Stoners, a message to you, stoners…
May 17th, 2007 by michael
Dear stoners:
I know I may have misled you in the past. I know that you comprise a cult whose initiation ritual is “taking a monster hit out of Frodo,” or whatever you’ve named your pipe, but I want no part in your glassy-eyed communions. I do not want to burn incense to your gods, I do not wish to kneel before your spiky-leafed savior. Please do not mistake me as “one of you.”
We share a hobby. This does not make us friends. I bet we also both like puppies, the milk after a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch and oxygen. These are not the makings of a friendship. These are not even the makings of a conversation.
I do not want to be your friend. You do not have friends. You have smoking buddies. If you’re having trouble distinguishing, here’s an easy test: Do you know your friends’ last names? No? They’re smoking buddies.
Do not mistake an interest in buying weed for a general interest in weed. I do not want to hear your “high” stories. I do not want to hear about the one time you did crazy rips out of your friend’s vaporizer. I absolutely do not want to hear the name “Amsterdam” escape your lips. You are not a jukebox. You are a vending machine. If I wanted a jukebox, I would make like the Fonz and hit you.
I have no use for your secret codes, and neither should you. It’s not tea, it’s weed. It’s not 1947, and you are not Jack Kerouac. The police are not tapping your cellphone for slinging a few dime bags, Escobar.
I do not want to hear about your nugs, nor their dankness. If your buds are especially sticky, please keep this information to yourself.
Please stop giving your varietals of weed names, especially names inspired by Grateful Dead songs. I am not interested in knowing if the green stuff in the bag is Maui Wowie, Purple Haze or White Widow. There exist only three varietals of marijuana: “bad,” “good,” and “very good.”
While we’re on the subject, “skunky” is in no way an appealing adjective. You smell skunky. The weed smells like marijuana.
If you are a dealer, it is in the very poorest of taste to ask your customers to share some of the product they have just purchased. When I buy a Coke at the corner store, the guy behind the counter doesn’t ask for a sip. You are a dealer. You can get your own fucking weed.
Do not ask me when I come in if I am a cop. Not only is this insulting, it’s pointless. Perhaps you are unfamiliar with police procedure, but generally undercover drug cops are not required by law to reveal their identities when questioned by suspects. If there is an undercover cop in the apartment out of which you sell weed, you have not outwitted him if you demand to know whether he is a cop. If there is an undercover cop in the apartment out of which you sell weed, you are already fucked.
Get it through your cannabis-addled skull: Jerry is dead. Not only is Jerry dead, he is entirely decomposed. No, it would not be awesome to dig him up and smoke him. Take off your bootlegs.
Reggae music is not yours because you smoke weed any more than Tuvan throat singing would be yours if you had a taste for boiled yak.
Enormous tie-dyed sheets imprinted with fanciful grinning creatures and posters where the image is composed entirely of weed leaves do not constitute a consistent aesthetic. They do not constitute an aesthetic at all. Put up a painting.
Not the Dali melting clocks, you burn-out motherfucker.
Your apartment smells like stale weed and armpit. Spray air freshener costs 20 shekels.
And finally, in the consistently relevant words of Redman, your weed got more seeds than ODB.
Fuck you.
—
This post brought to you by:
Ghostface Killah ft. Method Man, Redman and Cappadonna - Buck 50
Posted in bea arthur |
May 17th, 2007 at 16:44
“Do not ask me when I come in if I am a cop.”
There seems to be an urban legend (or rather a Stoner and Activist Legend) to the effect that if you *ask* they have to identify themselves. I thought this myth was rather commonplace in the states.
Seems it’s made it to Israel too.
May 17th, 2007 at 19:14
See? Stoners are stupid.
May 17th, 2007 at 20:29
Damn Michael. I just mentioned Amsterdam to you last weekend. I feel hurt.
May 17th, 2007 at 21:49
My favorite activity in the entire world is to listen to stoners ramble on about how smoking makes them more intelligent, like how it unlocks certain restricted areas of
their subconcious, allowing think on some sort of cosmic higher level. It’s like, look, don’t front, I’ve spent the majority of the last five years stoned out of my gourd, and have never found it to have much of a positive effect on I.Q–and I know I’m not alone. The fact that I just used “like, look, don’t front” in a sentence should be proof enough.
May 18th, 2007 at 1:53
“I do not want to hear your “high” stories. I do not want to hear about the one time you did crazy rips out of your friend’s vaporizer.”
Too true…On the other hand, if the dealer is somewhat colorful, I enjoy droll elucidations of the product’s perfume, structure, and taste, if only to watch the dealer wax poetic. This likely stems from the fact that I can’t stand barbarous appellations like “beasters.” Oh yeah, Michael, you also forgot mention the necessary unveiling/recapitulation of recently bought “heady pieces” of glass.
May 18th, 2007 at 8:18
uh oh… sounds like somebody had a bad day at the office.
May 18th, 2007 at 22:07
I’m curious. From whence did the “Happy Days” reference come? I don’t ever recall watching that with you…
May 18th, 2007 at 23:34
I am nothing if not a culture maven.
May 20th, 2007 at 4:29
I’m with you on this one.
I’m at the point that I have been smoking alone for years now because everyone I know that smokes are such a bunch of fucking losers.
May 20th, 2007 at 8:25
I know! It’s enough to make you believe the anti-drug public service announcements. If smoking weed turns you into the kind of person who says “dank nugs,” maybe I should finally cultivate a taste for coffee instead.
May 20th, 2007 at 9:14
It’s really become a problem. I finally meet this guy who is friends with my wife and figured that he might be normal enough to chill with..
But no!
The fucker stays home all day just doing jack-shit. Bum.
The first time I meet him, he is wearing his shirt with his head sticking out of his armpit sleeve. What- am I supposed to think thats funny?
Fucking moron.
May 20th, 2007 at 9:17
Let me amend that. His wife is friends with my wife. She happens to be slightly more normal than him but she is also fucked up.
She told us that she doesn’t sit on toilet seats. She squats.
A. Granted, you are cute, but why the fuck would I want to hear that?
B. Are you implying that you don’t think people clean their toilets?
C. Your house is a fucking pigsty so where do you get off on this?
Sorry for the rant.
May 20th, 2007 at 20:03
And finally, in the consistently relevant words of Redman, your weed got more seeds than ODB
LOL!!! I am not a stoner or a smoker but I love ODB. Enter Wu-Tang. Bitch better have my money!
@Jacob, hahaha, that is so funny.
May 20th, 2007 at 21:11
Kosher Eucharist is a Wu-Tang-friendly zone. Even if Wu-Tang isn’t really a Jew-friendly zone. I overlook.
Jacob - my strict policy is that, unless I am already close with someone, if they mention their bathroom habits in any sort of detail, I never speak to them again. Some things are just meant to be private, and the expulsion of bodily wastes is among them.
Corollary question - does the guy learn? Because a stoner kollelnik might actually be the most useless entity on the entire planet. Its uselessness would become so supermassive that it would suck in others’ usefulness and rip it apart.
May 22nd, 2007 at 5:45
BTW, if I can ask you a quick question, how can I add an audio clip to my blog post like you did?
I would have emailed you but there isn’t an email addy to be seen.
I like the Ghost killa song.
May 22nd, 2007 at 23:23
You have to download and install this plugin to your server. It’s a Wordpress plugin, but the download page provides a link that explains how to use it on Blogger. You also need your own server space somewhere to store the MP3 files.