Tag: pothead

The French Fry Fiasco

While We were Living in the Great Southern Swamp We owned a French and an English Bulldog Both of Which Were Rehomes. Wally the Male English Bulldog’s Original Family realized while They Loved Him They simply Didn’t have Enough Time to Care for Him. The French Bulldog was a Recently Retired Show Dog and Champion, and Her Mom (who breed French Bulldogs in Addition to The Dog Show Shit) was getting Out of the French Bulldog Breeding Game to go Back to Breeding Boxers.

These Two  Bulldogs just so Happened to be Two of the Coolest Dogs We have had the Pleasure of Sharing Our Lives With. I fucking Hate People who say “Owned” when it comes to an Animal because its fucking Demeaning. It’s a fucking Living Creature it is Not the Equivalent of a TV or some shit. The Situation behind Pet classification is fucking Stupid as Pets are in the Eyes of the Law Property exactly like a Sofa or Video Game System. That is Absolutely and Totally fucking Ridiculous on Every Level.

One Night in Particular I was Home Alone Drinking One Too Many Beers, and Bullshitting with Some Buddies on the Phone. When My Wife got Home from Work (around 10:30 pm or so) She had Missed Dinner, and I had been so Wrapped Up in Fucking Around I hadn’t Eaten Either. So My Wife went Out to Score Some Fast Food Bullshit for Us God Bless her because I would have been Pissed if I was Her. I mean She got off work Late after something like a 14 Hour Shift only to Find Her Husband Drunk, Giddy, and with Nothing whatsoever for Dinner. Not exactly the thing Anyone would be thrilled to come Home to After a Brutally Long Day on the Job. While My Wife was Out retrieving Our Dinner I finished My Last beer, and Decided to Roll Up a Joint for After Diner. I rolled up the Joint and Placed it Next to My Pack of Cigarettes (Yes I was a Smoker, Key Word being Was since I quite Several Years Ago) on Our Coffee Table and Played with the Dogs Until My Wife Returned.

              

Now I had a Bad Habit as a Pet Owner of Sharing Any French Fries I had with the Bulldogs Who Thought it was a Fabulous Thing for Me to Do. Also When I had Been Drinking (which I honestly did way too much of at that Point in My Life) I tended to Throw the French Fries on the Floor in Front of the Dogs. I opted for this Method because it was Much Easier to Throw the Fries on the Floor Rather than Handing The Dogs Every Single fucking Fry. I would tend to Get Overly Enthusiastic during what I referred to a Fry Feeding Frenzies and Would Toss Several Frys at one Time. That Night was No Acceptation by any means as I Happily Threw Virtual Handfuls of Frys to the Dogs. As the Fry Count diminished I resorted to Tossing a Single Fry each time to the Dogs instead of Blanketing the Entire Living Room Floor with a Bounty of Frys.

Once We had Finished Dinner My Wife went to take a Shower to Relax and Unwind after a Tough Day at Work. I threw the Fast Food Trash away and strolled back into the Living Room with a Full Stomach and an Alcohol Drenched Liver. I plopped Down on the Couch in My Usual Spot, Stretched, Sighed, and decided to Watch The Canadian Television Show Trailer Park Boys on Netflix (Heres a Tip: Watching The Trailer Park Boys Intoxicated is a fucking Fun Time if I ever had One). A Few Moments into the Show I remembered that I had Prepared a Joint for an After Dinner at which Point I was Very Happy with Myself. That was Until I went to get the Joint and Realized it Wasn’t Were I Left It. Now having racked up an Insane Amount of Hours Intoxication I had learned along the Way to Expect shit like this to Happen. I then began My search for the Wayward Weed by first Looking to See if I put in My Cigarette Pack to Keep it Safe during Dinner. Unfortunately for Me it wasn’t, But I knew that in these cases Whatever I may be trying to Locate it won’t be in the First Spot I look.

                  

I then Proceeded to See if it had Rolled around and was Lost in the Chaotic Chaos of the Coffee Table. I sifted through Beer Caps, Ashtrays, Magazines, Game Controllers, and Other Debris that had Collected upon the Table during the Events of the Day. Still the Joint Eluded  Me at Every Turn. I then I scanned the Floor Around where I was Sitting to See if it had just Rolled Off the Table onto the Floor. After assessing the Joint had not Rolled off the Table onto the Floor where I could have Spotted it with Ease I moved on to the Next Portion of My Search for the Missing Sativa. I got down on all Fours (Ironically like a Dog) on the Floor and ran My Hand Under the Edge of the Large L Shaped Couch. Again I came up Empty Handed as it was apparent that the Joint had not Rolled onto the Floor and then Under the Couch.

I then took a Moment to Collect My Scattered Thoughts and Again Scanned the Immediate Area trying to Figure Out where the Damned Joint had gotten off to. As I sat there I noticed That Wally was sitting on the floor directly to My left and Dozy Directly to My Right. The Gears of My Muddled Mind began to Turn as I started to Put the Pieces of the Puzzle Together at Last. All of a Sudden I had a Moment of Clarity and Instantly it became Crystal fucking Clear to Me what Had Transpired. In the Hectic Hubbub of Dinner I had Mistakenly Picked Up the Joint Thinking at the Time it was Just Another French Fry in the Mix. It had become Painfully Obvious that the Case of Mistaken Identity had Resulted in Me Tossing the Joint instead of a The Standard French Fry. I searched Everywhere once again to make Sure beyond a Reason of a Doubt that’s What I had Did, and thats Exactly what I had  Done.

I wasn’t Upset about Losing the Joint, but I also wasn’t sure what Effect it might have on whichever Dog ate it. Once My Wife was out of the Shower and Dressed She returned to the Living Room, and Upon seeing the look on My Face (One of Guilt mixed with Drunken Disorientation) asked What Happened. I immediately launched into a Diatribe about the Mistaken Fry Deal which Ended up with Me Babbling in Circles like a Drunk Dog Chasing its Tail. My Wife didn’t freak out which I took as a Very fucking good Sign so I stopped Holding My Breath and Waited to Her what She had to Say on the Subject at Hand. My Wife Wasn’t Worried or Too Concerned, But Erring on the Side of Caution and Believing in Safety First instructed Me that We needed to Keep an Eye on the Dogs just in Case. Since My Wife and I were both Vet Tech for Over 10 Years Apiece We were Confident We could Handle this Mishap without Further Complication.

Now while this seems as Simple a Task as They Come there Certain Traits in Bulldogs that made it Impossible to Discern Who ate The Joint. First Off They are by Nature  Lazy as Fuck to the Point People Joke that They tend to Look Stoned Normally. So Acting Slow and Dopey is just the way Your Average Bulldog’s Behaves in General. Secondly Bulldogs are Natural Born Gluttons so Using the Munchie Factor as an Indicator was also Null and Void. Bulldogs Think with Their Bellies, and Would Actually Eat Themselves to Death if given the Chance. The Bottomline here is there was No Accurate Way of Telling Who ate the Joint because Bulldogs Naturally Exhibit the Symptoms Associated with being Stoned. In the End the Dogs were Fine as if Nothing had Happened, and I made sure as Shit to Insure Nothing like that Happened Ever Again.

Thanks For Reading,

By Les Sober    (Pt1234am)

The Gas Station Ganja Guy

Back when I was growing up in a shitty little town (in an even shittier little state) there was a Hess Gas Station that I visited quite frequently. Out of all of the usual Gas Stations Hess always had the cheapest Gas in town hands down. Are there even Hess Stations anymore? No Really I can’t remember for the life of Me when the last time I saw a Hess Station. I know the Christmas Hess Truck is still some sort of tradition deal, BUT you don’t need Gas Stations to manufacture a Toy Truck once a year.

Now I lived in one of those states that thinks its Residents are too stupid to know how to pump their own gas. There was this Hess Gas Station Attendant that worked at there that went by the name Lazlo. Lazlo was a young white guy with long black hair (a couple years older than Me) with the classic slacker mentality.Lazlo was an extremely nice guy who always seemed to be smiling in a “Cat That Ate The Canary” type manner like a mischievous child. I have no idea where Lazlo came from so to speak as I have said I grew up in a small ass town so everybody pretty much knew everybody else if they liked it or not. All anyone basically knew was his name and that he worked at Hess. Nobody seemed to know any other details about Lazlo no last name, no actual age, school he went to, if he had siblings, where he lived etc.

One fine Summers day The Arminian and I picked Spacedog up, and We hit up Hess since I needed gas and Hess was located just a round the corner from Spacedog’s. When We pulled in and up to the pump We saw Lazlo coming out of the office towards us at a vigorous clip with His trademark sly  smile. We got out of the car as We usually did when Lazlo was working because he was a cool guy to just hang out and shoot the shit with. I walked around to the back of the car where Lazlo was standing next to the car beside the gas pump as it whirred and thumped gallon after gallon into My so old its almost legit “Classic” first car.

It was then that for the first (and only) time Lazlo asked Me if I could score him some Weed, and I told Him sure it be no problem. I then asked Him what amount was he looking for in particular, and Lazlo reached up grabbed His Hess employee jacket which was apparently being used to conceal something. He turned around and placed his jacket on the trunk of my car and opened it as he answered My previous question by answering this much. I looked down and saw the biggest fucking bag of buds that I had ever seen put to that point in My life, if I had to guess it was a very generous QP (quarter pound) or perhaps a QP and a half (6 Ounces total). Now like I said this was more Marijuana then I was accustom too as the most I had ever dealt with was an Ounce before.

I looked back up at Lazlo who was grinning from ear to ear utterly delighted that his surprise had worked so well. I just stood there in a state of awe until Lazlo told Us to come by later in the evening and He’d smoke us out so obviously We said hells yes. It was around 8 pm or so once We returned to the Hess Station to take Lazlo up on his offer. Lazlo again came out to meet us, instructed us where to park, and then We followed Him into the Hess Station. There was a small area with racks of oil, air freshners, AntiFreeze, wind shield wiper fluid, and other auto odds and ends with a cash register that had Maps of the State on the counter next to it. We walked back into the Office which was a 10″ by  8″ room that housed a beat 1970’s office desk, crappy old office chair, phone, and a couple of run down filing cabinets that looked as if they had been thrown down a flight of stairs. There wasn’t a Computer because they hadn’t become the omnipresent force that they have become over the last 20 some years.

Lazlo plopped himself in the chair behind the desk and brought out the big  bag of buds, and started packing a fat ass Dime Bag into a corn cob pipe (Yes a strait out of fucking Tom Sawyer and shit), and as rather confused by this as We were nobody called attention to or questioned it We just went with it. The 4 of us smoked continuously for over an hour, We hot boxed the absolute holy hell out of that office. The Smoke hung thick in the air as We had to duck our heads and squint to see one another. At last We said fair well to Lazlo and thank you for the generous smoking session as We piled into My car. Lazlo said to come back and see Him again and We drove off into the night words home.

We never saw Lazlo again after that night. When We did return to the Hess station a few days later  We asked the Attendant working When Lazlo would be working, and he said Lazlo had been taken off the schedule but didn’t know anything beyond that. Obviously in all likelihood Lazlo got fucking fired for smoking pot at work in the Boss’s office. I like to think though that  Lazlo returned to the Parallel Dimension from whence he came.  That or that He sat in the office for the rest of that fateful night and smoked Himself out of existence all together.

Thanks for READING,

Les Sober 

 

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Hmmmm What That Smell?! By Spacedog

MARIJUANA!!!!!

When times are tough and times are dull, I think back to the life I once led in the south of Columbia. Sure it was difficult. I mean there was enough cocaine to help me stay awake for weeks upon end. That was always fun. Even just chillin with Pablo and Juan Valdez made for some good times I’ll never forget. There is one person though I will never forget. Her name was Mary Jane.

My own personal Mary Jane was a big, tall strong woman. Sure I don’t have much of a proclivity towards women but she was twelve feet tall and smelled like no other woman I have met since. I even liked her seed and well that’s not the kind of seed that ole Jeffy usually takes a likin too.

She kept me safe and warm. Whenever I got home from a night at the theatron de pelicula and had bad things squirt in my eye, she was there to heal my infection.

The night I saw all of Pablo’s men get mowed down in a rain of gunfire, Mary Jane was there. I just put her in my bong and smoked her down and off I went to the club. I could already taste the rainbow even though well that was for later. Shhhhh…… And she never told any of my secrets.

She was my mother, my sister, my dominatrix, my bulldyke, and my fag hag all rolled up into one great big, bright ass spliff.  She let me tolerate more Britney Spears then any human could just so I could bring the next Juan or Carlos or Juan Carlos or fuck why not all of them back to my humble mud hut.

Eventually though we grew apart. My funds in Colombia were confiscated and back off to New Jersey I so went. That was in 1980. Oh how I miss 1980. Those were the days.

Mary Jane?

So then I was walking down the street yesterday and saw this midget girl (aptly named Midge) I knew from the club. She was a fun one to know, I mean anyone who smokes out of a bong taller then them is alright with me.

Midge introduced me to her friend. His name was Kyle. He smelled of dirt, he smelled of mud, he smelled of naughty things. So he smelled like Mary Jane. So then we smoked and then we went back to my place and Midge took pictures. She wanted to join in but I have a moral code up in this bitch. If I can teabag you standing up it’s a no go. That is my number one moral in life.

You may say I’m a dreamer. I’m not the only one. I hope someday you’ll join us. And the world will live as one.