Weeding the Tigers Out of Monaragala
Having a quiet shot at the Golf Club last evening, the conversation turned (as it invariably does) to The War. And of course, grass. One has to be obviously well stoned to enjoy a proper war, as anyone who’s read Michael Herr or seen Tim Page’s work will testify. Weeks of night patrols around Vasavilan and Elephant Pass have taught me, however, that speed isn’t the dope of choice. Benz & dex just get the katussas to turn and wink at you, and make you think you can bite the nose off a Tiger at three-hundred meters. Let’s not even go near the non-prescription stuff. Nope, grass it is.
Now all of you must be wondering what this has to do with Monaragala, but as you well know, most of our grass comes from Thanamalwila. And where’s Thanamalwila? You guessed it — Monaragala. Now is it just me, or has anyone else heard that a couple of days ago, the Army shot a ganja cultivator dead while looking for the Tigers. Said he was acting suspiciously. Fucking right, he was. Wouldn’t you act suspiciously if you had a couple of acres of MJ in the back garden? Anyway, I think something better be done about those Tigers before the local dealers start pushing up their prices and blaming it on the war.
And what better way of smoking ’em out than all that nice green grass? I think the Army should just burn it all (while standing upwind of course). If the Tigers aren’t actually roasted in the fire, they’ll be so happy and high that they won’t be shooting cops and chopping up farmers anymore. Heck, we could even load ’em all up with rucksacks full of the shit and send ’em back to Kilinochchi. A few tokes of that and the Imran Paandiyan will be all smiles. We could just walk in and nail VP.
Chemical warfare, you say? Roll on, I say.