My “friend” has one of those invaluable medicinal marijuana cards. California dispensaries should be studied, and their customer service emulated. They make baked (!) goods that are far superior in taste to the cardboard served at Starbucks, with the added benefit of knocking one on his cosmic ass. Oh, and they deliver … women in bikinis deliver the goods. Wow!
I built up such a huge tolerance to weed in my twenties. Now, I need a cigar-sized joint to put me in a haze. Still, when in the presence of medicinal peanut butter or cookies, I can’t resist. The one I encountered recently had “XXX – Triple Strength” on the label. I figured that would do the trick, as I tore off a chunk and headed home before it hit me.
I was anxious to watch this week’s on-demand episode of “The Newsroom.” As I settled into my La-Z-Boy and pressed play, the cookie began attacking my senses. Coincidentally, this episode featured the news anchor (Jeff Daniels) hosting a party at which he consumed not one, but two marijuana-laced cookies. This caused many layers of fucked-upness for me. I let out a “whoa,” pressed pause, rubbed my eyes, and slugged down a Diet Dr. Pepper as I leaned on my kitchen island. My cat, Syd, followed me into the kitchen (as all cats do), hoping I’d accidentally drop tuna into his dish. Syd looked up and meowed as I belched Pepper fumes. I could swear his meow came out as, “Can you make me a carp on rye, please? Hold the mayo.”
Good cannabis cookie.
I returned to my family room, well aware of the fog I was in, and enjoying it. I pressed play, anticipating the episode would correct itself and discontinue poking fun at me with the storyline. It didn’t. The anchor was completely roasted on the baked goods and forced to go on the air in his altered state. Fortunately, we’re both functional stoners.
Syd must have let his brother, Symon, in on the fact that Pop was in the ideal state to be fucked with. He waited until I was totally engrossed, then he stood, placing his front paws on my armrest, and said, “Don’t be an inconsiderate prick. Toss some catnip on the floor so we can enjoy the ride too.” I complied. I’m such a good daddy.
As the episode continued, I began wondering how many layers of stoner-sediment were possible. Jeff Daniels was acting like he was stoned. What if he actually was stoned? I was stoned while watching him act stoned. What if some neighborhood cougars were hiding in my backyard bushes, smoking weed while watching me? What if teenage boys were doing bong hits in the bedroom while watching their moms in my yard? What if Google had a satellite hovering over my neighborhood … oh, fuck.
The episode ended and the credits rolled, as I found myself in a curled-up ball under an afghan. It all seems like a dream.
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