There was nothing left at Bountiful but the Ganja Angel sure found some mystical smoke somewhere. It has no distinctive scent and tastes like it should be low-grade rubbish suitable only for meth addicts and Republicans but, noooo, this Angel Ganja is about as tripful as anything I've encountered in a while. After a few toks, it's time to patrol the domain for purple and green and dinosaurs because, well, you know how they can be.
There are various classes of the ganja and the soporific is the least desirable since that gets dreamy and sleepy and lights out in the prison. I've never been there for lights out at a prison, well, except once but the lights didn't go out and I was the only one in the cell. I'm sure, otherwise, lights out brings out every white boy nightmare you can possibly envision or (cough) entertain.
There's the laffy vibe which drives that annoying movie comedian, Seth someone or other, to snicker all the time. Beyond that is the tripful ganja and that's the Nirvanalish Delight (i.e. like Turkish but without the swords).
And, you know, man, (snicker), that's when I met the Talking Ice Cream Sandwich (snicker, snicker) and he was telling me (snicker) shit you wouldn't believe (snicker) about Dairy Queen.
Grow the fuck up, man. It's about green and purple dinosaurs, you snickering monkey!
The tripful, dinosaur patroller ganja is the finest kind for jams so long as, well, you don't get stuck in the Hall of Mirrors on the way to the keyboard. Sometimes that happens and nothing frosts a dragon patroller more than going to find another dragon patroller. How many times do we have to tell you not to look into the mirrors. They're like politicians except they're better at it and they always lie.
(Ed: why do they lie?)
Because you lie to yourself, Honey Bunny. Don't fuckin' look at the mirrors. Go to the keys. Play.
Quality ganja doesn't work like your mashed potato squirt drippings for alcohol (i.e. the way Russians make Stoli) because you probably need more and more of the juice to get horizontal like an embalmed Pharaoh. With the quality ganja, it's not so much the quantity consumed which is variable but rather it's the trigger for something you already know, once you remember in your tribal dinosaur memory how to do it.
With your drinkers, you have your algorithmic buzz which starts out 'ninety nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety nine ...'
With your ganja monkeys, it's a non-linear buzz since it always exists and our mission is to tap into it. A few toks make the trigger and, zoom, it's the Wizard of Oz, everything changes to color, music comes from somewhere, and there are dancing Munchkins all over the fucking place. Yah, and Edgar Allen Poe writes about people getting buried alive but he always was unusual.
This seems-to-be-total-shit ganja is the best for dancing Munchkins in some while and it's the most unassuming source.
For ganja in general, I don't drive simply out of public courtesy plus fear of cops putting a billy club in me bum or shooting me but this ganja is definitely in the NFW category. I ain't drivin', I ain't even walkin' because, see, there are all those damn mirrors.
This ganja isn't acid but it's borderline 'shroom. Unbelievable and such a sleeper weed.
The consequence for jams is ruthlessness and a clam (i.e. wrong note) is death. The recording will definitely be aborted and that's not a threat to myself but rather it's the rule of engagement. I've thought a tad ruefully I should have played the video version of "The End of the World in Fort Worth" to that level but my thinking was it should not be because then it's just studio and maybe it never happened at all. That kind of mixed thinking will always come but the objectives in the current with the El Cheapo wedding tux which looks surprisingly swanky is to play it perfectly or kill it.
Why, hell, out here West of the Pecos sometimes we hang 'em even when we know they're innocent jes' because we like to see 'em swang. - Judge Roy Bean
All this after a couple of toks. Wowzer. If I take another one, I think my skin will turn green and I will be able to shoot powerful beams from my fingers. I think I would dig that so ...
see you.
There are various classes of the ganja and the soporific is the least desirable since that gets dreamy and sleepy and lights out in the prison. I've never been there for lights out at a prison, well, except once but the lights didn't go out and I was the only one in the cell. I'm sure, otherwise, lights out brings out every white boy nightmare you can possibly envision or (cough) entertain.
There's the laffy vibe which drives that annoying movie comedian, Seth someone or other, to snicker all the time. Beyond that is the tripful ganja and that's the Nirvanalish Delight (i.e. like Turkish but without the swords).
And, you know, man, (snicker), that's when I met the Talking Ice Cream Sandwich (snicker, snicker) and he was telling me (snicker) shit you wouldn't believe (snicker) about Dairy Queen.
Grow the fuck up, man. It's about green and purple dinosaurs, you snickering monkey!
The tripful, dinosaur patroller ganja is the finest kind for jams so long as, well, you don't get stuck in the Hall of Mirrors on the way to the keyboard. Sometimes that happens and nothing frosts a dragon patroller more than going to find another dragon patroller. How many times do we have to tell you not to look into the mirrors. They're like politicians except they're better at it and they always lie.
(Ed: why do they lie?)
Because you lie to yourself, Honey Bunny. Don't fuckin' look at the mirrors. Go to the keys. Play.
Quality ganja doesn't work like your mashed potato squirt drippings for alcohol (i.e. the way Russians make Stoli) because you probably need more and more of the juice to get horizontal like an embalmed Pharaoh. With the quality ganja, it's not so much the quantity consumed which is variable but rather it's the trigger for something you already know, once you remember in your tribal dinosaur memory how to do it.
With your drinkers, you have your algorithmic buzz which starts out 'ninety nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety nine ...'
With your ganja monkeys, it's a non-linear buzz since it always exists and our mission is to tap into it. A few toks make the trigger and, zoom, it's the Wizard of Oz, everything changes to color, music comes from somewhere, and there are dancing Munchkins all over the fucking place. Yah, and Edgar Allen Poe writes about people getting buried alive but he always was unusual.
This seems-to-be-total-shit ganja is the best for dancing Munchkins in some while and it's the most unassuming source.
For ganja in general, I don't drive simply out of public courtesy plus fear of cops putting a billy club in me bum or shooting me but this ganja is definitely in the NFW category. I ain't drivin', I ain't even walkin' because, see, there are all those damn mirrors.
This ganja isn't acid but it's borderline 'shroom. Unbelievable and such a sleeper weed.
The consequence for jams is ruthlessness and a clam (i.e. wrong note) is death. The recording will definitely be aborted and that's not a threat to myself but rather it's the rule of engagement. I've thought a tad ruefully I should have played the video version of "The End of the World in Fort Worth" to that level but my thinking was it should not be because then it's just studio and maybe it never happened at all. That kind of mixed thinking will always come but the objectives in the current with the El Cheapo wedding tux which looks surprisingly swanky is to play it perfectly or kill it.
Why, hell, out here West of the Pecos sometimes we hang 'em even when we know they're innocent jes' because we like to see 'em swang. - Judge Roy Bean
All this after a couple of toks. Wowzer. If I take another one, I think my skin will turn green and I will be able to shoot powerful beams from my fingers. I think I would dig that so ...
see you.
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