Hey Ninjas! It’s been a minute cuz so very much has been happening (translate: I had to write for clients and shelve my crazy blogging aspirations ferra sec.) Aaahhh, but today – I might have found my most fave part of this little revolution and it’s so cute in it’s corrective leg braces and bottle-thick glasses. I’m calling it Just Cuz You Can Doesn’t Mean You Should.
Only because the Gods of fiction are smiling so generously on the words being shared, the wealth of bullshit to wade through every single day, leaves me speechless. What I find myself most grateful is that so much of this makes me laugh. If I were writing for SNL, they would SO pay me extra.
Based on the “Scientifically Backed” studies I read, Cannabis cures everything, makes you smarter, motivates you to get more things done, seriously supercharges your creativity, shuts down all your kill impulses and it probably means you are smarter, prettier and funnier than all your non-consuming buddies (assuming you have them.)
It’s just a kinda big deal that way.
One of my first days in Washington, I was essentially kidnapped by a madwoman who saw a photo of me with a paintbrush on facebook and needed me to provide all her business signage in the 3 remaining hours before she frantically and hysterically opened her new deep-fried tofu stand.
It was a subversive plot, in retrospect, but I’m glad to have been woken from a sound slumber like my bed was on fire, before I had the sense to back out. I grabbed the two brushes I had brought with me and ran towards the biggest, tallest SUV I’d ever seen in my life – Black with deeply tinted black windows. I kinda went all NCIS with the vibe and jumped in the front seat.
Like a freakin’pixiesprite, this lil’ firecracker of a madwoman throws herself up and behind the wheel, buckles her belt behind her and pulls out a 2′ bong. Yea. For real. We’re IN A CAR and she whips out a bong the size of saxophone.
Welllllllllllllll, cool beans… that’s what I thought to myself. I fought the urge to say out loud, “I’m so SO not in Kansas anymore.”
She then pulls out a neatly rolled bath towel, stashed beneath her seat, and a propane torch. I shit.you.not. Propane.TORCH. IN the car. She spreads the towel across her lap, fishes a wad of something that we’re apparently going to smoke (IN.THE.CAR!!!) and never misses a beat in the extra-loud story she is telling about her evil nefarious neighbors who trimmed her chicken’s hair WITHOUT.HER.PERMISSION!
The rest of the story is pretty fabulous, but the moral (like SO SO many others in the industry) is that you don’t HAVE to test limits so boldly. If you can’t go some number of minutes without smoking dabs (a cannabis byproduct that is magically delicious and super cool in a whole bunch of ways that DON’T involve driving around tricky mountain passes with a freakin’lit torch in the car) MAYBE, just maybe you should sit back and consider the path you’ve chosen.
Today’s nug of wisdom: Don’t Dab and go.
Hunker in. Stay put. Build a fort and dab, but no dabbing and driving.