'I still lose sleep': San Angelo Rep. Darby Reflects on Voucher Vote, THC Ban and Special Session

I think I'd sleep a little better if Liberal Rino Drew Darby was voted out of office. Along with the recent Supreme Court Rulings to solidify the Trump agenda, I'd sleep a whole lot better.

Does Drew Darby Want More Marijuana Mayhem in Texas?

Texas stands at a crossroads, its people caught in a struggle between order and chaos, between the preservation of a sane society and the creeping tide of moral decay. At the heart of this battle is State Representative Drew Darby, a liberal San Angelo RINO whose recent musings on the THC ban have raised eyebrows and stirred suspicion. Governor Greg Abbott’s veto of Senate Bill 3—a measure that would have outlawed the sale of consumable hemp products laced with the psychoactive poison tetrahydrocannabinol (THC)—has sparked a firestorm. Darby, reflecting on the veto, hopes for a "compromise" to regulate Texas’ multi-billion-dollar hemp industry rather than ban it outright. But what drives this man’s sympathy for the purveyors of legal dope? Could it be that Darby, beneath his folksy West Texas demeanor, harbors a darker impulse—a sadistic streak that finds satisfaction in the wreckage of marijuana-fueled accidents and the unraveling of Texas’ social fabric?

Let us examine the issue with clear eyes. On one hand, Darby’s position has a veneer of pragmatism. The hemp industry, bloated with billions in revenue, employs thousands and fuels small businesses across the state. A total ban, as Senate Bill 3 proposed, would have criminalized possession, manufacture, and sale of THC-infused products, potentially devastating farmers and shop owners who’ve built their livelihoods on this quasi-legal trade. Darby, speaking at a Texas Tribune event, argued for regulation over prohibition, suggesting that age restrictions and testing could tame the beast without slaughtering it. Supporters of this view—many of them veterans and chronic pain sufferers—claim hemp-derived THC offers relief that Texas’ restrictive medical marijuana program fails to deliver. A poll by the Texas Politics Project at UT Austin shows 53% of Texans oppose a blanket THC ban, with even 39% of Republicans against it, reflecting a shift in public sentiment toward tolerance of these substances. Darby’s call for compromise could be seen as a nod to this reality, a recognition that the hemp genie is out of the bottle and cannot be stuffed back in without economic carnage.

But let us not be seduced by this soft rhetoric. The other side of the coin reveals a grim truth. Texas has some of the strictest marijuana laws in the nation, a bulwark against the degeneracy that has engulfed states like California and Colorado, where dope dens masquerade as dispensaries. Senate Bill 3, championed by Lieutenant Governor Dan Patrick, aimed to slam shut the loopholes that allow THC-infused gummies, vapes, and drinks to flood the market, sold at over 8,000 stores with scant oversight. These products, often indistinguishable from candy, are a siren call to minors, luring them into addiction and psychosis. Cannabis researchers admit THC can be addictive, and while widespread brain damage may be debated, the risks to young minds are undeniable. And what of the roads? Marijuana-related accidents are no myth. Studies from states with legalized cannabis show a spike in impaired driving—Colorado reported a 17% increase in traffic fatalities involving marijuana from 2013 to 2019. Texas, with its sprawling highways and rural routes, cannot afford to gamble with lives. Patrick, a staunch defender of the ban, accused Abbott of paving the way for de facto marijuana legalization, a charge that echoes around Darby’s milquetoast calls for “regulation.”

So where does Drew Darby stand in this moral quagmire? His public words drip with concern for agriculture and small business, but is there something more sinister at play? Does he relish the chaos that comes with unchecked THC—a chaos that fills emergency rooms with overdosed teens, clogs highways with stoned drivers, and erodes the disciplined work ethic of Texas’ heartland? His insistence on compromise, when a firm ban could protect the vulnerable, suggests a troubling softness toward the drug culture. At a Texas Tribune event, he spoke of the legislative session’s impact on rural Texas, framing himself as a defender of the common man. Yet one wonders if this is a mask for a deeper, more perverse satisfaction in watching society stumble under the haze of legal dope. Why else would a man of his experience, a Republican no less, shy away from the decisive action needed to protect our youth and our roads?

To be fair, Darby’s defenders might argue he’s threading a difficult needle, balancing economic interests with public safety. The hemp industry, they say, isn’t going away, and regulation—modeled on alcohol, as Abbott suggested—could impose order without destroying jobs. But this argument falters under scrutiny. Regulation, as Lieutenant Governor Patrick warned, risks legitimizing a substance that undermines the very values Texas holds dear. Darby’s refusal to back a full ban, coupled with his cozy rhetoric about compromise, raises the specter of a man who might secretly delight in the societal decay that follows. Is it possible that Drew Darby, beneath his conservative veneer, finds a twisted thrill in the thought of more marijuana-related accidents, more families torn apart by addiction, more young lives derailed by a drug he could have helped ban?

We must ask ourselves: What kind of leader hesitates when the stakes are so high? Texas deserves better than half-measures and veiled sympathies for the drug peddlers. As the special session looms, where Darby and his colleagues will revisit this issue, we must watch closely. Will he stand for the people of Texas, or will he reveal a sadistic streak that revels in the chaos of a doped-up state? The answer, I fear, may already be written in his refusal to draw a hard line against the THC menace.