The Case of the Runaway Bud

The rock studio is exceptionally dark.  Even in the daytime I frequently need to use a large torch (i.e. three 'D' cells) to find things.

So now it's the middle of the night and I wanted to break up a few little buds and have a wee smoke.

But

The Great God Mescalito ripped off one of them and it jumped out of the grinder to make its escape.  I screamed to the Heavens, "Damn you, Great God Mescalito.  You can have all the reefer you want.  Why are you burning my chicken ass?"

I resolved to recover it and I got the flashlight.

And I searched.

And searched.

The three 'D' cells were running low and the light started fading.

And I searched.

The search was worthwhile as even a tiny bud of not much more than a centimeter across will blow your snowflake ass to the Moon.  Blowing your snowflake ass to the Moon doesn't mean too much to me but blowing mine there is highly desirable.

And I searched.

This is some powerful stuff as I've had a sack of it for almost two months now and almost half of it is left.  I fear I am becoming allergic to it but that's another story as I'm not all-gone yet.  Some of you know my capacity for smoking reefer and I suspect I could give Willie Nelson a pretty good run for the title.

And I searched.

Finally ... in a state of abject misery, I called off my search.  It was hopeless, the light was gone.  The Great God Mescalito had succeeded in his greedy quest to sting me for a bud of reefer.

That's when I returned to my original position.

And noticed next to the computer.

Yes, the bud never made it to the floor.

Actually, I believe the Great God Mescalito put it there to ease my anguish and my pain.

I love you, Great God Mescalito.  I never doubted you.