Stoney Baloney | A Narrated Cannabis Column
Toke up to this whimsical, narrated Cannabis Column that infuses contemporary observations from an old school perspective. The name Stoney Baloney says it all; a weekly grab bag of ingredients that’s sure to be infused with lots of salty flavors to make it taste delicious.
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#295 - Pinky Swears Are Binding
11/25/2024
#295 - Pinky Swears Are Binding
Yes, pinky swears are a lighthearted agreement rarely enforced, but we all know that there exists a code with the intention of not being broken. Because in this sue happy world of painful litigation, if we don’t respect the sanctimony of a real deal, then why agree to it in the first place? Locking pinkies is a silly way to execute blood brotherhood without the pricks. And I’m not referring to the kind of pricks who drive BMWs, but the kind you make on your finger by poking it with a needle to draw a drop of blood. I’ve seen blood bonding in movies where two warriors will cement an agreement by slicing a line in their arm before the compulsory forearm broshake, then sealing the bond by wrapping a leather strap. The man love is palpable. In fact, you think they might rub beards. Either way, the hand is the tool that secures alliances, and the inconspicuous pinky can be the secret weapon of assurance. Sure, most pinky swears aren’t taken seriously, but if we create a legally binding understanding that once a pinky swear is consummated there is no way to overturn it without going to hell, or some shit like that, they can be enforceable. It needs to matter more. Along with saving polar bears. This is good. Because even though the pinky is the runt of the litter, it has plenty of potential. Your ring finger is cool but is basically employed for the purpose of identifying the symbol for a ball and chain called the wedding ring. The middle finger, well, that’s a no-brainer—very useful indeed. The index finger is essential for booger harvesting and pointing at cool shit, which is of great importance. But the pinky has been underrated. Therefore, as unlikely as it is that it will work out, sometimes you’ve just got to see how it goes because it’s the best option available. Kind of like when you’re out of weed, but you’ve got a dirty pipe with a bunch of resin collected in it.
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#294 - The Shit We Do When We're Drunk
11/18/2024
#294 - The Shit We Do When We're Drunk
Make bad decisions. End of story. Well, there’s more actually. See, we all know that It’s difficult to think clearly when gazing through the glowing lens of beer goggles. Because when everything in your periphery is enhanced by fuzzy Glamour Shot lighting, the miscalculation alarm can be severely compromised when your weaker senses are enticed. Suddenly, casting caution to the wind makes perfect sense, and you are down because you’ve just unlocked the jailed trap star who runs the city. That antisocial video gamer who clocked in this morning with a Best Buy name tag just got run over by the tank that is the new confident and boastful Chief Executed Baller. With a couple of shots and a beer satiating the gullet, the amazing new you has emerged. And this dude is a fucking player who struts with swagger and makes the calls, ready to order some rounds and make some forgettable memories. This is the juncture in the evening where terrible ideas become sound opportunities to prove to the world that the tin man just needed a few drops of oil to lube up the joints. A few of these ill-advised decisions include tossing back a fifth shot of Fireball whiskey, doubling up on the stack of waffles, and cranking the ignition on the Hyundai. It all makes beautiful perfect sense. Oh, and hooking up with your childhood bestie. Not all decisions made when drunk are bad, however. The moment you decided to hit a homeless guy’s pinner on the sidewalk after slapping his palm with a twenty spot instead of calling Guido for an eight ball of blow was the best decision you made all week. Thankfully, the evening wasn’t a complete loss.
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#293 - Getting Socks as a Gift
11/11/2024
#293 - Getting Socks as a Gift
There’s not a damn thing wrong with socks. Hell, life without them just wouldn’t be as cozy. In fact, I can’t say that there’s a more soothing sensation than pulling up a brand spankin’ new pair of cotton fluffiness over the feet. It’s a reward for those soldiers, a way of thanking them for taking a pounding and being the trusted vehicles that get you from point P to point Q. Did you know that your feet are among the heaviest producers of sweat in the body, and socks are there to soak all that up and prevent the scent of cheese from settling into your shoe? I know what you’re thinking, the smell of cheese in your shoes is not Gouda. So, you better Brie ready to head to Monterrey, Jack. Awkward silence. Anyway, we’ve become spoiled. Because socks are now a commodity we take for granted. What was once a true luxury of the bourgeoisie has become a mass produced, commonplace afterthought found on the discount aisle at Marshals. And getting them as a gift almost feels like a gyp. But you can’t blame grandma, her purpose is to keep you clothed and well-souped. Afterall, her grandmother grew up in the Great Depression, so having the ability to provide comfort for her brood is her way of expressing love. And socks have become cool with their graphic prints of Hindu patterns and weed symbols. In fact, socks are a great way to make a statement. And that statement is that you are so fucking fashionable that when it comes to dressing, no stone is unturnt. “And if they think my socks are dope, wait until they get a look at my underwear.” Now, it should be noted that getting socked in the face sucks. Unless It’s with a bag of weed that smells gouda.
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#292 - Flattery Will Get You Everywhere
11/04/2024
#292 - Flattery Will Get You Everywhere
Everyone loves being told they are wonderful. That simple sound of adulation flowing off another person’s tongue can have the most pleasing chemical rush on the brain, pushing the dopamine swiftly to the receptors, instantly unlocking any tension while lifting the corners of the mouth towards the stars, loosening the jaw, and warming the refrigerated heart. Even the prickliest of Ebeneezers loves to hear how wonderful he is, though you know he’s likely to shrug off the compliment as a waste of air if not ventured for profit. Because somewhere in that hardened soul, there lies the need for love and validation that cracks the rigid conditioning of a Victorian rearing which left the child starved for emotional embraces. But as with anything in life that causes one to crave more, adulation can also be a tool for manipulating. Oh yes, many practice the art of calculating compliments to achieve a desired result that ultimately benefits them personally. Some call that laying the frosting on too thick. And no one is not susceptible to sugar. However, if the delivery is not perceived as genuine, the guise can be uncovered, potentially creating an adverse reaction. Most people know when they are being patronized. By the way, this does not apply to Cannabis growers as they all claim to grow the best weed. Tell them that and often they will place a handful of nugs in your possession. Of course, there is no such thing as the world’s best grower because there is literally no feasible way to accurately determine this. But who cares, you’re getting free nugs and logistics are not your problem. It’s called reverse psychology. And you can never be blamed for complimenting growers. Because when it comes down to it, all weed is the best weed in the world if it is the only weed in your possession, especially when it’s free. Or the price of one complement.
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#291 - Let's Taco Bout It
10/28/2024
#291 - Let's Taco Bout It
Who doesn’t love tacos? I mean, this juggernaut of Mexican culture easily rivals the hamburger when competing for most delectable item in the food pyramid. And whether you like your fillings grilled, deep fried, or sauteed, there is only herding the ingredients into a tortilla and wrapping that baby up to convert your hand into a flavor shovel of extreme awesomeness! Think about it. Tuesday would be Bluesday if not for the amazing taco. And not just because the two are alphabetically compatible, but because tacos are so damn cheerful, they turn an ordinary meal into a downright fiesta. And with the deliciousness well in hand, all you need is a bottle of to-kill-ya to quickly transform a mundane weekday into a Satur-type-day? So vamanos on those happy hour Margaritas amigo, because we’re going to need some tang to punctuate the party. Tacos aren’t just yummy for the tummy; they give the meal personality. It’s the rare food item that can relocate your dinner table to a barstool smack dab in the middle of a pinata filled cantina. Suddenly you’re stoned on some pressed brick weed surrounded by a handful of gleeful hombres with frilly tuxedos and giant sombreros strumming guitars, squeezing accordions, and singing like angels and you’ll swear you’ve been transported somewhere south of the border. Every country has their own version of a taco, right? Poland has the pierogi, Italy has the pizza, and Israel has the falafel. And the United States has the taco pizza. Back to the food pyramid. I wonder if that originated in Tenochtitlan. That’s where they used to conduct human sacrifices. Those were some evil bastards. But then, they didn’t have Cinco de Drinko.
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#290 - Wookies
10/14/2024
#290 - Wookies
The brain needs oxygen so the body yawns. And upon rising from the pillow one overcast morn, there was a gurgled effect and a peculiar pitch out of the mouth that seeded my core with suspicion. Oddly, it resembled an anxious Chewbacca sending a ‘let’s get the fuck outta here’ to his not so trusted friend Han Solo who invariably induces motion sickness from the erratic movement of dodging asteroids to the smell of burnt Wookie dingleberries from laser beam near misses. I panicked. Had some strange transformation occurred whilst asleep? There was no extraneous fur growing on my body, no foul breath that resembled the remnants of fried Grantaloupe innards, or any other traits of a Chewbacca for which I should be deeply concerned. There must have been in a crazy dream before lucidity resurfaced, so the anxiety began to fade. Nightmare averted. But there is another species of Wookie—sort of the human version of that Sasquatch’s buzzin’ cousin from another mother. Generally unclean, extremely hairy, and housing silver dollar sized earlobe gauges, their look is that of having stolen tapestries from an eastern European gypsy bordello and fashioned the material into pants. You see and smell them at heady Cannabis events toting their wares in a pelican case. I sniffed the underarms, and it was not good. Had I transformed? Was it Freaky Friday? Jumping out of bed, I immediately made a terror run for the mirror where a thorough inspection was in order. The hair was studied for any new emerging dreads, the mouth for any new sores, and the face for any remnants of crumbs in the patchy facial hair. Nope, it was the same dude that passed out drunk the previous night in the middle of the original Star Wars trilogy. So, I relaxed and took a dab, clutching my stuffed Princess Kneesaa Ewok toy that brings me comfort in moments of reality.
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#289 - Problem Solving is Easy
10/08/2024
#289 - Problem Solving is Easy
I’ve got a secret for anyone paying attention. So long as you’re alive, you’re always going to be dealing with complications on some level. Yes, sometimes more than others, but there is no avoiding the hard cold fact that there will never be a day when you don’t have to generate a solution of some sort. It’s true. You’ll never be challenge free at any point in your life. And as you resolve things, there will inevitably be fresh obstacles to overcome. That’s actually not a secret at all. Finding weed used to be a big problem. Like, there were times when we stoners were willing to put life and livelihood at great risk just to get a THC fix. And rightfully so—for those who crave the pleasurable acuity that this consummation of Phyto cannabinoids attached to the endocannabinoid receptors invokes, nothing compares. Not one drug in the world, plant derived or synthesized, can replicate the unusual, yet natural euphoria gained from using Cannabis. It’s like a friend. You have a relationship with it. You smile when you think of her. It is love. So anyway, you pretty much trade one obstacle for another. Be it drugs, or logistics, or bills, or partners, there will always be at least one situation in need of your resolve. And money doesn’t fix everything, either. I know this. Not because I have a surplus cashish, but because I’ve never met someone wealthy who wasn’t wearing something of a heavy crown. And in case you’ve been sleeping under a rock, the problem of finding weed has been resolved. And weed can put you in an introspective place of humility, patience, and gratitude, which is the mindset for solving those other seemingly difficult dilemmas. So, get stoned. Because chances are the problem only exists in your head. By the way, I publish a weed magazine. So, I do have a surplus of hashish.
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#288 - Father Time Is Undefeated
09/30/2024
#288 - Father Time Is Undefeated
No matter how well you take care of your body, gravity will eventually pull you back to earth to be reclaimed by the soil. And although very smart people on this planet have developed stunning scientific methods to prolong the everlasting blink, when your train is whistling into the station, you’ll need to politely disembark to clear space for new passengers. This is the end of the line--no pill, no surgery--no more birthdays. But you can’t be mad. Being atop the food chain doesn’t mean you live forever, just that you live well longer. In fact, you’ll most likely dwell here about five times longer than the average caveperson ever did, so be grateful that you don’t have to be worried about being eaten by a razor-toothed land shark. That poor hairy dude didn’t have a gun, a car, or an electric razor--much less a Home Depot. Yes, there are clams that live over 500 years and there are some trees that live thousands of years. But for you, large brain or not, 120 loops around the glowing orb are what you get--give or take a decade or ten depending on how well you attract lightning. And that’s a generous estimation, mostly reserved for women living on some isolated island in Japan or Italy with simple diets and a daily glass of vino, sequestered from the instant gratification society of processed foods and secondhand smoke. So, as there’s no denying that some people have temporarily circumvented death. But as there are clever roundabouts and shortcuts en route to your final destination, the tick of the almighty timepiece will eventually come to a halt. And when that clock finally stops, let’s hope it gets stuck on 4:20. Afterall, the best way to go is up in smoke.
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#287 - Boogers Are Influential
09/23/2024
#287 - Boogers Are Influential
The finger reaches into the hole. And why not? Although this appendage often sits idle, like an old motor, it is a tool best maintained with regular use. And as the subconscious wanders into aimless thought while tediously inching through rush hour traffic, the instinct directs the fingernail toward an accessible area of the anatomy in need of grooming. Sure, this exercise serves some low-level maintenance to the nostril, but at the same time there is an element of achievement in withdrawing that coagulation of dirt and snot from the inverted cavern as if excavating something valuable. Like a gold nugget. There’s a reason why they call it digging for gold instead of digging for coal, you know. And it’s because of this sense of reward by producing something that is sustainably harvested and interesting to look upon. You’ve manufactured a prize from your own body. A toy of sorts. Something to play with by rolling it between the fingers to create the perfect little musket ball for the most accurate flick. Or maybe you didn’t roll it at all, but slid it off the flat mantle like a shifted tectonic plate, with the intention of sailing it into the distance in hopes for a good twist in trajectory, as if whirling a frisbee into the warm summer air. You find value in this lone confetto—a personal token of celebration for the miracle of life. And this is the proof that you are alive. A booger, however immaterial it may seem, is of the highest significance. It is there to remind you that the system is fully functional--that the body is in pure working form, curing itself, keeping you optimal--a true symbol of your existence. You have spent countless hours over the course of your life with these little treasures, having grown accustomed to the daily practice of preening. In fact, it could be argued that this was the precursor to learning how to roll a joint. Or pinching a nug.
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#286 - Urine Love
09/16/2024
#286 - Urine Love
Discussing urine sounds disgusting. Afterall, what we’re referring to is liquid waste that is excreted from your body. And it’s generally yellow. If you’ve taken your vitamins, that is. But when you really break it down, it’s just water that regulated your system so that it functions optimally. And the facts are that urine is about 95 percent clean. So clean that some people drink it. And are proud of it. Let’s not get into why, but the question must be asked--what is this fascination with reclaiming the holy water that once flushed your machine? Like, once you’ve drained the oil on the Lambo, you wouldn’t pour it back in. Evidently there are reasons. And I don’t have the answers. I remember in the 5th grade there was a multiple-choice question on a test that inquired what the best chance of survival is if you were to be stranded on a life raft at sea. One of the choices was to drink your own urine, which no kid in the classroom chose out of absolute repulsion. The correct answer, no more appealing to a ten-year-old, was to kill a seagull and drink its blood. Which makes sense. If you can catch a fucking seagull. Good luck with that one. So, the urine could save your life. Especially if it smelled like fish because you’d be making your living off scooping minnows. I was thinking that if you urinated on some part of the boat and let it fester in the sun, most likely a seagull would land, and that’s how you could catch it. Sorry for the details, but as you can see my educators prepared me for survival and I’ve been traumatized by this one for decades. Anyway, back to drinking pee. They say if you eat asparagus your urine will retain the flavor and there are connoisseurs who savor this taste. I wonder if that works with infused drinks. Only if you’re a Cannaseur.
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#285 - Exercise the Demons
09/09/2024
#285 - Exercise the Demons
I’m going to be the voice of reason right now by telling you that you gotta get your cardio in. That’s just how it is. You see, the reason we have bodies at all is because gravity pulls matter toward the earth and your muscles have developed into what they are today because of that resistance which forces you to battle against that incessant tug. Honor your space suit. You are consciousness in this rare form for an allotted time and then it’s over. On to another manifestation of energy. So, get it while you can. No one’s ever come back from the dead last time I checked. Once it’s over it’s over. Done. Goner. Adios amigo. Stardust, Baby. Bottom line is to keep moving or the inertia will creep on you like a good Girl Scout Cookie. Not the cookie that helps teach young girls to hustle, but the strain that makes you want the cookie. Because if you refuse or are not capable of making rapid movement to the point of increased breathing, these parts will rust and decay. In time, the energy of your atoms will slowly meld into another form, which is cool and all, but that form will not be the amazing you. And we want the amazing you. You want the amazing you. Use it or lose it, Champ. That is unless you like the movie Wall-e so fucking much that your ideal life is to be rollin’ in a motorized Lazy Boy drinking smoothies all day in a star sailing metropoliship. I mean, that looked pretty chill for a minute, but ultimately, we want challenges that test our mental and physical fortitude, leading to improved self-actualization. So, that little devil sitting on your shoulder who tells you to finish that tub of ice cream when you know you should be getting in your steps? Tell him to quit smoking all your weed because it leads to the munchies. It’s entirely his fault. That little fucker.
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#284 - Cursing is Liberating
09/02/2024
#284 - Cursing is Liberating
When venom is coursing through your embroiled veins, it feels good to let out an exultant fuck. In fact, you would be hard pressed to find any single word in the English language so versatile. Call us unrefined, but when you have such an effective expression that is so interchangeable simply by the tone and cadence with which it is spit, why reach into that bag of expletives for anything else? With fuck as the signature example, swear words can be some of the most impactful of all expressions—the exemplary embodiment of absolute emotion. They are the sprinkles to your sentences. The punctuation of your pronouns. The gravy on your mashed potatoes. And when you study how we might’ve arrived at this era of artful articulation, it seems plausible that this breakthrough gained momentum when the 1940’s war children came of age a decade later. After having their mouths washed out with soap enough times in the cookie cutter order of row housing, they grew weary of the conservative austerity it took to defeat the Nazis, ready to adopt their rock and roll identity--ripe for a cultural rebellion. And rightfully accentuated by bad words in back alleys with cuffed jeans and cigarette fueled observations. If you think about it, language is a peculiar vehicle for communicating. And since the advent of our grunts toward a more competent connection, shunned words have had a place on the periphery of the dictionary. And when it comes to the word fuck, why would you insulate the remark that pinpoints your fiery feelings when it specifically flavors your fervor? Doesn’t It feel liberating to let it out. Just like a giant, breathy bong toke.
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#283 - The Purse Purse
08/26/2024
#283 - The Purse Purse
Ladies, you’ve got it all figured out. All Hell could be breaking loose, but so long as you’re armed with that imperative satchel that keeps your vitals accessible, you’ll always be ready for the world. This is your most necessary accessory, accentuating the confidence that proves you’re an irreplaceable bad ass. And one purse is not enough. Only one cannot ensure your command of any room’s attention. Because with reasons and seasons in constant flux, your ability to adjust to any given outing is critical for your interchangeable persona that presents your unavoidable qualities to the scrutinizing public. In your woman cave, there hangs the quiver of handbags that typify extensions of your character--different exciting versions of you that either offer cohesion or contrast with the varying surroundings. Sometimes you will blend, other times create distinction to an otherwise bland landscape. Either way, these carryalls help you to turn super into superlative. And when it’s time to turn things up, like the stitching in and of itself, your look is seamless. It is usually with great intention that this wing-thing is chosen, as if each was specially designed for your evolving moods. It exemplifies your womanly power, completing the statement that you’re always intending to make. It is the cherry that perfects the sundae. The rabbit in the moon. Mona Lisa’s smirk. Like her, you hold your mysteries close. And should anyone attempt to ambush you into divulging the wonderous secrets that are yours alone, the lips will slightly pucker while the stunned onlooker futilely wonders how to tap the hidden spring that spouts your charm. What lies inside this clutch is part of that mystery--the perfect shade of lipstick, the dramatic mascara, a feminine product. But almost more importantly, the cartridge of vaporizable oil which lights the wick to the roman candle that explodes into the eager night, sprinkling your unique stardust into the otherwise flat black sky.
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#282 - Father Time is Undefeated
08/19/2024
#282 - Father Time is Undefeated
No matter how well you take care of your body, gravity will eventually pull you back to earth to be reclaimed by the soil. And although very smart people on this planet have developed stunning scientific methods to prolong the everlasting blink, when your train is whistling into the station, you’ll need to politely disembark to clear space for new passengers. This is the end of the line--no pill, no surgery--no more birthdays. But you can’t be mad. Being atop the food chain doesn’t mean you live forever, just that you live well longer. In fact, you’ll most likely dwell here about five times longer than the average caveperson ever did, so be grateful that you don’t have to be worried about being eaten by a razor-toothed land shark. That poor hairy dude didn’t have a gun, a car, or an electric razor--much less a Home Depot. Yes, there are clams that live over 500 years and there are some trees that live thousands of years. But for you, large brain or not, 120 loops around the glowing orb are what you get--give or take a decade or ten depending on how well you attract lightning. And that’s a generous estimation, mostly reserved for women living on some isolated island in Japan or Italy with simple diets and a daily glass of vino, sequestered from the instant gratification society of processed foods and secondhand smoke. So, as there’s no denying that some people have temporarily circumvented death. But as there are clever roundabouts and shortcuts en route to your final destination, the tick of the almighty timepiece will eventually come to a halt. And when that clock finally stops, let’s hope it gets stuck on 4:20. Afterall, the best way to go is up in smoke.
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#281 - I Share That Sediment
08/12/2024
#281 - I Share That Sediment
We all know the 10-second rule. When you drop a piece of food, if you pick it up within ten seconds you have beaten the decomposition clock, essentially rescuing the item from the armies of crazed little germs that lie in waiting for food fumbles. In your mind’s eye, these microscopic creatures are blood thirsty vampires, lurching, smothering it with toxic juices and dripping fangs, rendering your Funyun a potential risk to your body’s wellness. Your taste buds, however, may not excuse your blunder. There is not a moment to waste for the fast action determination that will either land that flavor into your mouth, or sadly litter the ground with another dead soldier. This is a decision factored on the intensity of your saliva, painfully anticipating the explosive zest while the impatient clock races to the point of no return. You grow weary of your surroundings, weighing the risks of irreparable illness, or judgement from any onlooker within eyeshot. Do you forego the hazards and redeem the gaffe, or exponentially enhance the chance that a frenzy of multiplying bacteria could foster an unpronounceable condition? Tick, tick, tick. You’re down to 007. You stare upon it, frazzled by the dilemma. This is an exceptional onion flavored ring, and you are not one to waste tasty salt. The forehead begins to bead. Slow motion ensues. There is a finite number of Funyuns in existence and this one is yours. You put the fun in Funyun. You reach down and pinch the item with two fingers, brush any dirt across your jeans, inspect it momentarily, then hammer into the crunchiness with a shear jaw clamp. You chew and finish. You do not lick your fingers this time but wipe the hand on your jeans and go about your extremely busy day. In this unpredictable world where the strong survive, acquiring good food comes with challenges, and you are not one to be wasteful. Besides, those little critters are pure protein. Kind of like a ladybug on a blooming nug of weed. Not that you would ever eat one. Unless of course it came after your Funyun.
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#280 - The Drunchies
08/05/2024
#280 - The Drunchies
Remember that movie where the guy is dying of thirst in the desert, and he keeps thinking that he sees water up ahead, but it’s only a mirage? Well, that is what your brain is doing when it tells you that if you drink more alcohol, you’ll feel better. And be more amazing. And be a more amazing singer. You know how it works; the progression casually begins on Friday happy hour with a beer and a shot just to take the edge off, a reward for the tempest of horseshit you weathered all week. Then things turn professional with more pints before throwing all caution to a stiff cocktail wind with the kind of reckless abandon that involves consecutive rounds of mystery shots with trendy names followed by hard high fives and puckered faces. Inevitably, the evening will wind down with a large Mojito and another beer that goes half-drunk before the proverbial white bar nap gets hoisted in staggering surrender. Your mind, body, and spirit are separate entities now, clashing like titans, fueled by a paradoxical lather of physical imbalance and a false sense of mental fortitude. With your better sense of rationale completely disregarded and your level of sobriety stubbornly defended, you’re in no position at this point to make calculated decisions. Like whether to invest the $43 for an Uber ride home or drive yourself. Or whether to provoke an argument with another drunk person or your significant other. Or whether to provoke an argument with your drunk significant other. Or whether it’s a good idea to eat. And eat a lot. This is called the Drunchies. Be it the Denny’s Grand Slam loaded with maple syrup and a banana split chaser, a Super-Sized Big Mac Meal accentuated by dubious packets of ketchup and a crushed Oreo McFlurry, or a fully loaded bacon-wrapped street dog, a liquor-induced feeding frenzy is a recipe for a boiling volcanic cauldron. Note: Under no circumstances should this condition ever be misconstrued with the munchies. Unless you’re cross-faded.
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#279 - The Tao of Pho
07/29/2024
#279 - The Tao of Pho
Back before the millennium, there was a Tao of everything. There was a book called The Tao Of Pooh, and even a movie called The Tao Of Steve. Never had the West been so interested in Eastern culture as America fused the secrets of the Orient with other crazes of the modern era. Suddenly, trends like Kung Fu and Kawasaki were riding shotgun with Mullets and the Macarena. Many faded, and others have stayed. No need to explain which. But somewhere along the silk road to culinary exploration, we really screwed the panda by adopting Kimchi and Sushi over one of the most flavorful, colorful, reasonably priced surprises the foodie world has ever ladled. But now Pho is having its day, getting deserved recognition while growing in popularity with every noodle slurped. Pho is very hip right now; it has a likable image. It’s trending, like a catchy comedian, an underground rapper with a mix tape, or a killer series on Netflix. You mention Pho, and people act like you have the password for a super exclusive VIP party. You can use it instead of the word Fuck, and nobody criticizes you for stealing a stale joke. Instead, they wink and acknowledge that you’re in the know. So why in the world would you not like Pho? It is awesome because it comforts you like a woobie. It makes you feel relevant by always being a hot friend who accepts you. You know what, that would be badass if they named a Cannabis strain called Pho. I mean, why not? They have a strain called Purple Monkey Balls. It could be the new Tao of Pooh. The Dab of Pho. It would be phomiddable!
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#278 - Leaving Las Vegas
07/22/2024
#278 - Leaving Las Vegas
Leaving Las Vegas is like coming down off cocaine. It sucks. Well, probably because you are coming down off cocaine. Because there’s nothing fun about returning to your mild-mannered desk job after getting a taste of what it’s like to be a rock star. In fact, no one ever said, “Thank God that’s over, now I get to go back to my accounting firm.” Ok, maybe someone did say that. Like, an accountant who unexpectedly got fast tracked into a frenzied post-Spearmint Rhino bacchanal. And it scared him. Because no one should paddle into Bonzai Pipeline if they haven’t first learned how to stand up on a surfboard. Is there anything more punishing than the reality bite of seeing that skyline shrink in the distance through the small airplane window? It’s as if you’ve just had a chunk of your soul grizzled out by a werewolf. However, unlike the mythical creature, you unfortunately won’t be morphing into one with the next full moon to devour fleshy tourists gorged on gargantuan buffets and Yardaritas. Nothing fun like that. Instead, you’ll die a slow, excruciating death from the bite. For the next 2 days, that is, until the liver has a chance to breathe again. Of course, it might be different if you’re headed back to normalcy with bulging pockets after crushing it at the tables, but that’s never happened to me. Or anyone I know. Well, that’s not exactly accurate. I have friends who have won money in Vegas, but they generally won’t include an excel spread sheet detailing the losses incurred leading up to those rare moments of dopamine filled glory. And it is those losses that keep the casino lights on, the air cool, and the carpet confusing. But if gambling is the driving force of Vegas’ success, I wonder what affect the new consumption lounges will have on Sin City. Because embarking on a strip search for the Great Pyramid, the Eiffel Tower and the Big Apple can be a dangerous lure with a belly full of Redbull and vodka, but Blue Dreaming can create a completely different course for a city built on bad decisions. Can Cannabis kill Vegas?
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#277 - What a Title!
07/15/2024
#277 - What a Title!
Alexander the Great, what a fucking name! But how much do you actually know about him? Sure, he was a successful conqueror and all, but how successful do you have to be in your lifetime, or how many asses do you have to whoop, to deserve the title “the Great”? I mean, a guy can call himself that all day long, but for other people to do it and do it for a couple thousand years and counting, he has got to be one hugantinormous gangsterlicious Championshipism. And I say “guy” because women aren’t nearly as ridiculous as men. In fact, only a guy would use the term “hugantinormous gangsterlicious Championshipism.” Now, there are extraordinary people to whom the title “The Greatest” has been applied when alluding to their craft. Like Michael Jordan, the greatest basketball player; Marlon Brando, the greatest actor; Babe Ruth, the greatest baseball player. But how influential do you have to be to be called, or to call yourself, “The Great”? It’s equivalent to being named the greatest of the great. If you read the history books, they’ll tell you that Alexander the Great never lost a battle, that he was a military mastermind, one of the most influential people that ever lived. But I think it is safe to say that Mozart never wrote a shitty tune. And Nabisco never made a shitty cookie. So then, is it plausible to agree that greatness is entirely in the eye of the perceiver? That the title is completely subjective to where and when that person lived and what they did to gain notoriety? And that while people will boast of their own greatness, like every cannabis grower claims to grow the greatest weed, the validity of the claim is proven only with time. By the way, the best weed in the world is the weed that is sitting in your pipe.
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#276 - Your GPS Lied To You
07/08/2024
#276 - Your GPS Lied To You
The tragic miscalculation of digital driving directions can be the cause of great stress. Because when you’re lost, everything appears foreign. Your surroundings are unfamiliar, you find yourself flustered and exposed. This is a dark and confusing place where suddenly every turn, every sidewalk, and every streetlight look identical. Your sense of security vanishes, leaving you vulnerable and frightened, the anxiety heightened. You feel betrayed by the soothing, relatable personality inside of your electronic device as their lack of sound decision-making seemed almost purposeful. The voice you once believed is now a clueless idiot and you are determined to get even with a brazen scolding. You will belittle it, call her a bitch, or him an asshole, condemning their actions with caustic flare while detailing the irreparable hassle and embarrassment you’ll endure due to their lack of focus. At some point you may forgive them, but now is not the time. You are lost and late, and the world is in a state of utter peril that may take years to repair. However, although it doesn’t feel like it, this is no one’s fault. You do feel a sense of responsibility, though, for having blindly trusted what used to be a credible source. So, to rectify the blunder of placing your faith in this digital confidante, you will take uncharacteristic chances in the attempt to absolve yourself of any further regret. There is no time to waste on getting to the original course. So, you will make illegal U-turns across center-dividers and irresponsibly hit the brakes on a busy thoroughfare. You will knowingly break the law, nervously cursing while backing up on a one-way street to return to the exit passed. Ninety-five percent of the time, however, this device is correct. Therefore, you should reward your GPS system. I recommend a digital blow job. You take a puff from a vape pen and exhale it into the screen.
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#275 - Dropped Calls Are Life-Changing
07/01/2024
#275 - Dropped Calls Are Life-Changing
“I can hear you; can you hear me?” This is the sound of modern frustration. “Hello? I’m here, are you there?” Dumb question, right? I mean, yes, they are obviously still there, having not spontaneously combusted into a pile of ash or vaporized into a pool of bong water. You’re both very much in the same place you were when the cell phone went silent. Your body remains in its physical form wherever that was before the call blipped out, stranding you in the void of disconnect. But suddenly you have no contact. You’re exposed and immediately feeling unsecure and lacking a healthy sense of existence. Right? If there’s no one there to share the event, then it may as well have never happened because, in this on-demand era of show and tell, there’s little value to anything you do if you do not have someone there to validate it. To give it meaning. They say that to survive, we need companionship as much as we need food and water. Remember the dude on YouTube who saw the double rainbow and was so deeply impacted by its beauty that he wept hysterically? He was alone and isolated. But he had his cellphone, which had a camera, a conduit with which to capture the inspirational moments of pure emotion and upload for the world to see. Without that device, no other soul would have been exposed to what he experienced, the indescribable perfection he could share with humanity. And because of this portable partner, his epiphany became one of the most-watched YouTube videos in history, spreading joy and visual magnificence to the masses, culminating in millions of giggles. And a few tears. By the way, I wonder if that guy was stoned.
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#274 - The Consumption Assumption
06/25/2024
#274 - The Consumption Assumption
Boy, do we take things for granted, or what? I mean, sure we could dedicate our precious moments toward considering the possibility of where we might be if these ant piles called cities weren’t constructed before our birth, but who the heck has time to reflect on the persistence of humanity and how it scratched its way to the top of the food chain when there’s malls to scope and Taco Bells to ring? I know what you’re thinking, here we go again with a rant about the annoyances of a complacent civilization. But it’s just that if we don’t wake up and smell the couch pillow, shit’s gonna get outta hand and we’re going to be running from T-Rexes. At the new Jurassic Park in Texas. Where were we? Oh yes, running from ravenous, razor-toothed sprinters with a preference for anything stoned and lazy that smells like refried beans. And I can promise you that there were many a hairier poor dude back in the day who ended up a delicious buffet for wild beasts who didn’t give a shit about him missing his orthodontics appointment. And you can rest assured that the main factor that kept those far more il-equipped savages taking risks by venturing beyond the safety of their comfortable cave was to create a better future for their lineage so that those offspring could have easy access to packets of fire sauce. So, please keep in mind that the food that arrives on your doorstep hot and delicious with fresh ingredients is not something you truly have license to throw a tantrum about because it came three minutes late. When your sense of entitlement proves that over population is the biggest risk to our mental and physical ability to continue comfortably as a species, try to remember that if it weren’t for systems put into place for your protection, not only would you be speaking German and eating Schnitzel for breakfast, but you might be breakfast. Or you could be sent to live in Texas.
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#273 - No Yourself
06/17/2024
#273 - No Yourself
No one wants to be lonely. Human beings need social interaction. Which explains why the smart phone is truly your bestie because it will always respond to you brightly, saturating your glowing face with reverence. Even at your most compromised moments when the eyes are drooping and the teeth need brushing, it worships your existence with unflappable consistency That is real love, Baby. And it can never abandon you because you own it. But really, who owns who? Because that adoration can be a dangerous substitute in fulfilling the need for attention. You see, as these fascinating technologies allow us to communicate and coordinate with more and more people profiles across the globe, what suffers is our real need for tangible human connection. So, if the desired outcome from opening your smart phone is one that does not bring you joy and contentment, yet you continue to engage in the process knowing fully well that the odds of an ultimately negative experience are more than likely, the device has control of you. And this lack of real satisfaction can cause angst. A society filled with angst, as we know through history, results in division. And division creates instability. Instability results in violence. Violence equates to destruction. And generally, when war does break out, the first thing to get targeted is communication towers. Which means your Wi-Fi goes sayonara, immediately deeming your source of depression, anxiety, and loneliness inoperable. Which could be the best thing that ever happened to humanity. So, continue to use your smartphone. You’re doing a great thing. You know, we don’t really own anything. Ownership is merely a concept. Like currency, we merely hold the paper for a short time before transferring it into another’s possession. And if being happy is your goal in life, use Cannabis. It will also saturate your face with reverence.
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#272 - The Salad That Changed Everything
06/10/2024
#272 - The Salad That Changed Everything
A handful of times in your life, an event will occur that creates a personal shift and reorganizes your priorities. It is these clear moments of revelation that procure the cornerstones you will one day harken back to, as the rare incidents almost always happen when you are subconsciously ready, but unsuspecting. In an instant, your mind is determined, from opinion to absolute fact, an unequivocal understanding of how your belief system is quantified. What takes place is an utter recalibration of your mindset. And that it caught you completely by surprise is the crux of the magic that makes it so much more imperative, and rightfully your destiny. It could be anything. It’s that split second spark when a woman sees the nerd through a renewed lens, knowing resolutely that he, with his buck teeth and unattractive reading glasses, is the chosen partner for life and the father of her offspring. Or it’s the epiphany of the man who relinquishes the ego in discovery of the wisdom that true happiness is gained by not holding onto an idea that fuels years of regret, but instead letting go of unfulfilling thought patterns that never served his higher purpose. Or it is the succulent tomato on a crisp bed of dewy lettuce with the perfect tang of dressing at the perfect juncture, that which opens a secret passageway to a level of appreciation that lied dormant in your awareness before that very moment of information insight. These episodes are personal discoveries that enrich your existence. We are to store them inside of our DNA so that the improvement in instinct is retained in future generations. This is the essence of human evolution. Kind of like the first time you got high.
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#271 - How Shit Works
06/03/2024
#271 - How Shit Works
The longer you stick around on this cylindrical manifestation of matter in this expansive space of coalescing energy, the more you understand how the forces of alchemy interact to create this experience. And the better you become at surrendering to how the laws of physics and metaphysics cooperate, the better your advantage for remaining upright in this weird amalgamation of organic confluence. It’s that simple. But there’s nothing simple about learning which dangerous obstacles to avoid for maintaining your existence and evading an early departure. As it is this intelligence that affords you the vital awareness necessary to successfully navigate this unfathomable maze. It was the Greek philosopher Seneca who once stated that a gem cannot be polished without friction and a man without trials--meaning our strength is gained through overcoming life’s challenges. So, learning from past mistakes while dodging new perils makes you better at harnessing the unpredictable forces at play. It should be noted that there are supplementary factors that will alter your perception, creating an added twist to the reality that you generally perceive through your limited lens. One popular way of augmenting this reality is to introduce Cannabis into the body. The intake of this plant matter initiates a profound effect that accentuates elements of life by taking your awareness to a place of blissful wonderment. Beyond that, many believe that Cannabis has the potential to replace numerous pharmaceuticals to create a healthier human race and that hemp can clean the air through bioremediating the soil. However, due to a glitch in the human brain called greed, the ecosystem will continue to suffer flu-like symptoms until this destructive quality is overcome by dignity. You learn that by being around long enough. Congratulations, now you know how shit works.
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#270 - Anti-Social Media
05/27/2024
#270 - Anti-Social Media
It’s getting extremely difficult to differentiate between feelings in the cyber world and the real world. I mean, how do you know the true intention of someone who communicates with smiley faces blowing heart kisses, or gushes copious amounts of tears when they find something to be funny, yet won’t return your phone call for four days? Come to think about it, I can’t remember the last time I laughed so hard I cried. I wish it happened more often. I think I’m starting to get it, though. These icons represent a version of what that person is intending to feel, so it is our job to know this and just go with it. It is a sentiment they wish they were truly able to experience, but so extreme that actualizing it is unrealistic. However, so long as we all know what the intended emotion is, than that makes them an amazing person who understands the gravity of the moment, which quantifies them as incredibly thoughtful, interesting, and intuitive. Even though they are not interesting at all. You see, what I find in real life is that if you’re caught crying, or laughing too hard, you’re perceived as weird and awkward, and therefore avoided. Like someone might not feel comfortable looking you directly into the eyes with piercing meaning and giving you a hard hug, so they’ll cheer you up by texting you an eyeball, a heart, and a female sheep. But to actually say “I love you” is on a level that is far too personal. Which makes things weird and awkward, and therefore avoided. What we’ve become is a society bent on connecting through emojis. I’m pretty sure they mastered that craft thousands of years ago in Egypt when it was called Cuneiform. Now we have something called evolved language, but nonetheless have resorted back to hieroglyphics. Sometimes I wish these people’s minds would literally blow. Or is that the emoji for when you puff the world’s most amazing bong hit? I can’t fucking tell anymore.
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#269 - Pot Purri (Originally Posted as Episode #18)
05/20/2024
#269 - Pot Purri (Originally Posted as Episode #18)
My roommate had a bag of Funyuns. I had a bag of Nacho Cheese flavored Doritos. My other friend had brought over a bag of Sour Cream Ruffles with ridges that he mistakenly left on the coffee table the night before next to the bong, the rolling tray, and the dab rig. There was a Domino’s pizza box with a couple slabs left over, too. We heated up the pizza and placed one slice on two separate plates, then as a side dish, combined three handfuls of each style of chip and mixed them all together. We called this dinner a Pot-Purri. One time my cat, whose name is Todd, nibbled a bud that had somehow trickled its way underneath the recliner where it sat undiscovered for months. Well, when cannabis gets aged, the THC slowly degrades into CBN through oxidization creating a very relaxed, sedated result when used. So, when the effects started to take hold, Todd proceeded to find his favorite spot in the crib atop the pile of dirty laundry right next to the water heater in the pantry and didn’t move for 14 hours other than to get up, take a drink of water, dine on some Fancy Feast, and poop. There were a couple times we thought to take his pulse to make sure he was still alive if it weren’t for the continuous vibrating circadian motor in his chest accentuated by an unmistakable Cheshire smile. We call this Pot-Purri. And by the way, last time I was in World Market I saw a $16.00 bag of dried bark and walnut shells that smelled like grandma’s foot deodorant. They called that Potpurri. It didn’t even get us stoned. What in the hell is this world coming to?
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#268 - LMFAO (Originally Posted as Episode #36)
05/13/2024
#268 - LMFAO (Originally Posted as Episode #36)
We all know what this means, right? But in case you’ve been held hostage in a dental office waiting room for the past decade tortured with easy listening music and nine-month-old gossip magazines, it’s an acronym for Laughing My Fucking Ass Off. Which implies that someone is overcome with a howling expression of jubilation. And this reflex is so genuine that it goes beyond the ability to contain one’s composure. This is not a giggle, this is not a smirk, this is a response to something that is so inherently funny that it results in the physical release of happiness, expressed without restraint. The person is not just laughing, they are laughing hysterically. However, he or she who is using this language, almost always through texting, is only chuckling…maybe. They are not laughing hysterically at all. They are pretending to do so by channeling their emotions into contemporary terminology that seemingly does it for them while the actual expression of this joy, whatever level it is, is still contained within their mind and body. Kind of like being held captive in a dental office. Imagine standing in front of someone and telling them that you are laughing your fucking ass off. They would say, “No you aren’t.” The reply would be, “Right, but I think it’s really funny.” And the other person would say, “Then why aren’t you laughing?” Yet, when an individual sends this expression through their mobile device, their intent is to have us believe they are a fun loving, outgoing friend who drinks up life with a reckless sense of humor. Realistically, however, this person spends an average of 8-12 hours a day being entertained though a digital screen with very little to no reaction at all. Just because you say something doesn’t make it true. BTW, cannabis is my BFF.
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#267 - Sometimes You Fart (Originally Posted as Episode #153)
05/06/2024
#267 - Sometimes You Fart (Originally Posted as Episode #153)
It’s unfortunate, I know. No one is proud of this fact. Well, ok, there are some dudes who boast their ass exhales as an exclamation point to their manhood, but for the rest of us without some lingering infancy poop disorder, farts can be embarrassing. Especially when you do it and someone sneaks up without warning. Those moments are excruciating as you both adopt an acting role, pretending as if the smell doesn’t exist until the air eventually thins. You can only pray the episode gets forgotten. But it doesn’t always. Farts can brand an impression. Even accidental ones can permanently impair someone’s glossy image of you, rendering the relationship altered. And if it’s an SBD (silent but deadly), the damage can be irreversible. This is a bummer, but real. No one is exempt and everyone learns to contend with this inconvenience to the best of their ability. Now, fluffing in the comfort of your own space is not a problem. Some view it as being in touch with the inner self, literally. In fact, I’m pretty sure that Sigmund Freud asserted that the smelling of one’s own excrement is an animalistic reaction to gauging one’s health. So, you are not to be blamed for being aware of your windbreakers, but it should be agreed that the means in which you handle the vapors in the public sphere is worthy of consideration. And thank goodness for the cover-up, as lighting a match or incense is a considerate way to show that even though you are admitting you’ve baked up an air biscuit, you have the class and maturity to bypass the awkwardness with pleasant scents. By the way, smoking a pungent bowl works too.
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#266 - Karate Kids (Originally Posted as Episode #39)
04/29/2024
#266 - Karate Kids (Originally Posted as Episode #39)
I’ll tell you something, in about 10 years, you bullies better watch your asses. That’s because you do not want to mess with a dude who’s been well-trained in martial arts as a kid. And these days, it’s awfully popular with the youngins who aren’t too down with team sports. Some of them are nomads, riding solo, hanging in the shadows, maybe a little anti-social. As an adult outside the bar, they can appear to be easy prey. The prima donna skilled in the practice of intimidation may want to swallow a pill of caution when the Saturday Night Fever is brewing. He’s been at it since happy hour and now midnight is approaching. His blood is carbonated from the fiery liquid that’s loading the bulging trapezoids and it’s fueling his arrogance. He’s got his swagger in power mode, feeling alive, looking to step up the excitement, ready to entertain, an easy ass-whipping guaranteed for the primed crowd. But there are no guarantees in life, we all inevitably learn. And for some, the lesson comes hard. Everyone loves an underdog. Some of the most memorable events in history have featured a reluctant participant pushed to the corner with no alternative but to defend what is right. He is surprisingly prepared. And if you’ve never seen a skinny, undersized dude who’s trained to fight handle a bodacious, drunk asshole until he’s beet red-faced and gassed, it is truly a delight to witness. I mean, I’m all for peace and love, but sometimes you get a meathead who feels compelled to put all his gym hours to use. And he fucks with the wrong guy. What he leaves with is called an epiphany. It’s when the lion learns that he no longer rules the pride. He just had to have that last shot. Dipshit should’ve smoked a bowl instead.
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