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By Tom Pain
Oct. 30, 2006 Any resemblence to an article of the same name recently published is intentional. There’s nothing I’d like more than to kick my feet up with a fat reefer and slip off into a few hours of blissful reverie. I could sit outside on my deck in the shade on a warm day and smoke marijuana cigarettes to my heart’s content. For this scenario to be reasonable, it should take place at a time when buying and smoking marijuana have been completely ingrained in our society, so that I’d need only visit a neighbor’s home to buy another ounce whenever I ran out. I wouldn’t have to drive a car very far – heck, I could even ride a bike or walk. My afternoons would be filled with sublimely beautiful, otherworldly marijuana-induced fantasies and visions, yet not debilitating hallucinations. I’d join in the festivities and festivals that take place in town regularly. Fortunately, although marijuana is not legal now, in order to buy it, I only have to deal with good friends that I like and trust. There is almost no chance that I would get arrested. Years ago, I even had a police officer who caught me with a small quantity of marijuana simply empty my container on the ground and let me go free. Then, too, marijuana fantasies are not always delightful and beautiful; sometimes I have an urge to pig out. If I should elect to take up smoking marijuana again, after more than 30 years of doing it consistently, I’d probably end up making love to my wife – I get horny when I’m high and she looks as pretty (and skinny) as she did when we first met. Maybe we’d sneak around some public park in the US or abroad, public sex has that thrill of possibly getting caught that really heightens the sensation. It’s exciting to see her looking over my shoulder to make sure the police weren’t around. Or maybe I’d take her to some miserable little room in the slums and stand at the window, huffing and puffing, trying to prevent the telltale moans from invading the hallway. An hour or two later I’d be back in our bed, saying to myself that it was kick-@$$ marijuana. It was certainly worth the bother, it always is. The following morning, feeling proud of myself and all manly, I’d brush my teeth very, very vigorously, to rid my mouth of every trace of those littlest hairs. I’d look at my desk, forgiving myself for not doing some of the things that I should have done. So what if I didn’t sort the papers that needed sorting? I didn’t write the pages I had planned to write, but there’s always tomorrow. I didn’t memorize the lyrics to that new song I was trying to learn – but heck, I know the lyrics to a hundred or more songs. I didn’t sew up my sweater where it was beginning to come apart – maybe I should just throw it away anyway, I have a job, I’ll buy a new one. I didn’t work on those word lists and grammar lessons that I was trying to master, and yet, I still know way more words and use much better grammar than most of my contemporaries. And if I didn’t proofread any of my writings, well, my readers will just have to accept my apology – doing the old lady was just more important. And I ask myself, “Aren’t I glad my friend sold me that bitchin’ weed? Of course, he knows that I am his loyal customer? I should really go out and look for him, and burn a doobie with him.” At least that’s the way it used to be for me, until I my friend moved away six months ago. Now I’ve had to stop smoking the wonderful stuff. Basically, back in 1972, when I smoked my first joint, I never knew I’d still be smoking almost 35 years later. But, I haven’t now for months. The reason why I don’t smoke marijuana? I just can’t find any. ------------ About the author Tom Pain: Just an American boy with so much common sense, it hurts. Email: thomas.pain@hughes.net Comment on this article here! ------------ All articles are EXCLUSIVE to Useless-Knowledge.com. Please link to this article rather than copying and pasting it onto your site (which would be unauthorized and illegal). |
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