It’s not always easy being green. Whether the stench of a reggae festival, the smell of the tent you slept in at the reggae festival or the person you ended up taking home after the reggae festival, stoners have a wide array of threats to our safety and sanity. Our life is one big, haunted grow site. And, dry mouth and bad taste in décor aren’t the biggest demons lurking in our bong water. Here is a short list of the five least-discussed horrors associated with cannabis consumption.
This one may seem obvious and a little melodramatic, when taking into account how every convenience store and gas station sells lighters at the register. However, let’s say you’re camping, enjoying a walk or that every store within fifty miles is closed due to wildfire smoke caused by meth arson (as was the case in Oregon last month). This is when the problem of lighterlessness becomes a danger. And, it’s especially frustrating, not being able to light a blunt while acres of your state are burning "on accident."
Let’s say you have matches. Well, there’s usually a limited amount in a book, rain makes them useless and the big old glob of sulfur doesn’t help with the taste. Okay, what about that foot-long barbecue lighter? Well, replace sulfur with gas in the previous example—it’s even worse. Plus, on the off chance that you are able to keep a joint or bowl lit after it cherries, it becomes a race against the clock and/or a game of Operation, in terms of being extra careful how you hold it, pass it and inhale. And, if everything else fails, there’s always a car lighter, right? False—car lighter scars are permanent and forever. A small, bowl-or-joint-shaped circle of weed ash will forever be embedded into the dash of your easily targeted-by-small-town-cops stonermobile, putting you at constant risk of a ticket (or, worse, a conversation with a small town cop in 2020).
Always carry a Bic. There’s a reason no one ever steals a book of matches or a car lighter.
This one makes no sense, until you’ve been there. Imagine, for a second, that you look into your weed closet (if you don’t have a weed closet, stop reading this article) and see that you’re out of flower. Shit—you just smoked your last bowl of top shelf nuggery, so it’s off to the dispensary you go! Well, if you’re older than 30 and remember "tops, mids and budget," you are preparing yourself for a world of emotional pain.
"Yeah, I’d like an indica-dominant hybrid. I’ll take anything good."
"Oh, well we have Dogslaughter, Grannykiller, Baby Jessica, Episode Three Of Roots Kush, Memories Of What Your Uncle Did To You In Grade School Cookies and Hitler Punch."
Modern cannabis dispensaries have become the equivalent of Dutch Bros carts, in terms of product names being tied to the actual product—but, only if Dutch Bros named all their drinks after serial killers and acts of violence. I have no idea who decided that Jack The Ripper is a better strain name than Jack Herer, but I’m guessing they’re not one of those "if only the antifa kids and the MAGA moms could smoke a joint, we’d have peace" types of stoner. Something tells me that the guy who grows Epstein Sunrise isn’t a good person and we shouldn’t be giving him our money (but, goddamn does he grow some good weed).
We’ve all been there. Get up early around noon, take a "just splash my face and put on deodorant" shower and prepare for a long day of video games and social media. Then, it happens—our phone tells us that it’s not yesterday, but, in fact, today. Shit. What were you supposed to do? Didn’t you have something going on??? Isn’t your article three days past deadline, during a quarantine in which you have zero excuse to lag on it?! Every day is Monday, if you get high and forget to set an alarm on your calendar app. Speaking of which, I’m pretty sure it’s my girlfriend and I’s anniversary today...be right back. Gotta go to Walgreen’s and find a nice card.
Alcohol, cocaine and cigarettes have a stigma and that means it’s easy to tell your kids not to partake in them. But, weed? Well, weed is just fucking awesome. Weed is the reason I never beat up a classmate, joined the army or bought a house. So, weed is also the reason I’m not in jail, dead or underwater in debt. Weed is safer than alcohol, to the point that the biggest loss I’ve ever taken during a morning-after with a girl I hooked up while stoned, was that she stole my "weed is safer than alcohol" shirt. Compare this to the gutter in which one wakes up after a night of blow and tequila. You know those mugshots of out-of-town protesters floating around Twitter? That’s what you look like if you never get hooked on chronic during your middle school years (and, the same goes for the person you wake up next to after a long night of cocktails—whether vodka or Molotov in nature).
This is why it’s so difficult to lie to kids and tell them that, while the fat man who gives them free toys and lives on a diet of cookies is real, the plant that would allow this type of person to become a reality is inherently evil and dangerous. So, I just opt to tell the little ones the truth: no one has ever died from smoking too much weed. Snoop chose blunts and Amy chose heroin. ‘Nuff said.
Personally, I enjoy cleaning house and organizing my life when I’m high. It’s a good way to pretend that I still tend to my own needs and priorities, even though I’m over forty and the money I make from writing this column makes up a third of my income—retirement, here I come!
But, while cleaning out my closet, I recently discovered my old compact disc jacket from back in the day and...whoo boy...311? I paid for a 311 album??? That money could have fed a homeless person for a week. What is this, an Insane Clown Posse tribute band? What rap duo is banking on making it big, covering "I Stuck Her With My Wang" and "I Want My Shit?" And, what is this, stuck between a "True Lordz Of House Music" compilation and the soundtrack to Queen Of The Damned? An actual, real-life Steve Miller Band album??? It’s a miracle that I ever became a DJ. Anyhow, um...I gotta go "throw away" this Tenacious D box set. I can’t believe I ever liked this stuff.
Has anyone seen my Discman?
