A tragic Canadian tale of unrequited love, sacrifice, and ambition

(First published on February 2014)

MetaCanada received a fax from Yazoo City’s Federal Correctional Complex detailing this correspondence. The sender, unknown, insinuated that there would be “more where this came from.” Of that we’re not sure. But we are sure that this tale of forbidden love and intoxicants will touch your heart.

December 4, 2013

My darling Justin,

It’s been weeks since I last wrote, and I have yet to hear back from you. I understand you’re very busy these days. The carnivalesque nature of politics is something I, too, have unfortunately gotten acquainted with. But at times, my darling, the evil mistress of doubt claws her way into my thoughts—usually when I am lying awake in my sweat-soused cot here at Yazoo. Her claws find, again and again, the impenetrable alloy of my resolve! However, I can’t help but ponder your love for me. Is it too much to ask for some affirmation of our commitment together? A word? A Kiss? A Sign!?

I well-up with hope and excitement every time I think about my release—hitting to the road with you and embarking on our Free the Weed tour of Canada. Tucked away in your middle-class Mercedes 300 SL…me fenced into my old-man slacks…the wind in your glorious hair. Ah! It is going to be SO amazing, Justin.

Jodi has assured me that she has everything set up in advance. The dinner reservations, the hotels…Which reminds me. We’ll need your strong arms to turn those twin singles into a queen. It will be like old times. Just you, Jodi, and I—a few teenagers, a few ounces of White Widow, and a bottle of Chianti.

These thoughts are what keep me persevering through these dark nights and long, hard days, here at Yazoo City Prison. These concrete walls might chill me. They might pen me in. But they can’t kill my dreams! You and I, together, will once again steal out to the balcony and howl under the full moon, proud brothers ripping on a fat cannon. Awooooo!!!!!!

At the moment, I am looking at your signed picture—the one you sent me last year. Lanced by your piercing stare, I realize: you’re more than a leader; there’s something more…Again, your hair utterly immaculate. “Best wishes, Justin.” Swoon!

How many days until you retake your father’s throne?  My prince! Together, you and I will achieve greatness. I am the Saruman to your Sauron; the Milli to your Vanilli; the Harper to your Preston.

I count myself fortunate to have been to see you mature into the young man you are today—the same one who is willing to legalize the Sacred Herb and awaken Canada’s true potential. Hope and hard work!

I digress. It’s close to lunch time here, so I better go line up. Don’t want to miss grilled cheese and baked potato day. But I want you to know: I am holding safe and true our commitment to each other, and that I wait for the day I receive another letter and autographed picture from you. Until then, you’re still free to stop by my place anytime and blaze with Jodi.

Your bestie,

Marc Emery.

There is a response by a different hand in a different ink.

Dear Mr. Emery,

I meant to write you sooner but I have just been busy. Just’n busy. Gotta use that one. Ha!

You spoke of Jodi. How is she? Has she aged horribly, knowing what kind of strife you’ve been through—all the brutality you’ve likely witnessed?

Look, I’m really flattered you find strength in my gorgeous eyes. I’ll gladly send you another autographed photo where they figure prominently, in addition to the amazing, chiefly face they are entrenched in.

But Marc, I have to ask you to stop writing me letters every week. I think that, perhaps, you should attempt to find some new hobbies in prison. As I told your Wife, ‘WE ARE NOT DOING A TOUR TOGETHER’. Seriously. This is like the fifth time I’ve explained this. Maybe you could take up macrame or tai-chi in prison?

Honestly, we hardly know each other. I’m sorry you thought I was rude that one night you wanted to blaze and I was busy teaching blind children to ski. (God, that was fucking hilarious wasn’t it? They should really take my advice and put braille on the occasional tree.) But you can’t keep going around telling everybody we used to roll fatties together. How bout this: when you get back, get cleaned up, and get off parole, maybe we could get together and have some herbal tea. But the Liberal Party has this weed game now; it isn’t your empire anymore.

So, again, we are not doing a tour together, and I can’t do bong rips with you when you get out. I have an image to maintain now, and you know politics…(Do you? Can you send me some pointers?)

Remember, keep telling everyone to vote for me, because I will free the weed, which, as you and I both know, is easily the most pressing issue facing the Canadian economy, environment, and people.

I am the best,


P.S. Please stop writing.