Allie “THC” B.

Allison sent me a money order for 300 US dollars and a begging, pleading calligraphy scrawled letter asking me to post something on her website. She even said I could curse and scream and be vile and filthy and she wouldn’t care. I immediately knew something was wrong. Not being a prier, I decided not to question why she “doesn’t care” and dashed to the “store” and spent her money on purchasing copious amounts of marijuana from my dealer to smoke myself into oblivion day and night.

Along with the weed I purchased a nice glass pipe “for tobacco use only.” I named the pipe Rod Smith and it’s blue and orange and glass and pretty. I got amazingly high when I first smoked from it. Did you know I was a reffer addict? It doesn’t affect my job or me. I am a fully functioning member of society who now has a 300-dollar stockpile of the kindest buds available bought at a fair market value. A reasonable price. 300 bucks buys a gaggle of kind. That kind be good smoke. That green relieves stresses. I work the smoke, a steady stream. I once smoked a bowl with Jean-Luc Picard. I once shared a phatty blunt with strangers on a street corner. I once toked the Mary-J joint with a street person in San Francisco.

I thank Allison for sending me a money order so that I could support my weed habit. I hope she thanks me for posting something on her website.

Maybe she should get high. That might spark some creative juices locked within her “doesn’t care” mind. I want to smoke the weed with Allison. I’m sure she wants to smoke the weed with me.

Who else would like to share a tender moment with me taking rips from the gravity bong?