LOOKIT, SHINY!

Some outfit wants me (or current resident) to become a designated marijuana delivery driver. Naturally I am overjoyed. Seeing as I disapprove of weed, and consider it a gateway drug to the Grateful Dead. What better way to build a list of stupid people in my neighborhood?
People who need pizza, icecream, and candybars.
And will pay through the nose.
Late at night.

On second thought, I threw the flyer in the trash. There are eight other people in this building who probably also got the notice, and five empty apartments whose future occupants can probably do that job as well.

Besides, no car.

As a tobacco aficionado, I am perfectly happy with what I have. Nix on the ganja.

And I'm almighty peevish about the reek of pot from three maskless pedestrians on my way home from Walgreens.


Several individuals I know smoke marijuana. You, dear reader, also know a number of such people. And like me you think less of them, and know that the complete lack of a cat, hamster. or a Totoro doll in their lives drove them to such extreme behaviour.
They are needy types. They need help.


When they came back from that vacation in Holland, they couldn't remember a damned thing. They spent three weeks in Amsterdam, blew all their American Express traveller's cheque dollars on joints and brownies, and essentially wiped their minds virgin-clean of all other facets of Dutch culture. As Americans are wont to do. When they visited Toronto they had the exact same result, but that's because they have total ships for brains.


Every single potsmoker I know likes the Grateful Dead.
Quod erat demondammit strandum.



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