The Dangers of Marijuana, Texas: A Field Study

This tale begins on one fateful July eve, on the open road back from Austin to Houston. Life was great and the air smelled sweet, as rock music was being burned in the CD player on full blast, and everyone was having the time of their lives, or at least we THOUGHT we were. As we passed through a town called La Grange, we were pulled over for speeding. The cop who pulled us over seemed like a nice guy. Someone I'd want to be honest to, someone who wasn't known for completely fucking me in the ass. Yet. He searched our car on suspicion of marijuana, and I bit the bullet and told him it was mine. I was then handcuffed and sent straight to jail without at least passing go. The meals in jail were horrible. They had a wonderful way of looking completely tasty, until you bit into them and realized that they were either made from inedible materials, or someone had intentionally cooked this food wrong. I was treated like a low-class criminal. They would shout things at me like "You're on a path to self destruction, Boy!", and "Look at how pathetic you fucking look right now!" To make this a little more real to my readers, imagine someone spitting insults at you with an accent that sounds exactly like Early from Squidbillies. They all sounded like Early. The cruel irony is the fat police officer closest to my cell doors would hit his whiskey flask harder than his wife. And I'm the criminal for having a gram of weed? I think not. After having been released out on bail, I patiently awaited my court date and lived life to the absolute fullest. I was now carefree on bail, and nothing could hurt me.
That is, until I got to court. I rose and sat, and waited and waited in an over-sized button up shirt I had scrambled to find at 7 in the morning because I had lost all my court clothes the night before in a glorious drunken stupor. Court had taken all day, and I finally recieved my judgement. I was to be put on probation for year, go to Rehab, do community service, pay 1300 dollars in fees, And write a 2000 word essay on the dangers of smoking marijuana. While I talked to judge he reminded me that smoking weed would soon lead to me doing cocaine and end up dead on the street. Where does this grossly misinformed education come from? He might as well said if I enjoy beer I'll love Crack. He also reminded me that my tattoo was a disgrace against god and that I shouldn't mutilate myself in the eyes of my creater. I would've killed for a time machine to go back in time not to not get caught with the weed, but instead get a tattoo of motherfucking jesus on my arm, so I could've been like judge, I love jesus WAY more than your pasty white, godfearin, racist ass. Don't smoke weed kids, if you're in Texas. Otherwise toke up my friends.