I have a hypothetical for you, Green,” said Boomer.
“My favorite kind,” replied Mouse.
“Let’s say I’m a kid, sophomore or junior in high school. Living in public housing, hard life, money’s tight. None of the beautiful people doing me any favors. “
“So I wake up one morning with a wild hair on my butt, go filch some herb from my big sister, make up a batch of Rice Krispies Ganja Treats and take them to school.”
The Green Mouse squinted. “Why on earth would you do that?”
Boomer looked hurt.
“Because I’m the kind of guy who shares the love, and the buzz. Besides — see, this is the good part — because I’ll hand them out to my friends and they’ll get stoned without knowing it.”
“All right, but whatever happened to knowing full well you’re getting stoned yourself and then giggling all the way through geometry?”
“Like I said, it’s hypothetical. Stop being such a cynic.”
The Green Mouse and Boomer drained their glasses and ordered more.
“Now everyone’s good and roasted, but then it turns ugly. My best friend is so baked that he turns me in by accident, and now the Rice Krispies Treats hit the fan.”
“That would be messy.”
“I think to myself, well, what’s a kid from the projects gonna do now? We don’t have any money. My dad’s not a bigwig, I don’t have any connections, and there aren’t any corporate attorneys to get me off the hook. The police resource officer is right on top of me. The principal knows who I am and where I live. Hell’s going to freeze over before a kid like me gets a break for smoking in the boy’s room, much less bringing controlled substances to school.”
Off in the distance, Creedence’s “Fortunate Son” is heard playing on the player piano.
“This is good,” said the Green Mouse. “I’m waiting for the magical plot twist, so how do you escape in the final reel?”
“That’s just it,” responded Boomer, “because I don’t escape. My daddy’s a nobody, and they throw the book at me. I get kicked out of school, go back to public housing, and that loony tunes dick-tator starts waving his Taser at me.”
“That’s really sad. I’ll bet the kids with clout and bucks get away with things like that.”
“They probably do. It’s awful, but hey — merely hypothetical.”
And when you ask them, “How much should we give?”
Ooh, they only answer “More! More! More!”
“By the way, are you buying the next round?”