We All Know What You're Doing

Hey.

Middle-Aged Guy In The Sneakers, Camo Sweat Pants, Plaid Jacket, and Hoody Balding On Top With A Ponytail Who Was Staring At The "Medicinal Horticulture And Hemp" Shelf Of The Gardening Section In The Book Store Today.

We all know what you're doing. Stop making it so obvious. You're a shameful stereotype.

Also, can my friends score a bag? I don't partake, but I recognize the utility of having a wholesaler nearby.

Marijuana Periodicals on the Rise

Today I found a cookbook dedicated to the culinary use of marijuana. I noticed various baked goods, even chile con carné, and a butter recipe for use in damned near anything, something I've heard of doing. (Basically these guys made a couple pounds of butter and froze it, then got a good buzz pretty much with any dinner they felt like.)

I also came across a copy of this:

Is this newsstand item classified as:

A. "Alternative Medicine" (as self-described)
B. Gardening
C. Lifestyle (a catch-all for everything from "men's magazines" to tattoo art)

Answer: C. Lifestyle.

Right next to this:

This guy:

and this monstrosity:

Dear god. The debased lengths these niche freaks will go to.

Happy 4-20!

This is not in celebration of weed, but rather it celebrates the fact that I stayed up to 4 a.m. filling a couple of portfolios with a ton of previous work and blew off doing any new work. But procrastination is a great part of weed, so let's call it even.

In the spirit of the day, here is something I did which I can never look at without cracking up into insane gigglefits.

I know there is a special level of Hell dedicated to people like me, but I'll (still) be damned if Dante couldn't figure out where. Good thing I don't believe in Hell.

On Friends, Food and Weed

I'm going to come out on this issue: I love weed.

I don't even smoke it, but I have a great affinity for the stuff because I have friends who smoke it who I also enjoy. I'm also aware of the possible health benefits and haven't heard a single cogent argument for why it's a bad thing, but that's really over selling the point.

That point being, "I have fun, straight, around people who are high." I went out with a friend the other night, ostensibly to buy him some weed, and the drug dealer we end up going to is a kid we've known to one degree or another since grade school. Kid doesn't even sell much now, because the cops are kind of watching him, but tonight he was alone with his girlfriend and a couple friends were coming over. He was nice enough to let us creepily leave rather than forcing us to stay and seem inconspicuous.

Which kind of sucked because holy crap this guy had the cutest kitten ever. Swear it. I'm talking a single handful of gray fluff with a white stomach and paws and a scraggly little tail. Adorable.

Then my friend smoked and we went to McDonald's with only a single cop-car-behind-us scare which I didn't even notice because it turned away. We got to the drive-thru and my friend goes to order.

"Can I get two four-piece nuggets…?"

Silence.

"…Did you want something else?"

"No!"

"Do you want any sauce?"

"No."

Really, dude? First off, you act like she was supposed to know you were done. The way you trailed off, you clearly sounded like you were going to say something else. Poor girl on the other hand is confused enough listening to stoners on the McDonald's 24-Hour drive-thru night shift, don't make her job more difficult.

And no sauce? I mean, I only ask because your usual response is, "Can I have all your sauces?"

You literally ask for all the different kinds of sauce they have, even the ones most people don't know about. You get sweet and sour at McDonald's, dude. Did you just decide to do it raw tonight? No throat lubrication; you'll just dip them in your own blood when they make it down to your stomach. You've been secretly grooming an ulcer for months just for this moment.

If this is seriously the worst thing that happens on weed, I'm all for it.

On Dreams, Pt. VII - Return To Dream Lake

So I awoke this morning from a dream in which I was forced to take an precautionary drug course at some college. This is what I remember, narration included:

"Ridiculous," his mother had told him, back when he was still a little girl, "You're a freshman and every freshman has to take this class."

"I'm twenty-three."

"Nonsense. Now," she continued, "You are going to be offered drugs and dope so…." Holding her pre-written anti-drug propaganda pamphlet splayed open in her left hand, she trailed off as I mused at the poorly photoshopped image of a girl with three front teeth on the scantron they had given us with absurdly wide bubbles and a little section to review the the new form layout. I recalled what had led me here.

It wasn't weed or anything, it was crack. I'm not going to touch the fucking stuff, I just wanted to watch him make it. A college buddy of mine had asked me if I wanted to split a dub. I declined, walked away musing over the slang and various drug use philosophies until I realized I hadn't actually said anything and had just done the walking away part.

I followed my friend into a basement laundry room and apologized for my train of thought causing my to be socially discourteous. I told him I did not want to partake, but would be interested in watching the process.

*Now, I know that "a dub" is generally reserved for pot sales, but in my dream I must have recalled that it's technically $20 worth of anything, and since this was a dream I was aware that my friend intended to convey the substance was some kind of cocaine.*

My friend began cooking cocaine into crack right there on top of the washing machine, for some reason in a tiny sepulcher. I watched the white blacken and bubble up neon lime green as he mixed in baking soda (not the right color) and then flip the boiling, volatile concoction into a Coca Cola can. It was at this point that a tiny bit spilled out onto the dryer, so my friend contained what he could as the rest spontaneously combusted.

His solution to the fire and noxious fumes was to lay down a couple lines of coke on the far side of the spill and inhale them along with the precious drug fumes emanating from the fire. Catching a small contact high off this and not wanting to get instantly addicted to dream-crack, I left.

As I walked the long corridor out of the basement I saw danger ahead. I quickly turned back and asked everyone still near the drug room, loudly to catch an ear, "Have any of you guys seen my keys?"

Quietly, I added, "Yo, the mother from Everybody Loves Raymond is headed this way with laundry. Watch out," then turned again, plotting my escape. Above ground, I found myself in a college office center, thinking only "I already have a degree…" and suddenly I was in a classroom taking a shitty drug course.


The other night I just dreamed of zombies clawing at me and woke up to a cat attacking my foot. Some dreams are just easier to explain than others.

Things Dumber Than Prop 8 Californians Have Allowed

I decided "Leaving a giant collapsed sign half-repaired because you're lazy" wasn't actually very dumb. Just really, really lazy.

Things Dumber Than Prop 8 Californians Have Allowed:

• The election of Arnold Schwarzenegger to the office of governor
• For that matter, the election of multiple-monkey movies actor Ronald Regan to the office of governor.
• "Limited" use of medicinal marijuana
• Naming tar pits a natural preserve
• The Matrix sequels
• The Hills
• Jews owning studios
• The Hills again, because it's that terrible
  

In the Spirit of Jack Handy II

I'm sick so I'm not even going to try to think up something new and witty. Here's some thoughts from my Twitter that didn't quite pan out into full blogs:

• Getting in shape and getting fat are exactly the same in that after a while you start to find parts of your body that weren't there before.
  
  
• I want a "LIVELONG" bracelet. It's only for healthy people with no threatening illnesses who won't likely die soon. Also it's for Vulcans.
  
  
• Outside college, pajama or "loungewear" bottoms are not an acceptable replacement for real pants. Neither are they a proper substitute for underwear.
  
  
• I saw an internet video of a dog in zero-gravity and asked myself aloud, laughing, "Why would you DO that?!" Accidentally described whole internet.
  
  
• Brendan Fraser, I know I say this every time you come out with a new movie, but Brendan Fraser, please stop making movies.
  
  
• I'd be more inclined to use marijuana if you could just chew the damned stuff. And if it tasted like a brownie. Or was a brownie. You know what, forget the weed and just get me a brownie.
  
  
• I went to the mall looking to get new glasses, but the selection sucked, so I wandered the mall and found a $20 bill on the ground in the middle of the floor. Then I watched an MTV T.V. pilot for the Nielsen company and got $15. Basically, I think God wants me to be unemployed.