Stoned

STONED is the golden bozo of the pot smoking grandparent. Time has passed, legends have sprung... the truth is, THC and other cannabinol enhancement protocols consistently fail unless someone is actually consuming the weed. Er, marijuana.

The cat, a big old fatso, settled her back-baconness onto Mummys bad knee and purred. The combined fatso mass, warmth and vibratory purringness kaizumed the hurtiness of arthritis, accident and infirmary. Taxes were paid, polyps were removed... no one went home happy that night. Yesterday alone, three masked loopies invaded Mr. Knudsens privacy in front of his kids. Lavender, naturally.

Of other things and stuff, one might say one thing... two might say four things. Dunno, wasn't there.

Don't toss those cans into the trash, they're recyclable. And there's Kahlua under the kitchen sink. See that guy trying to turn his pocket into a mobius strip? He will fail, and will get hammered. That'd be different than stoned. In the seventies, I'd get stoned smoking Panama Red, for some reason.

These days, with medicinal marijuana genetically tailored for this and that, being stoned is more complicated. If I'm stoned, do I even know it? Is being baked medically necessary? Do I want to be stoned? Plethoria sets in. Spandex seems unappealing.

(Also may cause side affects such as the following: Hatred for jews, a renewed interest in shitty music, pissing blood, the want to fuck a dog and also a hatred of the so called "patriarchy" that a hate group know as the "feminists" use to blame there problems on. that one isnt so bad)