I read an article in an underground newspaper,
The Blunt Perspective,
that said how cannabis can
expand a person’s mind.
It’s not like I have a little brain,
but I figured expanding my thinking
would expand my writing;
and I’ll do almost anything
to write a cool story.
So I ventured to the seedy side of town,
shortly after the sun set down,
and started to shop around.
Unfortunately, or fortunately,
but played out unfortunately in this situation,
I have an angelic face.
Which doesn’t sound bad,
except the pushers,
ahem, I mean, the agricultural entrepreneurs
automatically thought I was an undercover cop.
Which I think is silly.
Why would anyone want to be an undercover cop?
Wouldn’t sleeping on your badge hurt!
Might even puncture an artery.
Or worse!
Roll over the wrong way;
and you could wake up singing soprano.
That would also ruin the sheets.
Even if Tide® does remove blood stains.
To prove I wasn’t a police officer;
and as a way of bonding
with the underbelly of the crime world,
I broke the law in front of them.
Twice!
Oh yeah,
I’m such a rebel,
I jaywalked across the street and back again.
All the while singing,
Born to Be Wild.
Apparently, that wasn’t enough to convince them,
so I had to strip down to my Spider-Man Underoos®
to prove I wasn’t wearing a wire.
Finally, they agreed to sell me
some horticultural substances.
A little bag cost me four hundred dollars.
But I knew that the experience
of expanding my consciousness
would make me more money than that
by inspiring me to write a cool story.
I’m quite polite, so I said thanks.
Even though I felt sure he was ripping me off.
I should’ve Googled street prices
before I went shopping.
But I usually buy everything at Walmart anyway,
so I never have to compare prices;
I always know I’m getting a great deal.
The drug lord nodded and said,
“Uh-huh. Yeah, right. And remember kid,
if you get stopped by the cops,
just tell ‘em it’s for medicinal purposes.
And if they don’t buy that,
say it’s Columbian oregano.”
Columbian oregano?
Ha! That’s a good one.
I chuckled and dashed home to try out
my new “nutritional supplements”,
a.k.a. “brain food”,
a.k.a. “comedy writer’s fuel”.
I didn’t have any rolling papers.
And I don’t smoke anyway.
But I remember hearing about folks
who lace their brownies with pot.
So I made a batch of brownies;
and using angel hair pasta noodles
and a suture needle,
I laced the oregano into the brownies.
Laced?
More like knitted.
And, as always,
I spread peanut butter on the brownies too.
Must be the result of getting those munchies
I’ve heard so much about.
So I figured out how to get high
and treat the munchies at the same time.
What a marvelous way to multi-task!
Within a few minutes,
I felt woozy.
As the room spun like a freaky kaleidoscope,
I felt like I was about to hit an iceberg and capsize.
Had I made a titanic mistake?
But then,
instead of sinking,
I started to fly super high.
Immediately,
I called my ex-girlfriend and proposed.
Wow!
This is strong stuff.
(I’d never call her if I wasn’t flying so high.)
Just before I jumped out the kitchen window,
I got the idea that backpacking with Bigfoot
would be funny.
Especially in the Bahamas!
(See my previous post:
Yes! It worked! My mind expanded!
I had to widen my cap by two notches.
And I began to write a series of crazy adventures.
Oddly, mostly involving Bigfoot.
And, to be true to the stoner frame of mind,
I blared the radio station that plays classic rock.
I typed story after story.
Until suddenly, …
a loud forceful knocking pounded on my door.
Oh no! Gulp!
Was Bigfoot expecting royalties
for my using his name and likeness in my stories?
After crawling to the door,
to keep from falling over
as the room spun with increasing speed,
I grabbed the door knob,
pulled myself up,
and opened the door.
Oh good,
it wasn’t Bigfoot after all.
It was the cops,
answering neighborhood complaints.
Not about the volume of the music, but the genre.
Apparently, my neighbors don’t enjoy
psychedelic music.
Spoil sports.
Oh bad,
it wasn’t Bigfoot after all.
It was the cops!
