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The Moon Is A Harsh Grow-op


The Moon Is A Harsh Grow-op
Rolf Auer, Friday 17 March 2017

Is the recorder on? It is? And the auto-transcript? Good. This a Diary Record of Moon Project Grow-op made 20 June 2075. My name is Sam Thundercloud. Joe?

My name is Joe Deerchild. I help Sam run this Moon Grow-op.

Sam here. Due to the gravity of today’s events, we’re making this Diary Record to record these for posterity. Where to begin?

A bit of history.

Thanks Joe. Okay, we’re both First Nations Peoples, originally based in Attawapiskat, Turtle Island. This moonbase was given to us by President Trump during his second term in 2021 in return for us withdrawing from a key pipeline protest. Sure, sounds like a sell-out but our people were taking the long view with regards to funding. Trump asked, “What are you going to do with it?” We shrugged, said, “We’ll think of something.” Trump stated, “Just as long as you don’t turn it into a grow-op.”

Well, it only took a few years to do that. Man, I tell ya, the beginning was rough. Getting all that equipment up here, that weren’t no easy task. Pricey? We were borrowed up to the hilt. Fortune was on our side, though. After Prime Minister For Life Justin Trudeau legalized marijuana in Canada in 2023, the path ahead seemed clean and green. Joe?

Poor Marc and Jody Emery had been arrested 420 times, and finally were forced to pay a fine of $420.00 and sign a peace bond. We First Nations People considered that oppressive. Keep the peace? After all the bitching about Canada lacking innovation and business savvy, here Marc and Jody Emery were trying to do just that, and they had to pay a fine? That’s Canada for ya, they talk out of both sides of their mouths at the same time.

So, our group talked with them, and we got a business plan going to turn our moonbase into the largest grow-op in history. And we do quite well, too. Some of our strains are very popular on Earth. “Moonshot,” “High Flight,” “Alice” – you name it, we’ve grown it.

We’ve been running this operation for almost 50 years. We’ve got some of the finest weed in the galaxy. Recent events, though – bummer. Joe?

Yeah, a couple of corporate clowns paid us a visit today. They informed us they were taking over. We listened to them and heard them out. It was the same old, same old: Whitey decided he wanted our land, and made to take it.

We explained we were loaded for bear, and were not about to let any land usurpers put the scroogies to us again. We explained that we took a page or two from Speculative Fiction Grandmaster Robert Anson Heinlein’s book, The Moon Is A Harsh Mistress, and set up the liquid molten core shooting weapon described therein—even gave them a demo by destroying an orbiting unmanned drone—and also explained how the Earth was vulnerable to bombardment from space seeing as how they are situated on the wrong side of a gravity well.

That didn’t faze them – they still demanded our land. A tense point in the negotiations had been reached, and we suggested a joint Extra Vehicular Activity to break the impasse.

Once outside, Joe and I conducted a little conversation in Ojibway, which we were sure they couldn’t understand. “Joe, you think these two are expendable?” “Affirmative.” “Right.”

We showed them around the base, which didn’t appear to impress them, then headed back home. We reached the airlock and entered first. They tried to follow us in, and we straightarmed them back outside and slammed the airlock door. “Not you, Whitey. You’re not welcome here.”

They suddenly realized what was about to happen, and started clamouring for us to open the airlock.

Joe rolled a couple of fatties, lit them, and handed me one. I inhaled, and savoured the sweet smell of success. I toggled the airsuit comm. “Hey Whitey, guess it didn’t occur to you that air might be more important than land, eh?” Our laughter was easily visible to them through the airlock window.

“We’re rich! How much to you want, we can give it to you! Please!”

“Open the pod bay door, Hal.” I droned.

Joe: “Hal’s not here, man.”

“Open the pod bay door, Hal!” I giggled.

Joe: “Hal’s not here, man.” He snorted.

“Hal, open the pod bay door!” The two outside were screaming with fear now.

Joe: “Hal? Hal’s not here, man.”

We took a few more tokes and laughed our asses off at the plight of the corporate heavies. Then we turned out the lights and left the airlock area. We’d bury them in shallow graves in the morning. They were finally going to get a little land after all.

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