dave's not here, man.

Drug culture is pretty fucking stupid, eh? I mean, when I walk into someone’s house, specifically the bathroom usually, and there’s a copy of High Times by the can, the people who live in the house automatically kind of ratchet up the dildo scale a few notches. There are so many things to discuss here, but I’d like to first point out that I’ve never in my life seen a copy of High Times in its natural habitat (which means some dork’s house as opposed to a newsstand) that wasn’t completely hard, folded up and water damaged. I don’t know what it is about this specific magazine that people just batter it to shit month after month, but honestly. That can’t possibly be the most pleasurable way to examine the red hairs on the purple kush, bro, can it? Get a magazine rack or something.
Okay, that’s just an initial observation, which segues clumsily into my first real issue with High Times…I have enough of a problem with assholes who sit around and examine REAL empirical, present, tangible weed. The fact is, weed isn’t like someone you want to fuck. I see you’re confused, so let me explain. In the case of someone you want to fuck, what they do can be a factor in how badly you want to fuck them, but even if they’re unemployed and don’t do shit, the way they look is still pretty important in providing you, the appreciator, with some enjoyment and pleasure. Not so with weed. What it DOES is (or at least should be) all important. Does it get you high? Yes? Is it an enjoyable high? THEN WHO FUCKING CARES WHAT THE SHIT LOOKS LIKE? At the risk of sounding like an out of touch grandpa, It’s drugs, people. Drugs are designed to get you high, not to be looked at and admired. It’s the intellectual equivalent of smoking a painting, you dorks. Jeez.
But, okay, fair enough. You’ve got some weed and it comes in dense little nuggets and the crystals are just insane and you’ve never seen anything like it before, huh? Check it out then, man. Look at the nug! Wow. Imagine how high something like this will make us in a few minutes! (I realize we’ve JUST been over this, but please note how stupid this is…just smoke the fucking weed and actually EXPERIENCE how high it makes you for Christ’s sake!) NO! Don’t touch it, bro. You’ll knock off all the crystals and the red hairs and all that, man!
I hate this shit, but I suppose, if pressed, I can see a place for it under the circumstances when an exceptionally strange looking strain of weed comes across your Dark Side of the Moon album cover. BUT DEDICATING A MAGAZINE TO IT? Really? REALLY? It’s just so sad and pathetic and I honestly don’t even understand…I mean, I understand if you’re say, Tommy Chong or Seth Rogen and some cosmic starchild assneck magazine editor’s assistant contacts your publicist and says “hey bro, we want Tommy to do an interview for us…” and then you agree to do it, because, well, after they ask you the dumbest questions of all time (“So, describe your dream bong, Seth”) and force you to examine the super great weed that they brought you, you’d probably actually get to smoke some, which is the POINT OF WEED, and I guess would be interesting if you were Seth Rogen or Tommy Chong. But that’s ultimately a publicity vehicle, and while I guess I KIND OF see that aspect, I can’t see why anyone would ever read that article, or why anyone who’s actually old enough to buy high times would EVER look at pictures of weed for pleasure. Are people beating their cannabis softened half mast erections to big colas of the funkity dunkity? Can’t you find a less embarrassing way to waste your time? I’d rather get caught with a fucking tennis shoe up my ass than beating off to pictures of drugs in a magazine. Laaaaaaaaame.
There’s no cocaine magazine. That’s surprising since you’d think those people would be way more likely to get out there and really pick up each new issue. Plus, they could use the pages to actually snort their drugs. BUT, I guess there are only so many pictures of powder piles that one can look at before bursting into shame induced tears, eh? Too bad. Heroin? Is there a magazine celebrating the life, lore and allure of heroin culture? There should be. Some sample articles can include “prying impacted feces out of my ass using a coathanger”, “clever tattoo configurations that hide your tracks that don’t just look like giant black circles right at your inner elbow”, “Help! My hamster chewed off my pinky toe while I was all fucked up!” AND, of course there are the pictures of all the different, great strains of heroin from around the world, and some of the best places to OD. There could be a fucking Emergency Room of the Month feature. So cool. So. Totally. Cool. I mean, fuck…I think I’m sitting on a billion dollar idea here, folks!
Honestly, and this goes back to the beginning of the article, drug culture is so stupid, because it really puts the cart before the horse in terms of what it’s extolling. There’s nothing inherently cool about a bag of weed. It’s just a plant. It’s because it gets you high that it’s cool…it’s the high, not the dumb plant you dumb stoner hippy nerds. Also, niiiiiice name scheme you’ve all come up with for your cool weed. I’ve never heard of a name that denoted potent weed that wasn’t just embarrassing. “AK 47” “Krypto” “The Crippler” “the Crippie” “Funkity Dunkity” “The dank” the…oh, some dude wrote into BSC for advice and just casually dropped in a pretty hilarious one recently…ah, yes “the dank purp”. HA! How can you people even say that shit without feeling retarded? And not cool retarded, like the cats on How’s Your News…stupid and embarrassing retarded like the dumbasses who have a stack of water damaged High Times on their toilet tank.

I’m gonna get to old, uh…excuse me a sec…heh heh heh, “Dank Purp”’s advice maybe tomorrow. I don’t want to blow my wad for the week right now, but I would like to congratulate my friend Keith on his impending fatherhood. Way to bang a child into the woman you love Keith! Nice one! Oh, and I should point out that as you all read this, Keith is in the bathroom at the bank he works at, undies at ankles, blackberry in hand, taking a dump brought on by a strenuous morning of going back and forth to the coffee pot. So there’s that.