This Must Be a Joke

I took a history course last semester and then proceeded to get sick during the final. The teacher gave me an "Incomplete." So now I'm starting a summer course to make up for it - called, "Local History." It wasn't until our first assignment was handed out that I realized the true fault in this course. According to my syllabus, I'm supposed to write a history paper based on White Pine Bay. I'll title it: "White Pine Bay, Home of the Hashish." They want archival papers, photos, even visual aids are encouraged - this could be a disaster waiting to happen. I mean, everyone knows how the economy in this town is sustained, right? But the first rule of WPB club is: "Don't talk about WPB club." Weed is the "He who shall not be named" in the story of this town.

Do our teachers want us to write around it? Because that's impossible. Everything ties into it - every business and every townsperson benefits from it. I'm no star student but we should be learning how to seek out truth - not be the ones helping to cover it up. But here I sit, trying to think of anything else this town is known for... Ah yes, the lumber industry which sank faster than the Titanic when the tree huggers decided to attack. And what industry was it that swooped in to save the day? Oh, yes, I remember. The weed business.

Hmm... I could write about the Bates property. That might be cool. I mean, the house was built in 1912, it must have seen a few things in its time. But where does that lead? To Sex Slavery starring Deputy Shelby and Keith Summers. Come to think of it, that's probably off limits too.

I think this town has a killer history and maybe some day I'll be the one who writes about it. I'll talk about growing up in a town that runs on its own set of laws; a town that believes literally in an eye for an eye. Might be a good idea for a book - that is if I ever feel the urge to write one. But as far as my local history paper goes... I guess I'll just write about the history of White Pine Bay's fishing scene. Hold onto your hats, guys.

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