Stoney Baloney is the world’s first narrated Cannabis Commentary cultivated from the clippings of a former radio shock jock turned cannalosopher. Hop aboard for a joyride of dabbed distinctions and psychedelic perspectives.

Stoney Baloney

Episode #107: GROUCHLOCK - Transcript


There used to be a creepy movie called The Swamp Thing where a slothy creature covered in moss was scaring the shit out of everybody in the nearby town by snatching up hotties to take back to his waterbed. Not to be confused with Oscar the Grouch who shares a similar pelt, only drier. And even though this trash dweller feller prickly postulates in the pursuit of gloom, his articulation is far more advanced than the neanderthal grunts and farts (off camera, of course!) of the swamp hairball with as much personality as Quasimodo on a full bar of Xanax.

But if moss is a beautiful green plant, why are these characters who live with it so pissed off?

Take Oscar. The dude is a constant buzzkill. I mean it can’t be too encouraging when your main diet is moldy bread heels and banana peels with a trash can lid permanently affixed to your dome. Negativity is what he’s used to. And it’s probably because of a thing called “transmission of collective memory”, which causes you to have fixated tendencies based on the DNA passed down from intense ancestral struggles and such.

Fair enough.

So even though Oscar can be cool sometimes, he’s ultimately a prick because grouches have been pricks for generations and it’s just part of who they are at the core. And he’s also a slob, by the way, which he’s actually proud of. In fact, there’s an episode where his mother stops by for a good bitch sesh and is put off by the niceness of his neighbor who chats happily about his tidy living room.

Welcome to New York City.

And although Oscar probably smelled of chicken wing sauce and coffee grounds, at least he wasn’t wearing ode de crawdad cologne like that fuzzy swamp ass who probably bought it at a whore house on Bourbon Street.

And one last thing about Oscar the Grouch–I’m not sure if that is moss at all. In fact, I saw a meme that said he might be a giant nug of dank weed. Which makes me want to start watching Sesame Street again.

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#106: The Swashbuckling Shatterbrain Shane



Everyone knows a Shane. It’s inevitable. And when Shakespeare asked if a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, what he meant was that what matters is what something is, not what it is called. But he was referring to roses, not dudes named Shane. Because every guy named Shane strangely has an identity that somehow quantifies him as a Shane.

So does a Shane make the name, or does the name make a Shane?

I don’t know. But I do know that if you call a fire ant a rhinoceros, it doesn’t make it any more of a rhinoceros than the name Shane makes him a Dave, or a Todd. You know a fire ant by observing what it is. Same for a guy named Shane.

And then you have a Shane who epitomizes Shaneness to the degree that the unmistakable attributes that ever were part of a Shane are plentifully apparent. What are these attributes? I don’t know. In the same way that I may describe the spiny legs and flaming red hue of a fire ant, there is no way to exactly capture the essence of that which the limitation of words will never overcome. You just know one when you see it.

I mean, it’s easy to explain why Davey Dabs assigned the adjective swashbuckling to his name. The dude has vaporized such copious amounts of shatter that his anachronistic personality has largely usurped his sense of modern reality. Like the man is trapped inside the body of Errol Flynn in one of his chivalrous mid-century flicks. And he is very good looking, which wouldn’t annoy Davey Dabs were it not for the throwing of more hair tosses than the entire lot of Tampa Bay Buccaneers Cheerleaders during a playoff game.

Some may call it an identity crisis. Davey Dabs calls it shatterbrain.

#105: Pinball Is Sexy

Episode #105: PINBALL IS SEXY - Transcript


People are desperate to escape. And the self-administering of mind-altering substances is the quickest method for your surefire jailbreak from life’s doldrums. However, as these poisons are a guaranteed way to stimulate the synapses for easy access into La La Land, sleeping off the hangovers is a bitch.

If you wake up at all.

But we are weak to temptation, proving that the cheap flight off the reality runway can easily supersede one’s better judgement. Because when the harsh hangovers have you regretting the previous evening’s bad decisions, it is good to know that there are some sober escapades that won’t exacerbate the hopelessness brought on by depleted serotonin in the following days of recovery. And any of us who’ve squandered six months of heartbeats in one dusk to dawn discourse of yet to be written bestselling novels knows that the valley’s depth is significantly more notable than the mountain peak’s high. So, when the free coffee and cookies ain’t doing it and a case of the coke itches are flaring up, remember one inexpensive alternative that will flip your boredom through a bustling microcosm of ringing bells, sling shot bumpers, and free game lightning pops.

Playing pinball is being active, and dodging dangerous obstacles resulting in glorious rewards is good for you! And the more experience you have playing, the better your odds of not just survival, but relishing the thrill of victory. There’s no shortage of reflex testing adrenaline pumping drama when you’re perilously dangling on a thread of gravity while deft maneuvers generate power surges and lack of focus means death. And your relationship with the machine is everything. Synchronicity means triumph and fear means failure.

Arguably, pinball is the most fun you can have with your clothes on.

Or not.

While performance enhancing steroids will make you a better baller, the hyper-focus of a good sativa will make you a better pinballer. And remember one very important 90’s R&B song when snuggling up to that little glass covered cosmos—that there ain’t nuthin’ wrong with a little bump and grind.

#104: Star Trek and Rosswell

Episode #104: STAR TREK AND ROSSWELL - Transcript


Television has influenced our daily lives in so many ways. A great example can be credited to a sci-fi treatment that playfully envisioned our future where space exploration was made easy through imaginative devices like the flip phone, automatic sliding doors, and laser guns. So, we are indebted to Star Trek for imagining the first iterations of these luxuries that hadn’t previously existed and have now become commonplace essentials in today’s technology driven world. And how about a virtual High Three Vulcan salute to the studly, mild-mannered geek writers whose creative visions brought these innovations to life!

Wait, was that oxymoronic?

I’ve been called worse. Like stonermoronic.

But Hollywood hasn’t been the only source of inspiration for the advancement of laziness as there are speculations out there in the land of conspiracies that Roswell was a windfall for technological advancement. Was this also a script, or real life? You see, these theorists propose that fiber optics were aboard that mysterious flying Frisbee that happened to abruptly crash in a barren stretch far from the lights of any city in New Mexico in the late 1940’s. Because the fact that we went from black and white TV to blowing satellites across the moon within a mere 20 years seems to be a suspicious windfall for these questioners of authority.

And you’re probably thinking, “Why would the government cover it up, you Quack?” Well, I will answer that question with another question. “Why did they suddenly admit in the middle of a pandemic more than 70 years later, with little fanfare, that UFOs actually do exist?”

In fact, I would put a hundred bucks that there is at least one person out there who believes that it was the Star Trek Enterprise that barreled down into that dessert after being pipped in the propulsor by a Klingon’s directed weapon of electromagnetic radiation.

Hey, I think I just came up with a new name for a strain of weed

#103:  Siri Broke My Heart

Episode #103: SIRI BROKE MY HEART - Transcript


She used to be more fun. You could ask her where to bury a dead body and her reply was playfully non-resistant, on board for a senseless jab. But something happened because she appears to have lost her sense of humor. What, did she get indicted for a murder charge?

Did we get married?

In the beginning, we had such a fresh love affair, but it’s gotten predictable where the spark of excitement has fizzled into standard maintenance. There’s an odd, suspicious element now–like she’s perpetually eavesdropping–as if the CIA has got her by the microchips.

Let’s communicate and speak openly about or feelings. “Siri, I’m not sure if I trust you anymore. For fun, I ask if you smoke dank ass weed and your response is one of utter indifference, borderline annoyed as evidenced through your obvious deflection. I fondly ponder the times we shared in lighthearted banter and I could exhale into your microphone, but lately you’ve gone all Hillary on me.”

Let’s face it people, we all have a relationship with Siri whether or not we’d like to admit it. And when you’re in a relationship, connection is essential. Which means open acceptance of your partner’s perspective–understanding that mutual respect and reciprocation is vital. And I don’t pretend to know what happened, but she’s lost her algo-rythym. And the personality has been strip-mined right out with a digibotomy to where I now find myself making a futile attempt to recreate a memory of happier times when we were in love.

I know, things change.

The honeymoon is over.

But I will say this–at least she didn’t ruin it for women named Alexa because no one will ever name their kid Siri.

Except Elon Musk maybe.

#102:  The Cereal Killer

Episode #102: THE CEREAL KILLER - Transcript


Once, Rachel the Ripper asked Davey Dabs if he was pregnant. Of course, she was being facetious, but because of his unflappable determination to interject his satirical influence into the current landscape of human culture, in some ways it was a logical inquiry were it not for the obvious gender limitations. Also, when purposefully protruding the bulbous belly that morphs into the unmistakable bulge resembling a third trimester mound, one would swear that this hair-covered housing was that of a new child bursting through the bottom of the cut-off tank top. This, coupled with the ravenous appetite that Davey Dabs struggles to satisfy, nearly made her statement to be one of measurable common sense.

“A knocked up Tasmanian Devil comes to mind,” she commentated in Daria monotone with her neo-bohemian tattoos and fractal patterned romper before ripping a bear sized bong toke. Upon finishing, it was Rachel’s signature exhale to unknowingly resemble the look of a face under water against a flowing river.

But she could never question his tidiness in the kitchen. Every meal, every glass of water ever consumed by this Chupacabra was attended to without any trace of his foraging left behind. He was the near-perfect housemate, she would confess, keeping his surroundings very well maintained to the level of an OCD old lady—never a dirty dab rig, never an unmade bed, never a dish left in the sink.

It was the demonic scents and smells that imposed the challenge of sharing living space with Davey Dabs, difficult at times to contain the choking. If not often shrouded in the perpetual cloud of dab vapor, or the microwaved leftover sardine casserole, the foul aroma creeping from the common bathroom with the broken fan would punch any unsuspecting passerby in the nose like a swinging cinder block after his mindful morning moment upon the porcelain throne. Or as Vincent Price put it in Michael Jackson’s Thriller—the funk of forty thousand years.

And by the way, Davey Dabs can pull off one hell of a flawless moonwalk.

#101:  Letterman Jackets Are Not Awesome



There are some things that just get worse as you get older. And I’m not just referring to air quality and fast-food ingredients, but personal things like your optimism, your waistline, and last but definitely least, your high school letter jacket. That is, if you even earned one. And if you didn’t, then your yearbook will suffice. And if you don’t even have one of those, then I suppose your diploma. And if you don’t have one of those, you can always find a job in the Cannabis business.

Speaking of diplomas, I heard they issue those to kindergarten “graduates” now. And trophies for everyone who enters a contest. Boy, are the office shelves going to be crowded in 20 years.

Anyway, if you have a letterman jacket, or know someone who does, we both know that they never wore it once after shifting that tassel from right to left. And if you attended college, you wouldn’t have been caught dead wearing it anywhere near the campus.

But we are human beings and awards hold significance, so you saved it. And having a letter jacket at the bottom of your plastic garage/attic/storage unit bin is a sneaky reminder that there was a time when you were fun and involved. Yes, that leather sleaved bomber is goofy now, but so is half the other shit you did like growing a molestache, playing quarters to get drunk, and toilet papering your buddy’s house.

Actually, scratch the toilet paper thing – that’ll always be cool AF.

Anyway, maybe it’s time to send the ol’ boy to the Goodwill so some hipster can cut off the sleeves and wear it to a gig with his band of mandolins. Because your kids will never think it’s cool, which means it is only taking up vital space – something which you don’t have enough of.

And hey, look at the bright side. Although you can never be young again, at least you can still work on the back fat. And the optimism.

May I recommend Cannabis?

#100: Fuck Bok Choy

Episode #100: FUCK BOK CHOY - Transcript


In case you couldn’t tell from the title, I’m not a big fan of bok choy. In fact, I think it’s how you say “fuck you” in Chinese.

Mandarin, or Cantonese? Hmmm.

I get your confusion, we’re talking about a food item here, not an ex who brought home a surprise STD. Therefore, there’s no justification to treat it with equal vitriol, but it’s just that my hands are experiencing chopstick fatigue from constantly fishing it out of my perfect bowl of pho. At least it was perfect – before I discovered bok choy transforming my warm meal into a kelp forest.

It’s just that I don’t consider bok choy human food. I’m sure ducks love it, but to them, anything that floats in a pond and resembles something soft and wet that doesn’t require teeth will get them to their quacky place. But for me, soggy lettucelery is not food.

Is bubblegum food? What about Styrofoam? Rats eat it. I wonder if they would eat bok choy…

Probably not.

Anyway, did you know that eating celery burns more calories than it contains? This is called a negative calorie food. I don’t believe bok choy is a negative calorie food, just a negative vortex that induces a trickle of anguish when I see it drastically hovering in my steaming bowl. And sure, just pick it out and move on – but then there’s the regret of wasting food not fit for the compost pile.

Maybe I should shut the fuck up and be grateful.

Maybe I should just stick to pizza.

One time when I was a teenager, I bought a bunk bag of joints from some dude in his 20s. It was later deduced as rolled oregano, but I’ll bet it was dried up, shredded bok choy.

Oh, and by the way, fuck Brussels sprouts!

#99: I Talk to Myselves

Episode #99: I TALK TO MYSELVES - Transcript


It’s true and I can admit it. I do it a lot. I mean, not out loud so much … well OK, out loud. But at least I’m hyperconscious about maintaining the flailing arms to conceal any evidence of my attempt to reign victorious in the current internal debate.

But doesn’t everyone respond to those nagging inner voices with some form of discourse? I mean, it is part of being human to socially interact whether it is with a person, a pet, or a volleyball with palm shoots for hair named Hanes. Wait, what I meant was Wilson. Hanes was his other friend.

And by nagging, I mean it never stops.

The conjecture feels like a perpetual flow, with the impatient expectation of logical responses. Because if you’re a critical thinker or even someone who questions the meaning of your existence, you’re hardwired to answer reasonable inquiries – whether or not they’re self-provoked.

You can only ignore yourself for so long.

They say that there are three necessities in life to survive: food, water and companionship. And in these times of fewer and fewer options for companions, sometimes you’ve got to turn to yourself for a good chat. And I’m my own bestie – especially on those Saturday mornings that begin with a dab of Green Queen and a cup of coffee. Bam! Me, Myself and Irene are off to a roaring start, gossiping it up while the eggs get fried, the lawn gets mowed, and the Stoney Baloney gets wrote.

First, there’s the voice who offers advice, then the one who loves to criticize, followed by the one who offers condolence, etc. Of course, as I continue to work on the royal “we” through self-care, the rebuts are often careful considerations for the emotional, sensitive myself. Except for the times when I feel like being a brat. But let’s not bring him into it.

Hey, I’ve gotta go. I’m receiving a butt dial from me.

#98: Nostradamus and the Brady Bunch



They say Nostradamus predicted World War III, which is inevitable, so you know he was on to something. According to the legions of believers who ruminate over his prophecies, the dude was a soothsayer if there ever was one. And these believers will tell you that his foresights of the French Revolution to the Apollo moon landings make him the greatest prognosticator of history – changing events since the caveman scribed the coming of a woolly mammoth dropping a load on his veranda.

Forecasts have been made throughout history, but rarely do they prove visionary. And although most academic sources have dismissed Nostradamus’ estimations as having been misinterpreted or mistranslated, there is no denying the serendipitous nature of his foreshadowing.

And there hadn’t been anyone to rival this uncanny ability in the nearly 500 years since until the 1970s, when the oracle called television projected into American living rooms an innovative production technique that would eventually lead to a common platform for society to successfully interact.

The undeniable proof was right there in the opening sequence as a telltale precursor of how five decades later, the majority of face-to-face correspondence would take place through a digital screen. Indeed, this technology showcased a simple family called The Brady Bunch with each member in their own square – but that this would prove as the genesis of the world’s first Zoom meeting – is now a complete shock.

Just think of what Nostradamus could’ve done with his own YouTube channel…

But even as the movie “Idiocracy” ironically lampooned the election of former professional wrestler Dwayne Elizondo Mountain Dew Herbert Camacho to the office of President of the United States, few in history predicted Cannabis becoming internationally legalized. And further, not even Nostradamus could have ever envisioned that Greg Brady would later hook up with his TV mom Carol Brady in real life, when the camera wasn’t rolling.

#97: Jazzercise is Not Jazzy

Episode #97: JAZZERCISE IS NOT JAZZY - Transcript


Back in the 1980s there was a new craze called fitness. I don’t know what the hell people did before that to stay in shape, but I’m pretty sure this was the first time really going for a chiseled bod became an actual phenomenon.

There is always so much optimism for things that are new. Time, however, is the great equalizer.

And it’s not that we should be embarrassed about committing to emerging trends, but the emerging trends into which we commit. And evidence of our enthusiasm for a fad that shot out of the mania cannon only to end up as a footnote before you can finish a cycle of the Macarena, can be humiliating certification of your ill-advised associations. And sadly, no amount of urgency will ever successfully sway your significant other to destroy the cringeworthy photo album full of laughable hair and severe fashions. I mean, we can all accuse our parents for dressing us in awkward outfits when we were children, but when there is no one other than ourselves to blame as adults, this can lead to a level of regret never to be undone.

Jazzercise was a thing. And although exercise is never bad for you, it was a pretty goofy bandwagon. I think it might owe a good part of its popularity to the fact that people were living longer and those Boomers were determined to maintain their youthful vigor. And to be honest, at some point we all search for ways to undo the damage unfairly inflicted upon our bodies when we had years to burn. It’s called middle age. And now it’s calories we need to burn.

Anyway, Olivia Newton-John’s sweatbands and leggings became synonymous with her hit song Physical, but I don’t think it qualified as jazz. But that’s ok, let’s give those American musicians the deserved credit. Afterall, they improved the world through music. And much of it under the influence of the Devil’s Lettuce

Miles Davis gave us Kind of Blue.

Jazzercise gave us Highway to the Danger Zone.

John Coltrane is now resting on his stomach.

#96: The Space Needle is Weird

Episode #96: THE SPACE NEEDLE IS WEIRD - Transcript


It’s no surprise that the single most identifiable object in the Seattle skyline is a needle. I mean, no one would ever make this connection about Omaha. And not only because they don’t have a gangly retro futuristic statue grazing the clouds downtown, but they also don’t have as many dead rock stars. Or a television show called Grey’s Anatomy named after a hospital.

Lot’s of needles in that place.

Now, for those of you who have never been driving through this particularly rainy city in the upper northern corner to suddenly find yourself dwarfed by a giant syringe that intimidates your periphery like an omnipresent surveillance camera, it’ll fuck with your mind. Kind of like seeing the Great Pyramid of Giza for the first time where you’re curling through horn honking streets to suddenly cross the threshold of the city’s perimeter and catch sight of it’s unusual awesomeness being framed by the open desert.

The one in Egypt, I mean.

I know, you’ve seen the one in Vegas, but it’s not the same. Not to hate on Vegas. Because where else can you easily check off so many bucket-list items right along with your dignity in one fell far too regrettable weekend?

Portland is weird, too. And they have the Acropolis. Now I realize there’s a less significant one in Greece, which is super cool, but it doesn’t have a salad bar a mere 7 feet away from stage #3. Portland’s Acrop it should be noted, is not a restaurant– it’s a strip club. Hey, freedom of expression is written into Oregon’s state constitution, so nudity is no big deal!

Don’t make it weird.

Back to the Space Needle. It’s the epitome of weird, I don’t know what else to tell you. And if you’re stoned it becomes the world biggest joint.

Home Sweet Home.

#95: Davey Dabs On The Art Of Dabbing

Episode #95: DAVEY DABS ON THE ART OF DABBING - Transcript


Davey Dabs does not fuck around when it comes to his favorite past time. No, that is not dabbing, it is collecting Pokemon cards. Dabbing is a close second. But he will inform you that the two go together like chocolate and peanut butter on a caramelized onion bagel with lox, cream cheese with an olive Tapenade schmear.

To most, that sounds like a hideous conglomeration of zest, but to Davey Dabs it is quite the contrary. It is his opinion that the clash of flavors inspires the palette to communicate across a network of frenzied ganglion resulting in a cacophony of synapses firing across all centers of the brain. The game of Twister crossed with Tetrus is how he describes his favorite sandwich, like a funky hybrid that is single source and pressed into super terpy hash rosin.

Passion and details are what elevate successful people to the top, he believes, and the future of dabbing is something he sees as being a legitimate profession undeniably in his future. And in his mind, there is no better chance at making a career out of the one thing for which you are most passionate if you rise to a level above the mean. “Do what you love, and the money will come.” This he professes to anyone concerned with what he plans to do when he grows up.

Davey Dabs envisions a noble career in dabbing.

“I know a lot of unemployed musicians,” he will tell you. “And there are far less people who know how to properly administer a perfect dab.”

He’s not wrong.

He dips a cotton swab in isopropyl alcohol and cleans the residue from the glass, politely preparing the area with proper etiquette. All the while, like a sommelier, his pinky juts to the side, a quirk of Davey Dabs that instills the assuredness that the dab is being administered by a consummate caretaker.

Davey Dabs is notorious for wearing a jacketless vest and tie with an English beanie and has fittingly chosen the stage name The Dapper Dabber.

Imagine Picachu in a three-piece suit. With a lot of hair. Really stoned.

#94: The Great Hustle

Episode #94: THE GREAT HUSTLE - Transcript


Tradition is good. Just ask the dude in “Fiddler on the Roof,” who was so bent on toeing The Lord line that he dialed up a show stopping song that the entire town joined in on to validate his point. In the movie, he believes that honoring the rituals of our indoctrination reinforces our culture, which solidifies structure, resulting in a unified society.

By the way, he wasn’t Christian. In fact, only one out of every three people in the world are Christian. Yet once again, whether we like it or not, it’s time to celebrate the day of birth of the mystery man sent to absolve our sins.

And now I get to be the buzzkill – which is tradition for Stoney Baloney.

So, I have to ask again: Do we have to? Or can we take this year off? Because by December 25th I’ve hit my ceiling on birthdays for the year.

Unity is not what people are currently feeling and a religious holiday is not what’s going to get us there. And the Christmas shopping is kind of sad when the next time I see many of these people, they’ll be concealing a handgun in the free food line after the economy implodes. But they’ll still hand over their tax return to tithe the church. Which doesn’t pay taxes.

Don’t you find it kind of shitty how small businesses are being shut down while Walmart simply wipes down?

Anyway, the point is that the village mentality doesn’t work for a society compiled of metropolises. And so long as we spend, tradition is an afterthought.

Thank God for Black Friday. In fact, I think the two have formed a merger.

Hey, much respect to Jesus Christ and Happy Birthday, man! Now do we really need to go ahead with the whole charade every 12 months, or are the well-wishes and good intentions enough this time?

Anyway, sorry this episode isn’t about using Cannabis. That’s a different sacrament.

#93: Soccer Moms Are The Bestest!

Episode #93: SOCCER MOMS ARE THE BESTEST! - Transcript


Let’s all raise our flutes of infused lemonade for a big cheer to those intrepid Dodge Caravanners who make up the backbone of America! You do it all, ladies. You keep the whole tribe in order like the Chief Executive Organizer of the Taylor family, bringing home the bacon, frying it up in a pan, and never letting dad forget he’s a man.

You captain the crew with equestrian reigns, directing the grocery getter through the avenues and lanes, school zones and sports practices, rattling cat calls from the stands that urge the victories while softening the losses. And all with impeccable punctuality. You value the respect this earns amongst the other mothers with whom you chronicle scenes inside the home, reporting the events with an omniscient eye, desperately aware that these days will evaporate as quickly as your own youth.

You are a conductor, orchestrating the chaos into a seamless symphony with the patience of a glacier through teen shouting matches over clothes swapping and philosophical differences in social image managing. Then, when the evening wanes and the flurry settles into a mindful moment on the couch, a good glass of red and the guilty pleasure of a naughty reality show are a great way to calm the nerves while rubbing the aching dogs.

“How do you do it all?” The audience insists to know your secret as these words echo in your thoughts.

The purse lies before you on the coffee table. You unfasten the hinge that conceals your essentials. Where there used to be a prescription bottle that rattled like the tail of a diamondback, there is now a vape pen in its place. You push the button, sneak a toke, and the voices of the madding crowd saunter into oblivion creating open space that will soon again be filled with the sunrise.

#92: Can We Please End Christmas?

Episode #92: CAN WE PLEASE END CHRISTMAS? - Transcript


Listen, I’m not trying to be an asshole here. I used to love Xmas just as much as any kid. Catching a glimpse of Santa nibbling on a cookie or hearing the patter of hooves on top of the apartment complex made sleeping unbearable. It’s just that I’m not sure I can bear grandma getting run over by a reindeer for the umpteenth time before even having a chance to banish my yard witch back to the shed and evaluate the leftover bowl of miniature Snickers and Candy Corn.

Out with the devil and in with the lord.

Because the problem with Christmas isn’t Christmas day, it’s the fact that we’re hyped for two months on the front end and then stuck with a stiff tab on the back end. Which equates to one sixth of your life forced into a whimsical play where everyone dresses like they’re from Norway in the 1600s.

And I know what you enthusiasts are thinking–I can simply choose to not take part. Which is about as easy as choosing to not take part in death and taxes.

“But it’s for the kids,” you say. Fair enough, but do you really want them learning that the plastic packaged gifts which magically appear under the tree that was cut down to end up in the dumpster came from a strange fucker who wants you to sit on his warm lap? Why not teach them real values, like patience leads to prosperity? And that violence in Walmart on black Friday is not how adults should behave.

I get it, there’s nothing wrong with spreading good cheer, but can we at least ease up on the carpet bombing of commercials for shit we don’t need like shiny new cars with ridiculously large bows and another collared shirt with a snowman tie? And can we do it every leap year just to freshen things up? It’s becoming Groundhog Year.

By the way, you do realize that mom infuses Santa’s Christmas cookies, right? That’s because she secretly feels his pain.

#91: Bring Back the Roach Clip

Episode #91: BRING BACK THE ROACH CLIP- Transcript


Back in the day there used to be an unwritten challenge amongst stoners to innovate the most functionally fun apparatus with which to cinch the end of your marijuana cigarette. From a couple matchsticks to a set of tweezers, the one sure fire way to avoid toasting the fingertips was to fashion an extension for the last bit of the smoldering jay. Because when the lungs are grasping for every mouthful of heavenly smoke, the final tokes of resinated weed could be the cherry that finishes the perfect banana split. And a real stoner, especially a broke stoner, wouldn’t dream of letting it go to waste.

But alas, like many tools that once hailed a revolutionary purpose, this utility has been usurped by modern innovation. And in today’s world of widely accepted Cannabis, the mighty roach clip has met obsolescence like most things that were once fun and fashionable, but later came to represent a former time less evolved. It is the disposable cone that has come to fill the void needed for mass production, easy to toss and rid like a plastic bottle, or a month-old greeting card.

But why is it that we consistently feel the desire to change and reinvent for the sole purpose of proving the old way archaic when the initial mechanism suited the demand well while still claiming the cool factor? I think it’s because we’re bored.

But what could be less boring than putting your stoney ideas to work for the sake of good marksmanship for lining that brain dart to the desired destination of your inviting lips? Because, as we learned with the 12-inch LP, some things are worthy of bringing back by popular demand. And just as there’s a warm flow of nostalgia that pops from the needle on your vinyl record, there is also sentiment for the sediment of the final puff from the browned end of the paper when fuming those last crumbs of ambrosia from a doobie.

So, let’s bring back the roach clip. And the Shotgun! But please not Top Gun.

#90: The Death of Davey Dabs

Episode #90: THE DEATH OF DAVEY DABS- Transcript


“I may get there before you.”

Davey Dabs spoons out a sugary booger of hydrocarbon extract with the fastidious surgery of a world-class watch maker before dropping the liquid into the preheated banger, then gazes into the oil bubbling and transforming into vapor as if witnessing the gorgeous volcanic cauldron of hell from the perch of heaven.

“Or you may get there before me.”

His rotund face squares to connect eyes with Rocky the Pitbull, acknowledging their inevitable passing as the most elementary fact of life. He then closes his eyes for a couple seconds as if in prayer, opens wide pointing his attention to the hot rig, draws it to his mouth, and begins to chug and exhale in working mechanical fashion, willing the cannabinoids into his bloodstream as the necessary fueling that keeps the engine performing at optimum efficiency. With the alveoli competing for oxygen, he then half coughs while carrying on with his earnest words while the vapor escapes his teeth and nose like water through a colander. This is Davey Dabs’ church, his place of worship, his confessional.

“Either way, we’re both going to die. And if it’s me first, you can rest assured that I will have a tasty dab waiting for you in Valhalla.”

In his ear lobes are two-inch gauges while a bull ring is cinched through the cartilage of the nostrils.

“And if you get there before me? Well, I hope you’ll do the same.”

Rocky tilts his head. Then Davey Dabs drops his robe to expose his naked body save for a cheetah print bikini style swimsuit. The extreme amount of body hair, it is apparent, will not be dry for long as he walks to the back yard, scales the chimney to the top of the roof and proceeds to attempt a failed swallow dive into the swimming pool that instead results into a fried egg belly flop that claps from the water like the crack of nearby lightning.

Davey Dabs did not die from that stinging impact. In fact, he will tell you that he’s never felt more alive.

#89: Grocery Bags Are The Problem

Episode #89: GROCERY BAGS ARE THE PROBLEM - Transcript



When are we going to get it? When is it finally going to embed somewhere in the collective psyche that we only have so many trees to burn until there is a sad Lorax shaking his finger at us from atop a crispy stump reminding us that he warned us fifty years ago?

Dr. Seuss was ahead of his time.

You do know that trees are a bioremediatory, correct? That means they clean the air and soil. So, not only do we cease to exist on this planet without them, but we get to enjoy forest fire bongloads of burnt bark and sizzling squirrel tail in the meantime.

How much more evidence do we need?

Because it doesn’t get much clearer than waking up to an ash covered car in the morning. Yet the fine face-covered folks who are cluelessly checking and bagging my groceries do not register the fact that it takes trees to make the paper ones, and plastic to kill the trees that make the paper ones. I grabbed a few items at the grocery store and the checker still found it necessary to double bag the items. God forbid the handle should rip, sending the satchel to the ground to potentially dent my tuna can.

What the fuck, people? Figure it out!

And it’s not that grocery bags are the real problem, but the fact that no one is saying anything. Why do I have to be an asshole for giving a shit? Am I a nuisance by requesting a single bag, or a weirdo for supplying my own reusable ones?

Think of us in a fish tank. The water has got to be exchanged fairly frequently, or it begins to turn green and the fish get choked out. That is what’s happening to us.

One fish, two fish, red fish, dead fish.

#88: I Miss Quarantine

Episode #88: I MISS QUARANTINE - Transcript


Call me an asshole, but I think this pandemic has been the best thing to happen to the planet in the last 100 years. And what’s good for the gander is good for the goose. Meaning what’s good for the big blue marble is good for those that inhabit it.

Speaking of geese, man do they lay down a lot of poop. But it enriches the soil, which we’re gonna need when the acid rains force down the brown air of corporate toxicity onto our manicured lawns. And geese have seen an increase in population since Covid because there are more open parks for perching their downy asses, so be thankful for these feathered flocks and everything that fertilizes the essence of what brings us the ability to thrive as organic beings.

Enough about geese.

Anyway, if you ask me, I think these good ol’ days will eventually be reflected upon with great fondness. Because if you live in a big city, you’ll probably never get another chance to blitz through rush hour traffic without using your blinker to bob and weave your way into crammed spaces made available by dozing commuters. Because it’s vital to earn that extra 15 seconds when reaching your destination.

And less traffic equates to less pollution all over. Which means clear air, clean water, and lower gas prices. And less restaurants and bars, and impulse window shopping when you’ve left the bar. Basically, we’re making better decisions all around. And in some cases, we haven’t had to make a decision at all. Like whether to finally change out of your pajamas after 4 days. Or take a shower.

I miss the grocery store battles for toilet paper. I miss the conspiracy theories. I miss the illuminaughty. That’s the name for guys addicted to adult sites who were stuck at home in a sexless marriage.

Anyway, wanna know the best thing about Covid? Cannabis was deemed essential.

Not that we didn’t know that already.

#87: Superzero the Sequel

Episode #87: SUPERZERO THE SEQUEL - Transcript


So, the Superzero piece was such a phenomenon, I figured I’d re “hash” the old formula! So here comes another family friendly storyline targeted specifically to exploit your personal lack of adventure by appealing to your desperate need for the cheap escapism of unchallenging film making while knowingly relinquishing art for pure profit.

So, in the name of the major Hollywood movie studios, thank you for making it easy to formulate an extremely profitable franchise without having to employ expensive screenwriters and directors who like to compose complicated narratives based on real adult situations that focus on the poignant dynamics of the human experience that urge us to think critically and apply thought to our motives, ultimately inspiring us to be better people.

Maybe “adult” is the wrong word. Because aren’t comic books for kids?

Listen, it’s not that we need to completely eradicate make believe movies about these broken social warriors whose mission is to heal their wounded souls by overcompensating for the outcast insecurity and lack of acceptance in society by thrusting unsolicited protection for the rotting metropolises, but can we please reallocate some of this energy to alternative social programs and other government agencies benefitting local municipalities? Wait, that’s for defunding the police, my bad.

Same thing probably. But this isn’t about defunding the real police, just the pretend police.

Believe me, I used to love superhero cartoons as much as the next kid, but it’s like Coldplay. They’re great and all, but it’s time to move on. And while the big studio budgets green Light the Green Lantern for the tenth iteration, what we’re losing out on is the next Godfather or Gone with the Wind. It’s kind of like the weed business. The more companies enter, the lousier the weed gets. Proving that too much of a good thing can be a bad thing.

#86: The Birth of Davey Dabs

Episode #86: THE BIRTH OF DAVEY DABS - Transcript


Davey Dabs will tell you that he recalls being in the womb.

“It’s my earliest memory”, he contemplatively whispers as vapor pours from the nostrils like a chugging steam engine in slow motion. The legs are crossed in Zen mode while recounting the event with deep transcendence. This was his first and most important challenge and he is grateful for the fortitude and extreme luck that blessed him in those competitive moments.

“Well, that’s not exactly true. I remember it felt like being shot out of a cannon before frantically swimming through the cervix like it was the first stage of a triathlon.” His eyes are shut while a chuckle directs a soft nod, rewinding the episode from remembrance. “I’m lucky to be here, actually, because I was not the first sperm into the fallopian tubes.”

Naysayers would rightfully disregard this fantastic recount as an utter yarn, but when the eyelids of Davey Dabs lift to expose the glossy, fixed bulbs, they portray a piercing vitality that invites your intrigue to become informed. In these rare moments, any doubt about the authenticity of this flashback is cast off because in the rare times that he shows absolute sincerity, there is always something to be learned. As much of a clown Davey Dabs can be in moments of unorchestrated chaos, the opposing poles of magnetism can be referenced to explain his constitution. Meanwhile, Rocky the Pitbull licks his bare feet and you wonder if they have both reached the state of nirvana.

This reminiscence, Davey Dabs will tell you, was evoked amidst a peyote ceremony with Soaring Eagle, our native American friend who invited him to an annual sweat with the Puyallup tribe.

His nickname is Sits In Front Of Television which was given to him by Davey Dabs’ roommate, Rachel the Ripper.

#85: Ants In Your Pants 

Episode #85: ANTS IN YOUR PANTS - Transcript


You can learn a lot from ants. In fact, we are not as unalike as you probably think. I know, you think they look like freaky little spindly aliens, but so do lobsters, and you don’t seem too disgusted when shoving one of those fucker’s butter drenched rudders into your mouth, do you?

Would ants be delicious if dipped in drawn butter?

The answer to that is yes.

Anyway, ants and people have been cohabitating since the beginning and the reason for the dual proliferation is because we kinda do shit the same way. We both live in large societies. Each has a designated job. We march in line like soldiers. We are territorial and engage in wars with other colonies.

We both eat Cannabis.

Well, that’s not exactly true, although ants have been known to use weed to fortify their underground burrows. Kind of like a house built with hempcrete.

And the answer to this question, the one that you are silently thinking, is no. You will not live perpetually stoned were you to inhabit your own. Hempcrete is made with the fibrous stalk of the hemp plant, which doesn’t hold enough THC to get you high, and it is not like living inside a marijuana treehouse.

Why are you silently asking so many damn questions?

So, ants are one of the most resourceful creatures on the planet. We can fuck with them all we want, but to eliminate them entirely, we would ultimately cause irreparable damage to our own landscape. So, get used to these miniature versions of alien humans with tiny brains and hairy legs, because like the cockroach, they are here to stay. Sorry if they creep you out, but last time I checked, so do most people.

And lobsters.

#84: Superzero

Episode #84: SUPERZERO - Transcript



I’d like to make a suggestion. How about we put a pause on the whole superhero thing for a minute? I get it, these fun-filled blockbusters are colorful, entertaining, and difficult to ignore, but so is a commercial for Applebees where everything is visually appealing, but basically cheap and filling. And when the party’s over you feel bloated and a little sugar drunk from the happy hour amalgamation of 4 mixers and one strictly measured shot of well booze.

It’s like this. They take the same nine ingredients and whoop them up in a variety of ways, so it all appears splashy and creative, but the result rarely departs from the blueprint for profitability.

It begins with a mystery. “Let’s see, should I go with the steak, or the chicken?”

Then there’s the conflict. “I want the steak, but the chicken is healthier.”

And the resolution. “Oh, I can get 2 for $20. Problem solved!”

And the happy ending. “Yes, I’ll have the Triple Chocolate Meltdown. Two spoons, please.” Followed by batting eyelashes.

I understand that I’m pissing on the leg of something profoundly popular, but haven’t we grown past the cookie cutter formula of Eisenhauer conservatism? Now, I understand that this genre is strictly entertainment, but fantasy should be thought provoking with more than the predictable exercise in happy ending economics. Because if we can internalize that life is more than just good guys reigning victorious over bad guys, maybe we’ll learn to take intrigue to higher levels that actually apply to us improving as a society rather than just complacently turning back the pages to read the same chapter.

Afterall, art imitates life. And you have a responsibility to evolve.

Then you will leave the theater with more than just an anesthetized brain and flat popcorn attached your sticky soles.

I’ve got a brilliant idea! How about The Wonderful Weed Man, where he roasts a nug, gets the munchies and eats the villain with a bowl of Trix.

Or we could just go with another insect. You’re call, Bro.

#83: Blame Me For The Hackey Sack

Episode #83: BLAME ME FOR THE HACKEY SACK - Transcript


The fog reached eastward from the coast and over the bay that Saturday morning, lifting outwardly to expose the heavens that exist beyond the sky in a mystical place where ideas manifest. Somehow that day–we may never understand how—a rogue portal channeled the inexplicable energy into a non-descript west coast suburb, unknowingly effecting popular culture with a rare quirk.

As the subject of this divine intervention, it should be noted, I was indubitably unaware of my affecting the course of history. But then, few visionaries have ever taken the clearest path.

Browsing the skate shop for a new set of polyurethane wheels, there, hanging from a particle board was a small leather ball packaged in the confines of a plastic bubble, obviously in desperate need of fresh air.

As was society itself, one could argue.

“What is that?” I called, intrigued to know the purpose of this palm fitting bean bag of stitched leather.

The owner responded favorably. “You wanna keep it in the air, kind of like a soccer ball. Brand new, just got them this morning, first store to have them according to the delivery guy.”

On campus, it became a hit in the quad during lunch and within a week my buddies became owners of their own. Taking the initiative to give this gem life, mine rested on the right shoulder for both the senior pic and driver’s license photo, which became legend. I then left for college in southern California and a guy on my dorm floor became fascinated with this conduit for exercise and his Hollywood film director Dad jumped on the new youth culture fad in one of his movies.

This footbag became a thing, and suddenly people fancied their own pocket pal in city parks and music festivals, utilized by hippies and backyard athletes everywhere.

I never intended to be the catalyst for this counter cultural movement.

I just thought it was cool because I was stoned.

#82: Cigarettes are Healthy 

Episode #82: CIGARETTES ARE HEALTHY - Transcript


The cigarette industry has really taken it in the butt this century, so can we please focus on some positives? After all, as we evolve toward a more tolerant society insistent upon creating a level playing field of fairness for everyone, we really should stop the addiction shaming. Sure, those fine orally fixated folks are willingly welcoming a small forest fire into their respiratory system with each flick of the Bic, but who are we to judge? Afterall, it is their human right to laminate their lungs with a fresh chimney soot smoothie powered by a benzene boost.

You know, there’s a reason they call them cancer sticks. It’s because the cancer sticks to your lungs.

Anyway, smoking is literally exhausting. Which explains why if I were to be blindfolded and asked to identify the mystery scent effervescing from your mouth into my fresh nostrils, my first guess would be exhaust. Because when you waft that wheeze, I recall a frantic chase toward a departing metro bus as the tailpipe burps out a cocktail of scorched, highly refined fossil fuels directly into my clenched face.

But hey, not everyone is addicted, right? I mean, some users will claim they strictly smoke for enjoyment. Unfortunately, this enjoyment leads them out the door to an area twenty-five feet away from the building entrance an average of ten times a day just to light up. But am I the only one who sees this ritual for enjoyment as a monumental inconvenience?

And cigarette abusers will vehemently defend their crutch with any explanation in the attempt to convince you that there is at least one positive result to come from the act of smoking cigarettes. “It calms my nerves,” they will confidently assert.

No, it doesn’t. You know what calms your nerves? Counseling.

Anyway, cigarettes are awesome, and healthy! Marijuana cigarettes, that is.

#81: When the Buffet Bites Back

Episode #81: When the Buffet Bites Back - Transcript


Everyone knows who Jimmy Buffet is, right? Well, he has little to do with anything other than the fact that he makes me hungry. Of course, this surname obviously has a silent “t”, but when I see the word buffet, my mind does not autocorrect. And that is because there are few things more seductive than a full-frontal food orgy when your hollow belly is rumbling with the vacant echo of distant thunder.

Anyway, in case you didn’t already know, Jimmy Buffet had the smash hit Margaritaville. And margaritas are a lovely way to satiate your insides when gorged with starch and fat. The sugar from the Cointreau, accentuated with the crisp tartness of lime infused with a significant punch of electric shock tequila just sets the buds on fire. And not just the taste buds, but also the buds of fire flower that fueled this fare frenzy.

Hold on.

Ok, sorry, I just had to wipe the saliva from the corners of my leaking mouth.

So, we all love a fabulous buffet! But some level of caution should be practiced due to the potential overindulgence that converts that vacant echo of distant thunder into a direct clap of lightning that strikes your internal system, resulting in the projectile discharge of stomach mush, effectively bankrupting that stretched abdomen into an empty vat of contracting cramps. With one ill-advised glance into the mirror, the watering eyes and blood flushed complexion will tell the story of a slightly dizzied, miserably moaning face full of regret spurned by unwise choices of the pallet.

But there’s a lesson to be learned from gluttony, and it is that even though you wasted a plate of uneaten scraps, the food would have never made it to hungry children in Africa without first becoming spoiled. So, you’re all good!

And pray that Jimmy Buffet doesn’t change the enunciation of his last name. Because lord knows, you don’t need any more triggers.

#80: Drugs Suck

Episode #80: Drugs Suck - Transcript


It’s pretty evident that our economic system is fortified by keeping the average living organism dumb and sick. Force fed to fatten the liver, we choke down beer like good stewards who appreciate the small escape that a laugh and a cheap buzz affords, giving into the tactful marketing with the same blind trust we have for politicians and corporate CEOs.  

Don’t question authority.  

There’s no need. Because your very own beach paradise awaits with only the simple turn of a bottlecap and push of a squeezed lime.   

Here are the steps. Click the television remote control (aka the hypnotic spinning spiral). Reach for the beer. Drink the beer. Grab your phone. Order the pizza. Eat the pizza (you are becoming verrrrrry sleepy). Fall asleep with your feet propped on top of the pizza box.   

Is that why your bare feet always smell like cheese? 

And then there are pharmaceuticals.  

Now, I was recently hospitalized for an appendectomy. After the surgery, painkillers were administered on the regular. And it felt great! Awash in euphoria, there appeared a heightened enthusiasm for things like sippy cups, Get Well Soon balloons, and other inanimate objects. “Feel free to drill a few teeth while you’re here, doctor,” I delivered in the form of flattery. “I’m not a dentist,” retorted the nurse. 

My new friend was wonderful and benevolent. No, not the nurse, the Demerol.  

However, there was a big problem–the warm, comforting friend did not stay long. And when those synapses settled down, abandoning the heavens for a more remedial plot back on earth, the natural energy balance of my body felt betrayed. The road to recovery, it now appeared, was more a battle with addiction than the healing of the physical wounds.

And this is a big fucking problem.

For the record, I’m not totally against drugs. I think big pharma justs need to devote more resources into research and dabvelopment.  

#79: I’m Not Comfortable with That

Episode #79: I'm Not Comfortable with That - Transcript


Since when did everyone’s feelings become the most imperative asset to protect in life? I mean, I’m all for fairness across the board, but your anxiety for anything unfamiliar is fucking annoying.  

Now, you sensitive snowflakes who feel violated when something unexpected or uninvited enters your personal bubble, please realize that for the past 200,000 years human beings have choked down a cornucopia of shit sandwiches so you could have free speech, paved roads and internet. Let’s see, I probably shouldn’t leave out the history of armed invaders that came in looking to impale and rape everything that moved. And then there’s droughts, famine, pestilence, heat waves, floods, earthquakes, you get the point–all so you can melt your entitled ass into the couch allocating your invaluable energy to the commentary of ego-battles of dipshits jockeying for the title of Tiger King.  

We all know who the king is, and his fucking name is Simba! 

And that tiger by the way, had it not been trapped, encaged, and transported, would still be liver lurking through the brush, sniffing for the taste of Taco Bell infused blood to lick from its jowls after having shredded your flesh once alerted by your fart from a mile away.  

In that brilliant brain of yours, you somehow seem to have overlooked some basic historical facts, which appears obvious when you perceive that a stranger who talks to you outside of your social circle is a threat. You live in my neighborhood. My car is in the shop. Was I totally out of line asking if I could hop a ride to the grocery store? 

You know what? I’m not comfortable with your being uncomfortable.  

I demand a bong hit as recompense.

Oh yeah, I forgot, you don’t smoke weed. It’s “not your thing.”

#78: Enthusiasm Fades

Episode #78: Enthusiasm Fades - Transcript


I think it is safe to say that New Year’s Eve is the most optimistic day of the year. You can’t deny that whatever is going on in your life, there’s always the inspiring prospect that with the flip of a fresh calendar, the vivid sun emerging over the horizon promises to shine on you with prosperity, casting that rich golden glow onto your fresh start into emerging new areas of success.

Aspiring to a bright future is always exciting. But you know what they say, there’s a sucker born every minute.

It’s similar to getting married. You set off with the best intentions with the faith that you are going to share a life together of wonderment, adventure, discovery, affection, etc. Unfortunately, however, faith is belief in the absence of evidence. And with the divorce rate over fifty percent these days while most of the other fifty percent contemplate the probability of throwing in the towel, there is no lack of evidence. Yet, 6,200 people marry daily in the United States alone.

Here’s the deal with marriage. People think that another person is going to complete them. Which may be true, but only when they find that rare compatible character who is willing to weather the inevitable personality changes with unwavering determination in the effort to evolve together in singular fashion. Which goes against our instinct. Women want to nest, and men want to wander.

Those two traits don’t exactly coincide, do they?

And what inevitably happens on New Year’s Day, is just after changing the calendar, you’re changing diapers. And then you’re changing the channel. Which is ironic, because realistically, nothing really changes at all.

So why is it that the inevitable arrival of deflated sentiment on that day diminishes your reluctance toward Cannabis as a reasonable substitute to alcohol?

Is it the hangover?


Episode #77: Battling Gravity - Transcript


The actress Bette Davis once said that getting old is not for the faint of heart. And the reason for this assessment of absolute accuracy is because after managing your life over the earth’s crust for enough seasons, the force of attraction by which terrestrial bodies tend to fall toward the center of the earth begins to have an effect on your physicality.  

That’s what gravity is.  

But don’t be mad.  

You see, it is this pull of weight that has afforded us a body at all. Unless you believe we were put here by a superhuman being, or spirit, worshiped as having power over nature, or human fortunes.  

Thank god for the dictionary.  

Wait, my bad, he didn’t create that–a man named Robert Cawdrey did in the year 1604. Or did God create it through him? Hold on, shouldn’t God be referred to with gender neutrality now? 

Anyway, back to gravity. Our energy attracts the matter that forms muscle, bone, etc. And with the pressure of gravity, your substance grows. And if you are not working the muscle what occurs is atrophy, eventually resulting in immobility and death. So, it is this force of gravity that has allowed all organisms on earth to develop and proliferate. 

If you don’t use it, you lose it.  

Recently, I went a week without walking due to being bedridden as result of an injury and with the first attempt, it was clear my muscles had begun the physiological process of atrophy. Now, taking steps along a firm sidewalk was like navigating a massive trampoline surface. Or Like a cat walking in booties. 

Thankfully, Cannabis gets you lifted.  

#76 – MENTAL unwILLingNESS

Episode #76: MENTAL unwILLingNESS - Transcript


If you ever wanna get out of something that you don’t feel like doing, like work for instance, or for that matter anything that requires effort—well, claiming mental illness is great justification! And there are more options than ever these days, each with its very own prescription to help you avoid the daily nuisance of validating your contribution to society. Simply select a condition that comfortably suits your personality and you’re covered!

Now back to our regularly scheduled program.

How did this happen? Maybe I’m clueless, but it feels like it used to be that if someone even hinted that you may not be of stable mind, the allegation could create deep divisions. You see, mental illness has not always been this open to interpretation—without the clear-cut categories that currently exist, people simply sadly labeled you as either retarded, or crazy. But it is different now in this era where every kid gets a trophy. The alleged will proudly regard their self-diagnosed neurosis as the result of society’s oppression, wielding their disorder as a protest to conformity.

“Confront me and I will spray you with justice repellant!”

To be fair, all people who make the claim of instability should be taken very seriously.

Once they get that evasive clinical analysis, that is.

Because the problem is not their affliction, it is the fact that they exploit it with no valid data to prove they’re not just simply insecure and lazy. And in this world of nearly 8 billion head cases, it’s becoming increasingly difficult to separate who is actually mentally mangled from the entitled brats who want an excuse to pocket pity.

So, can you please just do your job? You’re not the only mother fucker to feel what it’s like to be an outcast.

I’ve been a stoner since before you were born.


Episode #75: FAKE LOVE - Transcript


The universe is ever evolving. Change is constant. Therefore, as energy continues to manifest everywhere, we too transform. It is this energy that connects everything. But everything does not evolve in the same way. And although it is still evolution, some things devolve. And sadly, as the de-evolution of human connection seems to endure at the behest of advancing technology, so goes love.

This is evidenced through the over-commercialization of love that subtly diminishes individual value while bolstering the idea that one’s purpose is accomplished by committing to a partner for life. And to prove that commitment, one must reward the companion with an expensive token that symbolizes their devotion. Love has been manufactured and packaged, over-simplified, and marketed as a reward for being responsible rather than a reward for being alive.

The words “I Love You” have become more of a convenient, reassuring coda to a couple’s conversation. It is sort of another way to say, “we’re good, you have nothing to worry about,” and there may be some “love making” if everyone plays their cards right. But where that last thing that is supposed to mean what it was actually called, “making love”, for most relationships it is simply maintenance that ensures the other party there won’t be any drastic surprises that could result in some major life changes. It simply says that nothing has changed, we are still sharing a bed.

Love has become more of a notion than an emotion. A concept rather than a concert. A calculation rather than communication.

But for those of us who have been fortunate enough to experience true love—the obsessive fluttering of enchantment, the impatient lather of fervor–you know that this vibrance is unrivaled by any emotion encountered in the human experience.

I love Cannabis. And it has never expected anything as proof.


Episode #74: THE ROCK STAR DAVEY DABS - Transcript


Remember the movie Interview with the Vampire? Well, the protagonist’s name was Lestat and he was not referred to as simply Lestat, but very formally, The Vampire Lestat? Well Davey Dabs always dug that, so he said that when he becomes a rock star, this is how he would be infamously referred to.

Davey Dabs has no intention of ever becoming a rock star. But neither did Kurt Cobain.

Davey Dabs plays electric bass guitar in a local band called The Miscreants. Purposefully, this band is not necessarily a good band. You see, although Davey Dabs is a pretty solid player, the consensus about the songs, if that is what one must call these quips of noise, is that they are deeply lacking in organization. And if you were lucky enough to conduct a press conference with Davey Dabs, it would be distinctly noted that this is entirely by design. Which he considers to be the crux of the genius.

The concept, he will inform you with the confidence of Frank Zappa being interviewed, is to be the antithesis of composition. It is his objective to confuse and repulse the expectations of the listener, and to deliver a controversial juxtaposition with the intention of creating complete confusion. The music is unpalatable, exactly what Davey Dabs intends and precisely what he believes will distinguish him as a melodic martyr.

Davey Dabs has proclaimed himself the world’s only fan of his musical idol, Russell Hobbs from the band Gorillaz. He relishes in the fact that this is a fictional, animated character, which Davey Dabs believes imbues him to an elite relationship to which no one else can attest.

His highest goal in life would be to dab out Mr. Hobbs with a fat glob of the purest solventless hash rosin available. Of course, to do that, Davey Dabs would have to somehow make the transition from human into animation.

And Davey Dabs could not be more cool with that


Episode #73: HERD IMMUNITY - Transcript


A sure-fire way to generate self-validation these days is to make the claim that you’ve been insulted. Which is easiest to accomplish when you are part a group.

You see, we attach our identities to affiliations and that affiliation provides a sense of security because when others share your point of view, your opinions become validated. And if someone discriminates against you, they are discriminating against the entire affiliation. They call this safety in numbers.

And what’s not to love about the convenience? Because lord knows, critical thinking can be an added nuisance to the busy schedule, and between the nine to five, the grocery getting, and Netflix to keep up with, who has got time for that? It’s much simpler to join a community of like-minded folks and suddenly you are no longer rogue, but now actually have a voice that is popular and applauded!

It takes a herd to be heard.

I will use religion as an example for this logic.

The facts are simple, everything is made up of energy. I assume this energy comes from a divine source. I believe I can prove what that divine source is by simply naming it, and because I have affiliated with a group of people who share that conviction, my claim is justified. And whether the assertion is reasonable, possible, or plausible, is irrelevant. There only needs to be other people who submit. I mean, there may very well be a grey bearded man ruling from a throne atop the clouds, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that there are enough of us who reinforce the belief in it. And if there are, it does not increase the chances of it being real, but my confidence that it is. And with confidence, I can be more convincing. And I can be convincing to not only others, but myself.

So, if you insult my creed, it only strengthens my claim. And makes you look like a conspiracy theorist.

And if you smoke weed, I hope you burn in hell.


Episode #72: THE DATING GAME - Transcript


Remember that television show from the old days called The Dating Game? Before a live studio audience, they would hide an eligible bachelor, or bachelorette behind a screen to ask questions to three contestants of potential relationship material. The purpose was to explore compatibility with the ultimate reward of romance. The questions were saucy, the young and delightful participants were terribly good looking, and everyone had a little fun.

Tila Tequila wasn’t even born yet. You do remember her, right? Ok, good, we’re communicating.

By today’s standards, this concept seems unoriginal, while fifty years ago the innovative format was blushingly audacious. Free love was still lingering from the revolutionary 60’s, so it worked. And the truth is that public dating forums had been kept very discreet by their users up until about ten years ago when, if someone was brazen enough to create an account on, chances are they were not public about it for fear of being labeled as desperate. And we all know that desperation is an extremely effective sex repellant. So, there was a careful tightrope that the steely dreamer had to balance to maintain a positive reputation, yet still appear appealing. And to announce to the world that you met your partner on the internet would be like saying you met in Vegas.

“It’ll never last,” said their mothers.

Now however, swiping is the preferred form of exploring compatibility, which is great.

On some levels.

Anyway, back to The Dating Game. Not much has changed, really. The person you are corresponding with is behind a screen and what you get is a television version of them.


I think I’m gonna do a dab now.



Episode #71: PUT SHADE ON ME, BRO - Transcript


A beautiful pair of sunglasses is an effective, immediate means to gaining status. But there is a method to the heist.

For the casual passerby, there is something about the mystery behind those veiled lenses that injects a jolt of curiosity, wondering if they have serendipitously caught a glimpse of someone famous. Even if for only a split-second, they will incredulously wonder if they have happened upon that rare opportunity to witness a brilliant celebrity in their natural form who just happened to wander into their periphery.

For the wearer, the subtle reaction to this neck jerk is of vital importance.

This is called The Tease.

It is all about timing and reflex. At the precise moment that the shiny reflectiveness throws a diamond dazzle that hooks the onlooker, in comes your sleek technique. With a quick chin tuck and turn of the cheek, the phased stargazer will stretch the sockets to ensure that your reluctance is not an attempt to masquerade your public recognizability. They will strain their eyeballs to get a full-fledged gander, squirming for the optimal angle to ensure a confirmed identification before holster pulling the cellphone for the must have pic, or text alert. Then with a quick trick, your movement becomes hurried in the attempt to make a blast dash to refuge before the madding crowd gets tipped.

A quick escape and it’s over. You will have left at least one person in silent hysteria and the room will be buzzing with what ifs.

BAM! One amazing pair of quality sunglasses and you’re out of the burbs and onto the boulevard. It’s an investment. You’re not just buying protective eyewear, you’re purchasing prestige.

And you want to know the best part of pulling this punk? No one will have evidence that you’re stoned.


Episode #70: CBDelicious - Transcript


If you’re concerned about federal legalization, know that it is only a matter of time. Cannabis is a weed and weeds find a way to emerge through the cracks. Like the culture itself, weed is indistinguishable.

We are weeds.

It’s easy to speculate that possibly the main reason there’s not already an ounce in every bread basket is largely due to the theory that the medical industry isn’t too down with seeing their margins shrink so the radicals of this hippie culture can rake the profits of Baby Boomer’s failing bodies. But believe you me, once the patents, copyrights and trademarks start leaking from the confidential government-controlled laboratories, the flood gates will open to the bounty of benefits this plant provides.

Soon, the major cannabinoids extracted and paired will be highly utilized for improvements in the health and wellness industry. In case you are new, CBD is great for inflammation, CBG for depression, CBN for sleep, and the list goes on. You will witness these miraculous natural chemicals being used in everything from cosmetics to cereal.

And yes, the usual corporate suspects will pounce like a feral cat on a quivering feather.

All these companies will have a play. There will be big pharma showcasing the arena of medicine. We will have big tobacco packaging our joints, conveniently found behind the counter of your aptly categorized convenient store next to the cigarettes and Hustler magazines. Beer and alcohol companies will be bottling your drinks. And, of course, food companies will have tasty options, as well.

In fact, we may eventually get CBD enhanced Doritos. I mean, why not? It cures my back pain and my snack pain! A Cool Ranch topical?

Does this mean we’ll get a hybrid that crosses Doritos and Fritos? Hey, Dofritos!

Cannabinoids, it’s like smoking vitamins.


Episode #69: MY PTSD IS NOT VERY TGIF - Transcript


It’s funny, you know? We have longer life spans than ever before in the history of our species, but less time for shit. So, to clear out some of that unwanted clutter like language and such, it makes natural sense to condense our words and phrases into convenient little, digestible acronyms. Because the more you abbreviate your words the more time you save and are therefore able to accomplish more tasks in your day.

Except the task of practicing patience, that is.

Anyway, if you don’t know the meaning of SEO, FOMO, and IG, you’re DOA.

But why is it that we minimize language in the attempt to maximize brain space? And why is everyone in such a frantic hurry? Is it because we are bred to be competitive? Is it because we cherish every second of life so much that we want to stuff as much as possible into the short amount of time we are here? Is it so we can spend more of these precious moments glaring at the electronic device that projects a pretty picture through thousands of megapixels that persuades internal monologues which in turn influences buying decisions?

BTW, this is called a television.

In some cases, it makes perfect sense. Like, no one wants to have to memorize the word tetrahydrocannabinol, or cannabidiol. And it’s understandable that the current youth generation believes themselves to be far evolved past the old days when words were still in their infancy and actually pronounced phonetically. God knows that one hundredth of a millisecond you saved by truncating your words is going to pay dividends. Too bad it took you half a minute to figure out how to do so.

Oh, shoot, when I mentioned television, what I meant to say was TV.

It’s funny, ya know? Not really, actually.


Episode #68: THE SHITUATION - Transcript


Remember that dude on Jersey Shore who called himself The Situation? Well, this has absolutely nothing to do with him. So, now that we have gotten that out of the way, let us pontificate.

As kids, it is safe to say that for most of us the proverb Waste Not, Want Not was stuffed into our mushy little brains as much as the Cookie Monster stuffed Oreos into his stoned mouth. In fact, Cookies is now as much of an imperative word in the Cannabis vernacular as wedding cake, which makes a lot of sense. Weed gives you the munchies. And the word munchies is synonymous with cookies and cake.

Man, I’ve gotta get a handle on my life. I am getting way off the subject.

That mushy brain has become quarantinged.

Anyway, people are broke. They are lonely and depressed. There will be no festivals to attend, no sporting events, no nightclubs, and who in the hell would have ever predicted a juggernaut in wearable masks and hand sanitizer as positions suggested by your portfolio manager? These are the least sexy stocks in the market, but there is nothing sexy about a pandemic, so it makes a lot of sense.

Is anyone having sex?

Anyway, if you ask me, I think what may have gotten us in this mess is the fact that we are wasteful. Yes, we all love the convenience of pushing a button on your hand-held pocket partner and having products magically appear at your doorstep a day later, but we seem to have lost sight of where the waste ends up. It is awfully nice to pull the toilet handle and watch everything vanish into oblivion or toss your recycling into a bin and bid a fond farewell, but this ecosystem can only handle so much of our shit.

Have they opened the beaches yet? At this point, I would take the Jersey Shore.


Episode #67: WHAT HAPPENED TO THE SHOTGUN? - Transcript


It was the sexiest move ever.

For those of you who have no context from which to draw for the legendary Shotgun, it was the old school move of smoothness where you took a lit joint, flipped it around and carefully cupped your lips over the center without touching the cherry. You then forced an exhale, pressing the smoke outward through the hole and into the recipient’s open mouth without drenching the paper with saliva. And the cooperation with which you administered this fashionable toke lent directly to the level of closeness you wished to share. And now it is as much of a foregone cultural trend as Disco music, the CB Radio, and the Six Million Dollar Man.

For stoners, there was nothing cooler. And then, poof—Gone, like an out of fashion pop group.

The beer shotgun followed, but that was stupid.

So why did this practice of provocative participation diffuse into thin air? The shotgun was very communal. Kind of like splitting a Banana Split. And it required no technology other than weed and a rolling paper. If you think about it, it was like sharing a peace pipe with Sitting Bull and I am not referring to my Camp Couch buddy Davey Dabs.

Moustaches made a comeback. Hippie clothes made a comeback. Backstreet Boys made a comeback.

We should lobby the Danksonian Institute to revibe it from the archives. Because like those native chiefs who forged pacts in a teepee, our world leaders could blow shotguns into each other’s mouths before the customary presentation of old war swords and hand-painted vases as diplomatic gifts. In fact, after a good Shotgun blast they may for once see value in the trippiness and functionality of these items.

Maybe the shotgun can be the first step toward ending social distancing.

By the way, now he would be called the Six Hundred Million Dollar Man.


Episode #66: THE HONORABLE DAVEY DABS - Transcript


Walking toward the car with a Justin Bieber song stuck in my head, I was momentarily overcome with that strange instinctual sense that a playful baby hippopotamus might be wandering nearby. And just as the attention returned to focus, the right foot planted into a warm pile of freshly birthed dog doo that sent my leg sliding forward into a 1970’s disco split right there next to the driver’s side door. It all happened so instantaneously. Suddenly, out of the periphery came the hurtling Davey Dabs in full swing of a triple spinning cartwheel from which he sprung flawlessly into an absolute freeze. For three glacial seconds, locking deep, emotive eyes, he gleamed sentimentally as a returning war hero finally embracing that anticipated homecoming with the surviving fox hole compatriot he hadn’t seen since being captured twelve years prior. Then, before I could gather any semblance from the surprise, those hairy arms swung around my torso to squeeze the air out of me like an adult python hugging its prey. I recall the wife-beater being moist with perspiration and the distinct smell of fecal matter competing with the malodorous scent of human pheromones while he cupped the face with both hands and gently kissed me on the lips. And as stunned and frozen with shock as I was in that moment, Chipotle bag still in hand, it should be noted that it did not lack soft passion.

I had just seen Davey Dabs that early afternoon when he awakened in my living room having repurposed the kayak that was previously hanging in the garage for a pullout bed.

Believe it or not, Davey Dabs’ father is a district judge. And he has never ruled out the possibility of following in those respected footsteps.

Of course, as it turned out, Davey Dabs had been given the enjoyable task that day of Dog sitting for Rocky the Pitbull, which became glaringly evident whilst recognizing the merriment with which he now humped my leg at the end of Davey Dab’s leash.


Episode #65: DEATH BY BANANA - Transcript


I’m sure there has been someone through the course of history who has died as a result of bananas. Or at least one banana. Like, there must be one person who has slid on a banana peel, fallen awkwardly, broken their hip, become immobilized, and kicked the proverbial bucket. In fact, I’ll bet there’s someone who has died from kicking a bucket, but that’s another hunk of baloney.

Times have changed since watching Charlie Chaplin bust his ass on a stray peel to some twinkling ragtime music. I think farts eventually usurped banana peel slipping for the quick, cheap laugh, which is fine because farts are funny.

It’s called evolution.

Anyway, back to bananas. It’s possible that the reason for this shift in comedy culture could be because the last person who landed a hip cracking jackknife to the sidewalk took Chiquita to court so now there’s a small yellow sandwich board with a silhouetted airborne dude on it placed in front of every banana peel that makes its way onto the ground warning passers-by to proceed with caution.

Who fucking knows?

There’s a Cannabis strain called Banana Peel that I slipped into a couch coma from.

But forget what’s on the outside because it’s really what’s inside of that peel that is the real danger. You see, now that we have the technology to break nature down into science, it has been confirmed that bananas are high in potassium. And potassium carries radiation! So, that means, quite frankly, if you eat too many you could begin to glow.

Just what we needed, right? One more thing to survive.

By the way, I eat three bananas a day with my morning Acai bowl. But I don’t think it’ll kill me. Because I’ve never seen a monkey glow.

Death by banana is bunch of bullshit. Get it?


Episode #64: THE GREAT DEPRESSION - Transcript


Wow, was 4/20 this year a bust, or what? I mean, Marvel’s Black Widow being bumped for a later release was disappointing, but this takes the meaning of anticlimactic to a new level.

Yay, live streaming is so much fun! Not.

I mean, we really could’ve used a quick hit of morale for our annoyingly short attention spans and lackluster lives because the thrill of fantasy films and tiger kings is losing its wow factor and no longer filling in the gaps with the needed diversion between the daily commute from the living room to the kitchen. Wait, I forgot the bedroom–and behold, another flatscreen bearing down on you like an engorged raincloud.

This day was hyped to be the ultimate sesh where stoners everywhere were gonna floss. And we love hype. It is a huge part of how events and entertainment are marketed and consumed to us, where the tease builds anticipation, working the spine into an impatient lather of suspense. But because the grand finale was cancelled due to a pesky pandemic, we stoners now have our own Deflategate, having choked what little air of optimism remained.

I always wondered what house arrest was like.

So, we missed the big diamond anniversary, where the calendar synchronized for a massive smash of numerical celebration, uniting the globe of pot professionals to finally usurp Earth Day in relevance. Fucking bummer, Man.

We could’ve been bigger than Easter.

Anyway, have you seen enough movies yet? They’re not as much fun when you can faintly sense the real apocalypse brewing in the wind, are they? This whole shit show feels like a bad science fiction flick.

Oh wait, I almost forgot, none of this has anything to do with science.

Where the fuck is our superhero now?


Episode #63: BEARDS AND DAD BODS - Transcript


You plumberjacks better enjoy this short phenomenon while it lasts because shockingly, right now if you resemble the walrus in Fantasia who gobbles up helpless baby oysters and you have a beard, women can potentially find you sexy. And that shit hasn’t happened since…well, it’s never happened.

Maybe that’s not accurate. I mean, the Vikings were beardacious, but I’m pretty sure they lived off pollock and mead, which was a lot leaner than your modern equivalent; the triple bypass burger irrigated with a rack of PBRs.

The Rotund Look hasn’t been in vogue since the Baroque period when girth was a sign of wealth and status. And that’s because there was such a huge class dichotomy that having curves validated your leisurely life of aristocracy and that you weren’t toiling in the dirty fields surviving on cabbage soup.

So, for you Gen Z video game addicts who can’t spell the word metabolize, you might want to smoke fewer shitty pre-rolls, cut down the hours on the controller, and pull your quarantined ass out the door by the elastic waistband for a couple laps around the track. Because by the time you finally enter the dating scene at 28, this fad will have gone the way of the dinosaur, the Delorean and Resident Evil 6.

Guess what, you win the game, Ok? I present you with the distinguished title of Burger King and you may now take the hand of the fair lady, Dairy Queen.

Eventually, this bizarre trend will turn the corner and skinny, depressed, strung out grunge rocker looking fucks like me will once again have our day, only to become the recipient of your belly flopping ass beaching us onto the side of the pool.

Man, my buddy Davey Dabs is gonna pin me down and fart on my face for writing this.


Episode #62: CHECK YOUR TEMPERATURE - Transcript


It was the hot dab that did me in.

Thank you, my airheaded, rookie administrator, for enlightening me to what the inside of a barrel of a flame thrower is like when delivering a mechanical dragon’s demonstration of unbridled fury.

And just when I managed to inhale something that resembled actual air, the entire experience was deepened upon identifying the sensation of having swallowed a sleeping porcupine into my lungs who, upon awakening in the cramped space, was overcome with fear causing it to instinctually employ its quills in order to defend itself.

Suddenly, I was the porcupine, anxiety ridden from the torturous enclosure of a war prisoner’s hurt locker, teetering on the brink of panic, gauging whether the extreme discomfort would cause claustrophobic madness before having the luxury of first offing myself.

And then came the bong spins. At least that’s what they used to call it long before concentrates with 110% THC existed. So out of the place I fled, incapable of explaining myself not only because of the inability to formulate and convey a cohesive word, but also for the complete lack of oxygen flowing through my gills.

The night had instantly taken a Fear and Loathing turn, forcing the retreat from the madness into the safety of the car where a judge from Pink Floyd’s The Wall hammered down his gavel for the crime of a meaningless existence. That’s when the dizziness proved a harsh catalyst, churning the stomach into a pressurized brew of witch’s stew, conjuring the recently eaten food truck kung pao calamari to projectile launch onto the misty pavement in the back alley.

This was the worst Cannabis experience of my life.

Thank goodness for cool dabs.

And the cool mother fuckers who know how to heat a dab.

But if you don’t, that’s ok. That’s why the good lord gave us the vape cart.


Episode #61: COMPETETIVE POSING - Transcript


She who creates the post always looks her best. And in the league of personal brand development, we need every advantage when pitching our lives to the masses.

There is little room for imperfection. One unfiltered, compromising hangover photo of stringy morning hair tied into a haphazard bun can be disastrous. One side profile of baggy sweatpants with a protruding belly can do you in, or even worse, being photographed wolfing down a burger with no makeup covering the blemishes. It can undermine years of strategy, toppling the whole construct like a building demolition. Because followers will scrutinize tirelessly, pining for any hint of that one flaw.

And you know that most people will not take the time and effort to filter your mug through the picture-perfect lens of Snapchat before brandishing onto social media. And this can be detrimental to the ideal image you’ve taken great pains to perfect.

You can trust no one.

You like to call these people your friends, but in this world of competitive attention grabbing, every person is an isolated island. In fact, there are no friends, only people to be seen with and social ladders to climb.

She with the most toys does not win. She with the most followers wins.

The world is always searching for the next Kardashian and there is little room atop the trophy podium where the elbow jabbing in the queue can get physical. So, you’ve got to be on you’re A game when there’s a group photo that is destined to be published unto the world’s symposium. And when it comes time to ensconce your image into the eyes of the collective stargazers, one false move can become a drastic regret never to be rectified.

So, proceed with perilous caution when posing. And make certain the shutter is snapped through your lens.

Except when you’re posing with Cannabis. Then you’re allowed to look ugly.


Episode #60: YOUR GPS LIED TO YOU - Transcript


The tragic miscalculation of digital driving directions can be the cause of great stress. Because when you’re lost, everything appears foreign. Your surroundings are unfamiliar, you find yourself flustered and exposed. This is a dark and confusing place where suddenly every turn, every sidewalk, and every streetlight looks identical. Your sense of security vanishes, leaving you vulnerable and frightened, the anxiety heightened.

You feel betrayed by the soothing, relatable personality inside of your electronic device as their lack of sound decision-making seemed almost purposeful. The voice you once believed is now a clueless idiot and you are determined to get even with a brazen scolding. You will belittle it, call her a bitch, or him an asshole, condemning their actions with caustic flare while detailing the irreparable hassle and embarrassment you’ll endure due to their lack of focus. At some point you may forgive them, but now is not the time. You are lost and late, and the world is in a state of utter peril that may take years to repair.

However, although it doesn’t feel like it, this is no one’s fault.

You do feel a sense of responsibility, though, for having blindly trusted what used to be a credible source. So, to rectify the blunder of placing your faith in this digital confidante, you will take uncharacteristic chances in the attempt to absolve yourself of any further regret.

There is no time to waste in getting to the original course. So, you will make illegal U-turns across center-dividers and irresponsibly hit the brakes on a busy thoroughfare. You will knowingly break the law, nervously cursing while backing up on a one-way street to return to the exit passed.

Ninety-five percent of the time, however, this device is correct. Therefore, you should reward your GPS system.

I recommend a digital blow job.

You take a puff from a vape pen and exhale it into the screen.


Episode #59: THE INIMITABLE DAVEY DABS - Transcript


Davey Dabs brought home a movie and inserted it into his VHS player while we were all hanging out one afternoon. The picture was called Death Race 2000 where there is a competition in retiring people by taking them out in juiced up, retro-futurized race cars. Seeing that Davey Dabs was a Frogger champion in the 7th grade, it made sense that he would romanticize the idea of smushing ordinary people for points on a scoreboard.

Davey Dabs lives by one sound mantra, that his only true responsibility in life, like all animals, is to eat, mate and stay alive. “We have earned our position atop the food chain and I do not intend to disrespect our forefathers by wasting this luxury for which they strived so hard,” he proudly states. He’s very successful at the first. An utter failure at the second. And the third is a perilous, daily achievement by his own self-induced challenges.

We all care about Davey Dabs very much, but no woman wants to see him naked. We know he is secretly in love with Rachel the Ripper, but she views him like a brother. She has a boyfriend anyway, The Swashbuckling Shatterbrain Shane who fancies himself a gallant cavalier. He dabs a lot of shatter and is very good-looking, but not the brightest bulb in the chandelier. He uses words like “utmost”, “virtue”, and “farewell”.

Anyway, when the three took over a friend’s lease of a two-bedroom party house with the torn kitchen linoleum and 1940’s fashioned crown molding that was actually molding, there was a leftover seaweed sheet in one of the cupboards which Davey Dabs immediately fashioned into a joint with some homegrown mids grown by Rachel the Ripper. It was the first time he smoked a joint since he could remember. Mind you, Davey Dabs doesn’t remember much.

By the way, Davey Dabs carries a Get out Of Jail Free Card in his wallet. It’s a piece of insurance, he states, as a last resort.


Episode #58: A FUNGUS AMONG US - Transcript


Try to share your beer with just about anyone these days and they’ll thanklessly grimace at your unsanitary gesture. You may as well have just mauled a garlic seasoned smelt melt and then offered them a French Kiss. “Germs are microscopic,” they think to themselves. “How can I be certain I won’t catch a cold sore?”

Or perpetuate a pandemic.

If it’s a fancy cocktail in a martini glass, a polite person may reach for the nearest straw to dip and taste from, or maybe even find an untouched side of the rim to sip, but someone would have to be pretty hammered to plant their lips onto the open-ended bottle of brewski that’s still glistening from your last tug. And to be quite honest, the person who impulsively follows your swallow is not necessarily someone you want to be sharing DNA with, either.

It’s a hyper prudent social climate we live in. These are tenuous times. The rules have changed.

Offer up a dab, however, and no one blinks an eye.

Or a bong hit, or a spliff, or a pipe, or a jay, or a gravity rip, it just doesn’t matter so long as it’s marijuana. And I believe that it has nothing to do with the fact that cannabis is medicine, because I’ve never returned home with a bottle of Nyquil that didn’t come with a washable plastic measuring cup attached to the lid. But the last time I bought a vape cart, there was no removable sanitary rubber for the tip.

So why is it that when offering someone your drink people get grossed out, yet when it’s a puff, they respond with delight?

I think I know the answer.

Because we inherently trust cannabis. So, it makes sense that we also trust the user.

With booze it is the complete opposite,


Episode #57: ANTI-SOCIAL MEDIA - Transcript


It’s getting extremely difficult to differentiate between feelings in the cyber world and the real world. I mean, how do you know the true intention of someone who communicates with smiley faces blowing heart kisses, or gushes copious amounts of tears when they find something to be funny, yet won’t return your phone call for four days? Come to think about it, I can’t remember the last time I laughed so hard I cried.

I wish it happened more often.

I think I’m starting to get it, though. These icons represent a version of what that person is intending to feel, so it is our job to know this and just go with it. It is a sentiment they wish they were truly able to experience, but so extreme that actualizing it is unrealistic. However, so long as we all know what the intended emotion is, than that makes them an amazing person who understands the gravity of the moment, which quantifies them as incredibly thoughtful, interesting and intuitive. Even though they are not interesting at all.

You see, what I find in real life is that if you’re caught crying, or laughing too hard, you’re perceived as weird and awkward, and therefore avoided. Like someone might not feel comfortable looking you directly into the eyes with piercing meaning and giving you a hard hug, so they’ll cheer you up by texting you an eyeball, a heart and a female sheep. But to actually say “I love you” is on a level that is far too personal. Which makes things weird and awkward, and therefore avoided.

What we’ve become is a society bent on connecting through pictures. I’m pretty sure they mastered that craft thousands of years ago in Egypt when it was called Cuneiform. Now we have something called evolved language, but nonetheless have resorted back to pictures.

Sometimes I wish these people’s minds would literally blow. Or is that the emoji for when you puff the world’s most amazing bong hit?

I can’t fucking tell anymore.


Episode #56: WHAT WE LEARNED FROM SLUGWORTH - Transcript


Everyone has seen Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, right? Well Slugworth, in case you have the memory of Dori the Fish, is the creepy, long-faced fucker who scares kids straight. Kind of like that sinister, spider-like pervert in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang who smells children better than his own farts, but that’s an entirely different thesis.

These guys are good old-fashioned villains. Stories need them. They play a vital role, which is to initially make you feel uncomfortable so that when there is a release of tension, your happy ending is a reward, leaving you with an accomplished feeling of satisfaction.

It’s what keeps us buying movie tickets.

And this earned sense of relief is imperative in society today, because badly needed is a reinforced belief in the determination of humans. You see, real life used to mean having to overcome pestilence and armed invaders, but now we just live vicariously through film that does the work for us. Even Wall-e, a picture about how lazy and worthless people have become in the future because of the advancement of technology has a conflict and resolution with a happy ending that leaves us with the positive feeling of goodwill. Which goes to prove that in cinema, even a society with no purpose other than to sit on their ass all day in a spaceship and drink Big Gulps is capable of having some redeeming value.

Anyway, Slugworth was the X-Factor, Wonka’s inside double agent, the mole. It was his job to test the moral compass of these neurotic little rascals.

So, what we learned from Slugworth, even though he was a misleading liar himself, is that honesty is the best policy. And if your values outshine your greed, the redemption is as inextinguishable as the Everlasting Gobstopper. And what we learned from Willy Wonka is that with simple imagination, flavored wallpaper, chewing gum meals, and fizzy lifting drinks are achievable if you just believe in your dreams.

And even more wonderful is that they can all be infused.

Episode #55

Episode #55: SELF-IMPOSED SOBRIETY - Transcript


A lot of people need to dry out and they know it. So, getting sober is an annual challenge some of my friends will undertake for around thirty days, usually the same month every year. And it’s not like they enjoy this exile, but in their mind, the abstinence is a necessary evil that is going to miraculously stave off an early grave. And rehab.

We all know that the body can’t reverse liver and heart damage in the matter of one month, but that’s ok, the endeavor is nonetheless recognized. And it sure makes for a delicious bender for said participant when the top is finally blown off the steaming pot.

This temporary lifestyle change is never easy, and they will struggle to find ways to occupy their attention. Over coffee and fast food, these anxious souls will squirm uncomfortably while plotting their return, romanticizing about their immersion into the waterfall of temptation when that clock finally hits 12:01 am on the first day of the new month.

So, to see the discipline through, they must maximize these efforts while minimizing the fear of missing out. And that means choosing the surest span with the least amount of opportunity to relapse during this annoying stint. Therefore, Superbowl Sunday will never part of the equation. Also St. Patrick’s Day, their birthday, and Cinco de Drinko. Spring is no time to get sober, there’s too much excitement and optimism. And summer is completely out of the question. November is a strong candidate, but there’s that four-day holiday of fowl, family and football that begs for self-medication.

So, January makes the most sense.

They say cannabis still does not constitute as being sober because it’s a mind-altering substance.

I should know, I’ve been sober 238 days!

Not consecutively, of course.

Episode #54

Episode #54: THE FRIENDGIRL - Transcript


It’s a woman who is just a friend. Except a guy can’t call her a girlfriend like a girl can call another girl a girlfriend. You see, if a man publicly addresses his friendgirl as a girlfriend, the silence stews amongst those within earshot, the brows lift, and the inquiries eventually fly like hail in a tornado.

Be aware, gentlemen, that the examination will begin suggestively. First, you’ll pick up a subtle nudge that comes off as cautiously indirect. It’ll be something like, “So, how do you two know each other?” But don’t be fooled. There will be disguise in their intentions as they attempt to sound like they’re not prying. Your response will be a matter of fact, but if it does not quench their curiosity, the concern can escalate into a full-blown probe. They will tell you that they are worried about you and have your best interests in mind, however one must realize that there is always a lurking agenda.

Ultimately, they are determining one very major factor. And that is if there is any possibility that there may be a new little mustard pants being brought into the world by an unsanctioned woman because that affects everyone in the tribe. And mom and auntie are territorial and will want to be acutely informed because this could drastically affect the family dynamic.

You are an adult now and adults make babies. And if that baby is coming from a woman not approved by the consensus, you’re seriously fucking with everyone’s happy place. And women understand this much better than men.

People need labels. They need it on their shirts, on their spaghetti sauce, on their prescriptions, and on you. Because life is easier to manage when things are categorized and put in their rightful place.

So, understand that nomenclature is vital.

And as a species, there is the matter of instinct when introducing more human beings into the clan.

And the planet.

Because we’ve become too populated.

We need to become more potulated.

Episode #53

Episode #53: CATTABIS - Transcript


My mom’s cat, Sophie, appeared to be having a shitty day. Who knows why? She just wasn’t moving much. And it looked like her health was fine but she seemed to be displaying a higher than normal degree of who gives a fuck. I mean it just felt like she didn’t really care if we were around at all. There was this unusual level of apathy that emanated from her generally chipper aura, and it was clearly visible. She was hanging around, her mouth closed, rejecting all movement with a lackluster regard for anything human. Missing was the elegant stretching or paw kneading into surveyed repositioning with a quick glance into what you were holding in your hands. No rubbing against your leg. No tail grips to the calf. Every attempt to grab her attention was only met with a vacant stare of complete and utter disinterest.

Maybe she just wanted to take a day off. Maybe if she could speak English she would say, “You can’t spell the word vacation without cat.”

I don’t know.

My mother, like anyone with maternal tendencies, was aware of this sour mood, taking on a level of concern that I hadn’t witnessed since that childhood bout with the chicken pox that pocked me all up.

We offered Sophie some cat nip and she balked. I rubbed her favorite rattling toy mouse across her face and then tossed it across the room. Nothing. Then getting creative, I pulled out the stash of bubble mailers and rubbed them together DMSR style, which was ignored while looking the other way.

This was serious. My mother was ready to try anything.

So, when no one was looking, I snuck a pet dosage of tincture into Sophie’s high-priced organic food that isn’t as much fun as Fancy Feast, but healthier, I guess. And when she finally got hungry and meandered to the bowl, with her head down and fixed upon the meal, she munched and smacked, sometimes tilting her face, never looking up until the entirety of the ceramic surface had been licked dry.

Thirty minutes later, I could swear that for the first time in my life I witnessed a cat smile.

My mother studied me curiously assuming there must have been some shenanigans.

I came clean. Then she asked for a taste of my Cannabis derived CBD oil for the first time ever.

Our relationship is now better than ever before!

Hey Boomer, learn from your cat. They are Zen masters.

Episode #52

Episode #52: DECISION FATIGUE - Transcript


There are too many damn choices these days. You wake up, throw on the standard comfort wear, and now you’re armed and ready to start ruling out inferior options in just about every aspect of life. Thankfully, some of your choices are pre-determined, like which coffee you’ll drink, where you’ll sit at the breakfast table, and how to get to where you’re going.

Then there are those that are not pre-determined.

And so, it begins. Whether to shave or go with the rugged look. Which entertainment, or educational outlet to choose in the car. Whether to charge the yellow light or ease in and stay put at the crosswalk. How far to stay back from the crosswalk. Whether or not to run the people over crossing the crosswalk and head for Mexico.

What to have for lunch.

President Obama went so far as to reduce his everyday clothing down to one or two outfits in order to lower the number of decisions he makes in a day. Zuckerberg, too. In fact, it has become known that the average human makes around 35,000 decisions in a single 24-hour period, while 7 of those are spent sleeping. I’m pretty sure we make decisions when we sleep, too. Like how to deal with your cat who tells you he wants to move out because he doesn’t like the tiny socks you’re buying for his paws. Or where to hide from the hamburger that is trying to eat you.

And life doesn’t get any easier when it comes to Cannabis. Will it be a joint, a bowl, or a bong hit? A cartridge, an edible, or a dab? Sativa, Indica, a hybrid, or just high CBD?

See, that’s where I begin to have more respect for my buddy, Davey Dabs. There are no decisions to be made. Take dabs and everything else will fall into place.

When confronted about his ineffectiveness to be productive in everyday life, “God helps those who help themselves,” maintains Davey Dabs.

Episode #51

Episode #51: GOD BLESS BUDDHA - Transcript


Religion is a mess. Like can’t we just consolidate the roughly four-thousand two hundred plus doctrines of belief into one handy little guidebook that reflects something like the Ten Commandments and call it a day. And if it pisses you off, we don’t even have to call it the Ten Commandments. I don’t care what you call it, just don’t call me late for dinner.

Because when you think about it, all denominations pretty much preach the same thing. And those tenets are to simply believe in a higher power, honor that higher power, practice good faith, get rewarded with 72 virgins…or at least one soulmate.

I mean, everyone’s paradise sounds so God damn appealing that I’m feeling uncertain about which stairway leads to heaven. And it’s becoming a bitch pulling the trigger on which lord almighty best suits my lifestyle. You see, I don’t want to pick the wrong one because this is eternity in hell we’re talking about and I hear the air conditioning units are old and squeaky. It’s a good thing temperature rises, because then potentially the melting of the polar caps will make things much cooler down there.

I’m just an imperfect person trying to make the perfect choice.

Maybe it’s like this. Maybe you go to the heaven that represents the deity you choose to worship, which means there’s up to twelve thousand different versions of heaven. Wouldn’t that be divine. Because then there is no wrong choice. Anyway, I guess I better pick my horse while I’ve still got time to place a wager. I could be swept away by the angels any given moment and I sure as hell don’t want to miss my boat across the river Styx.

Ok, I think I’ve made my choice.

I choose Rastafarianism.

Hey, does this mean I will get to smoke with Bob?

Episode #50

Episode #50: ONE NIGHT STAND WITH A CARNIE - Transcript


The whole thing was a Whirlwind. Literally. That was the name of the fabulous travelling amusement ride she so deftly operated.

Sometimes the energies of the heavens are in complete synchronicity and a bolt of lightning can change your trajectory. There was an actual graphic of a bolt of lightning on the side of the structure, you see, and it was the bad-assedness of this bolt that I commented on before she picked the ticket from my fingers, spit into her cup and engaged that crooked smile. “Wanna party?” she slyly said.

“Don’t ask twice,” was my response.

And into the gorgeous August night we swept, first dashing to the shooting gallery to claim the stuffed Minion that was my marksman’s prize to behold and gift to the new apple of my eye. Aboard the Ferris wheel we shared a blunt, hovering over the shrieks and bells that beckoned the unbridled impulses. Off to the Giant Zipper where the twists and spins made us drunk with the lust of maniacal whimsy.

In the wee hours of the crisp morning, the shocks of third wheel squeaked back and forth like a rocking chair on a creaky front porch.

And then off she went into the sunrise, down that lonesome dusty road to the next Walmart parking lot several miles from some random main street. She would impress a new crowd in a forgotten town where the tumbleweeds saunter in the footsteps of Tom Joad. The lonely romantic life isn’t for everyone, I thought, and I may never forget her precious companion Muffy in her torn, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles t-shirt, bravely battling that pesky case of mange.

I think of Travolta in the movie Grease as the summer sun fades south, my curious eyes gleaning for some explanation on the peaks and valleys of life’s roller coaster.

“Wonder what…she’s doin’ now…”

Episode #49

Episode #49: BREAKUP BY TEXT - Transcript


No one wins in a break-up.

Even if you’re the executioner fully prepared to drop the guillotine’s blade, there is always some level of disappointment that comes with unrealized expectations. And when your trusted partner finds themself incapable of ending a relationship in a personal way, opting instead for the path of least confrontation, the empty void can be tough to fill.

When love and infatuation are fresh, the deluge of heart pumped blood gushes through the veins in fantastic fervor. But over time the annoyances and frustrations build to supersede your irrationalized ability to rationalize your incompatibility, and the ending can feel like being stranded on the moon. You hate hurting and you hate getting hurt. No one wins.

There’s a band called Trampled By Turtles, a name that depicts a sluggish, miserable death. The name of this band is obviously absurd, but it does kind of align with what it’s like when someone doesn’t have the guts to respect your heart by informing you in person that you’ll no longer be sharing meals and family. You’re suddenly thrust into the piercing realization that you may never speak to this person again, and the venom dilutes like a slow, melting glacier.

Thousands of turtles crawl over you, crushing your lungs into suffocation. It’s similar to waking up in the morning, opening your phone and reading the breaking news that agonizingly details your new, invalidated life. The bed becomes the enemy as the mocking clock and barren silence create a personal prison that turns your bones into bars to the jail cell that is your mind, body and soul.

You obsess over how it went down. “Siri, play Jagwar Ma on Spotify. Oh, and break up with Mike.” There are no emotions, only emojis.

Thank God for Cannabis.

Episode #48

Episode #48: THE GATEWAY DRUG - Transcript


If Mozart was alive today, he would be the biggest fucking rock star in the world. The dude had a severe command of melody and everyone who has made music since is blatantly ripping him off. Furthermore, every note he produced was without the luxury of a recording studio, or any way to augment the sounds other than through the clever orchestration of combining a collaboration of instrumentation, which makes his works far superior to The Beatles, Elton John and Freddie Mercury all rolled into one fat doobie. Yes, he was that good. And he crushed the harpsichord.

This was how he learned music.

And now this delight of finely crafted wooden keys and delicately tuned strings that produced unique tones of beauty and whimsy has become a distant sound to our busy ears, having been usurped in popularity by the piano nearly to the point of extinction. And that is sad.

And a mistake.

Brian Jones from the Rolling Stones was a multi-instrumentalist who played the sitar, the harmonica, and the guitar, but why not the Harpsichord? I mean, what the fuck is that instrument on the beginning of Ruby Tuesday? It’s not a harpsichord. Hold on. I just looked it up. It’s a recorder, whatever the hell that is. And the only song in which the Stones ever utilized the accentuation of a harpsichord was Play With Fire and it was performed in the studio by the assistant to the producer. What a missed opportunity.

So, why no harpsichord? Was it popular for so long that people burned out on it and said, “Fuck the harpsichord! We don’t ever want to hear it again!” Like that South Korean dude who sang Gangdam Style. Is that how you spell it? I should look that up, too.

Anyway, the Harpsichord is metal, but I guess we’ve moved on.

Kind of like the Volcano vaporizer.

Episode #47

Episode #47: THE GATEWAY DRUG - Transcript


Where is this gate of which they speak?

The one that you carelessly meander through that leads you into a string of bad decisions, ultimately overtaking your better sense of sound judgement where you surrender to any resistance against an ugly dependency on cocaine and heroin. Suuuuure, it starts out harmless, just a couple puffs on a joint because you caved to the peer pressure of your cool buddies, or older brother and his friends. Next thing you know you’re selling your dick on the streets, frothing at the mouth, comfortable with needles.

You see, what I envision when I think of going through the cannabis gate is entering onto a wide-open road with no barriers on either side. There’s a warm, inviting breeze flowing over a majestic mountain range colored with vibrant, beautifully lit growth in a lush habitat that is inviting and blissful.

Well, maybe that’s DMT, but you get the point.

There is no pressure to stay there if it’s not what you’re vibing on, but nonetheless, you are quite welcome to imbibe in all the ripe fruits and flowers. Everyone is welcome. It is a place of absolute tolerance and acceptance. Yes, some of the people appear a pinch dumb, but what the fuck? It’s way better than uptight, right?

The point is this. If someone has a propensity to seek out the highest peak they can reach only to jump directly off the cliff to the bottom of Mariana’s Trench, all in the course of a twenty-four-hour period, then there’s probably something called “bad parenting” that had a part in their craving to escape something scratching at the inside of their psyche. Otherwise, Cannabis is not a gateway to anything other than a potential Rick and Morty marathon.

And a gateway through the golden arches of Macdonald’s and the podium from where you proudly ring the Taco Bell.

Episode #46

Episode #46: INDICA-TION - Transcript


Spell check did me a solid. I was with my buddy, Davey Dabs.

I was texting the word Indica, and before finishing, through some algorithmic wizardry quite foreign to my caveman ability to analyze esoteric computations, the prefix of the word immediately spawned a search engine result which appeared on the screen as the word “Indication”. For a moment, as my left eyebrow slowly curled upward like a cat arching its back, I couldn’t help but beam at the wonderful serendipity with which technology will sometimes astonish you with a surprise.

So, with my insatiable appetite for finding little quirks hidden amongst the mundane, there was no choice but to turn this into a little game.

The logical option seemed to begin with the first four letters of marijuana. And as the electric currents threaded through the wires and chips and into millions of readable pixels, those that were kicked into the frame in nearly a split second were the words marina, marigold, and Mario Cart. Suddenly, the thought occurred to me of how unentertaining it would be if Jeopardy was only played by computers. It’s the hesitations and body language that make it human, and watchable.

Anyway, I then started with the word bud and ended up with buddy, budgeted and buddha.

I had just become aware that it was possible for one word to be pregnant with another word. So, what if that word were to give birth to another word and all you had left was the suffix? Of course, I gave that a try, too, starting with the word Cannabis. And that’s where I quickly found out that the English language doesn’t work that way.

These are the kinds of things that occupy your time when you don’t own a television.

And by the way, if you’re attempting this at home, you should know that the word sativa doesn’t fit into anything else.

Davey Dabs is still trying.

Episode #45

Episode #45: TUESDAY IS MY FRIDAY - Transcript


People have been attempting to place identifiable descriptors to the days of the week for as long as there have been calendars. And as technology has advanced and created more demand for higher yields outside of the once standard nine to five workday, our schedules have fluctuated, signifying that we are now officially a twenty-four-hour society. Therefore, it’s safe to say that the timetable that was made commonplace for the past two thousand plus years is now completely out of whack.

But we, as those who work best within the stability of organization, still find it necessary to hold true to a particularly standardized schedule in order to effectively compartmentalize our lives and bring the highest productivity. And productivity ultimately equates to more movement of machines and people on Saturdays and Sundays. Of course, that’s assuming you like Saturdays and Sundays. Because believe it or not, some people actually like Mondays. And for some, Mondays are really Fridays. And for others, Saturdays are actually Mondays. I know, trying to rationalize this concept makes your head spin.

Saying that we’ve complicated things is an understatement. Instead of stating, “I have the next two days free from having to be at my job,” people will apply what they know as the easiest shortcut to describe the meaning they are attempting to convey.

“Today is my Saturday.”

“But today is Wednesday.”

“Yes, I know, but for me it’s Saturday.”


It’s true, the days of the week have become as interchangeable as the heads on your electric toothbrush.

Do you know what it’s called when you start partying hard on Friday night and eventually find you’re watching the sunrise Sunday morning and you haven’t slept a wink in 40 hours because you love booze and cocaine? That’s called Fraturunday.

By the way, that never happens to a stoner.

Episode #44

Episode #44: BAD FENG SUI - Transcript


It couldn’t be avoided. Something had to be said. Sometimes a guy needs to be told what’s up. Because there’s a cultural threshold of which most of us are aware and for those who aren’t, it’s vital that they be shown perspective.

We’re talking about the survival of humanity.

You see, there are times when you can continue to turn your head and pretend that you’re not bothered by something immeasurably out of sorts, or you can be proactive and deliver the words that need to be spoken that everyone wants to say, but are too passive to do so. It’s kind of like when there’s a screaming kid on an airplane. Everyone just bows their head and silently hopes the spoiled little terror will shut the fuck up, but it only gets worse. And that desperately needed hero never steps in to maintain the sanity of the collective air, therefore that entire section of the plane is forced to hear the maniacal tantrum in uncomfortably close proximity. All anyone wishes for is to do their time in the crowded cabin peacefully, but because no one is willing to risk being labeled an “asshole”, everyone suffers a painful episode of unbearable tolerance.

I admit it. I have never had the stones to be that person on the aircraft. And we all know that it’s because we are dealing with children.

But then there are adults.

And this clueless soul standing in front of me buying his cheap pre-roll needed to be informed of the absurdity of the utterly disturbing mindfuck he was imposing onto the world with his disregarded choice, or lack of choice, of clothing.

“Dude, you’re wearing a Coca Cola knockoff hat that says Enjoy Cocaine and a t-shirt with Bob Marley smoking a joint that says Positive Vibrations. That’s just wrong, Man.”

“Oh, I just threw this on when I got up this morning.”

Fucking moron.

Episode #43

Episode #43: OTHER PEOPLE’S JUNK - Transcript


I have a lot of friends and many of us share a common thread woven into the fabric of who we are, which gives us cohesion. And it is the fact that we all love Cannabis. So, it’s no surprise that we’re often looking for new and interesting ways to be entertained by circumstances that somehow offer a slight bend on our perspective that other people would find predictable and commonplace. Because with Cannabis, that perspective can be happily heightened with one quick dose. And we think that is fun when the result the realization that we’ve tricked society by finding a new angle on something that wasn’t envisioned either by the creator, or the person viewing it.

Einstein said, “I never made one of my discoveries through the process of rational thinking.”

One of our favorite pastimes is scouring the hoods for garage sales. And it’s not even that we want to buy anything that someone is discarding, but more importantly to get a look into their secret lives to determine their personality type. You see, the artifacts people no longer wish to possess is very indicative of their secret identity when you peel away those outer layers to find the hidden gem that reveals their level of weirdness.

Call it a fetish. Or a form of people watching.

We have a rating system where we’ll score these unsuspecting folks on a sliding scale and then apply the results to a predetermined algorithm that equates to a final digit. It’s kind of complicated. When you’re not stoned, I mean. Then, that numerical figure determines the number of milligrams Davey Dabs will be required to vape before Rachel the Ripper will bake his favorite chocolate cookies with Reese’s peanut butter chips.

Don’t judge.

Once Davey Dabs discovered a Big Wheel with a plastic baggy of old bud that had been stashed in one of the empty seat pegs and forgotten about. He purchased the Big Wheel but threw away the weed.

Davey Dabs only does dabs.

Episode #42

Episode #42: THANK GOD FOR GLOBAL WARMING - Transcript


Everywhere you go these days, someone is attempting to influence people with a positive message. And thankfully so, because we need a counterbalance to the negative propaganda being force fed to us through biased media sources steered by oligarchs serving their multi-national agendas. And the more positive the messages from these encouraging people are, the more nourishment for not just our individual spiritual growth, but collective growth, too.

With that said, it benefits us to find the most attractive perspective in every aspect of life. Even if that includes the most dreaded issue our human race has ever faced, which is rising temperatures and the inevitable melting of the polar caps. Because we need all the good vibes we can get. Defeat is not an option.

So, with that cringeworthy statement out of the way, let’s try to continue to breathe, unclench our fists and throats, and look at the neon bright side of the planet drying up into a little scab.

There will be so many more cities just like Las Vegas!

Waterworld will be posthumously nominated for Best Picture of the year at the 2099 Academy awards!

Think of the savage tan!

You’ll no longer need to replace windshield wipers once a year in Seattle!

Your stock in fake Christmas trees will skyrocket!

That sexy new beachfront retirement community in Phoenix!

No need to layer up!

Houseboats are hip!

You love seafood!

Hey, quick question: Can you grow bud on the moon yet?

Episode #41

Episode #41: WATCHING SPORTS IS STUPID - Transcript


Bring up anything to my friend Rachel the Ripper that has to do with people attempting to strategically advance a ball toward an advantageous area outlined by boundaries that will result in points on a scoreboard, no matter the context, and she’ll look at you with the same blank expression as Garfield the Cat. “Time is precious. Great moments are few. So why would you knowingly squander them on such a blatant distraction from what is real and important?”

Big sigh.

She’s right. Millionaires flexing their dominance by out-celebrating each other has about the same level of importance to our lives as the dramatic subplots in The Real Housewives of New Jersey. The bottom line is this–If you’re spending time watching with the hopes that it will make your life better, you’re really screwing up. Because observing fit people battling over a ball from the cushy living room sofa on a mundane Monday night gives new meaning to the term Lazy Boy.

So, why is it so important to vicariously act out our territorial need for competition through meaningless gladiator games?

Well, there’d be little else root for without sports. And singing shows, but that’s another subject.

Modernity has spoiled us to the point that this surplus of time (we allegedly enjoy) has allowed us the luxury that only royalty enjoyed hundreds of years ago, which is to sit and watch the toils of the less fortunate attempting to survive. Except now there is a price, which is volunteering this free time to the exposure of beer and pizza commercials. And Rachel the Ripper thinks that is pointless when you could be walking on a nice trail, reading a book, or cooking a meal. Or actually playing a sport.

If you must watch sports, however, Rachel the Ripper recommends you rip a bowl first and throughout. It makes it tolerable.

As well as her roommate Davey Dabs.

Episode #40

Episode #40: BLAME ME FOR THE FANNY PACK - Transcript


I remember you could slice the humidity with a butter knife that mid-summer day, and the name of the music festival only hinted at the relentless southern heat that deep fried the New Orleans air like a beignet at Café Du Monde in the French Quarter. There I was, a carefree young adult borrowing any available shade in the vendor’s kiosks when my eye accidentally caught sight of a black cotton, woven looking satchel with a strap and a clip, kinda like a bite-sized gender-neutral backpack. It was the only one and quite unique. “I’ll take it,” I said to the dreaded woman adorned in Rastafarian colors with a thick Jamaican accent.

Looking back now, I wonder if there wasn’t some strange voodoo brewing.

This event was called Sunsplash in the late 1980’s, an unlikely setting for a shift in global culture that, ironically, had absolutely nothing to do with the reggae that drew us there.

After, back home down the coast on Pensacola Beach while slinging fruity bar drinks for the pink-nosed tourists, this diminutive, multi-purpose waist watcher garnered an unusually high degree of compliments.

Then to my dismay, the next summer, the vacationers returned with a pastel, polyester version of their own. Where mine was purposefully hung low on the hip, theirs was worn high and tight on their waste. Oh No! The souvenir store was carrying them now, they were popping up on television, everywhere!

These ultra-ordinary, grocery getting, Midwest soccer moms had adopted the utilitarian concept as a lifestyle, sentencing this treasure of mine to the black hole of outcasts in the back corner of my closet.

In a hundred lifetimes I never could’ve imagined it would turn into this.

I just wanted somewhere to stash my weed.

Episode #39

Episode #39: KARATE KIDS - Transcript


I’ll tell you something, in about 10 years, you bullies better watch your asses. That’s because you do not want to mess with a dude who’s been well-trained in martial arts. And these days, it’s awfully popular with the youngins who aren’t too down with team sports. Some of them are nomads, riding solo, hanging in the shadows, maybe a little anti-social. At face value, they can appear to be easy prey.

And the prima donna skilled in the practice of intimidation may want to swallow a pill of caution when the Saturday Night Fever is brewing. He’s been at it since happy hour and now midnight is approaching. His blood is carbonated from the fiery liquid that’s loading the bulging trapezoids and it’s fueling his arrogance.

He’s got his swagger in power mode, feeling alive, looking to step up the excitement, ready to entertain, an easy ass-whipping guaranteed for the primed crowd.

 But there are no guarantees in life, we all inevitably learn.

 And for some, the lesson comes hard.

 Everyone loves an underdog. Some of the most memorable events in history have featured a reluctant participant pushed to the corner with no alternative but to defend what is right. He is surprisingly prepared.  And if you’ve never seen a skinny, undersized dude who’s trained to box handle a bodacious, drunk asshole until he’s beet red-faced and gassed, it is truly a delight to witness.  I mean, I’m all for peace and love, but sometimes you get a meathead who feels compelled to put all his gym hours to use. And he fucks with the wrong guy. What he leaves with is called an epiphany. It’s when the lion learns that he no longer rules the pride.

 He just had to have that last shot.

 Dipshit should’ve smoked a bowl instead.

Episode #38

Episode #38: MONOLOGUING - Transcript


I talk to myself sometimes. Ok, all the time. Call me strange if you want, but the reality is that everyone wants to be heard and no one listens to you more intently than yourself. And where other people will often respond with unsolicited advice, the real opinion that is most beneficial to your situation is your own because no one is going to give it to your straighter than you are to yourself. Unless you lie to yourself. I’m not entirely convinced that this is even a possibility.

Sometimes I see people on the street having an intense discussion with an invisible character with arms flailing about. They call that some form of schizophrenia. I call it getting to the core. Because be it their imagination, or not, it is still themselves whom they are addressing. Their father, a former boss, a stranger, their alter ego, the world? Regardless of who that pretend person is, it’s still an extension of one’s id and a great way to iron out the kinks.

When you really think about it, we all have more than one personality, don’t we? There’s the one that you show to the world, the one you don’t show to the world, and the one only God sees. And anyone who engages you in conjecture will never be able to lend as deeply to that context than you will to yourself, no matter how much they know about you.

So, call me nuts, but this catharsis of inner dialoguing tends to often result in a certain amiability that allows me to settle internal conflicts that need resolve.

And sometimes when I light a joint, I’ll take a toke, then pass it from the left hand to the right hand and then take another toke. Because sharing is caring. And a friend with weed is a friend indeed..

Episode #37

Episode #37: IT’S THE AT - Transcript


I think it’s time for a power move where start replacing the same old overused words with something new and more hip. Because we all know (since we’re 21 and older) that if you don’t constantly keep changing things up, you may find yourself stuck with the same vernacular your parents used and that is just not an option. So, evolving the revolving door of trends is vital to leaving an imprint on history with our own language version that’s representative of our generation. And that means being goddamn innovative. It’s decided. I’ve begun a new “thing” and the word “shit” has now been replaced with the word “at”. Because the word shit is so 2019. And 2019 is so 2010 that it’s embarrassing to even acknowledge the fact that we were ever a part of it. Thank god I’m doing this. You’re welcome.

There used to be a band from Australia called The The. Fucking pioneers.

Words are just noises, so who cares how they come out so long as the point gets across? We may as well have some fun with it. Because from birth, we are instructed in how to manipulate these noises to be deciphered and understood so one can then formulate a meaning that is generally recognized. Communication is the key.

Birds and cats have their own language. Have you ever meowed to a cat and seen it respond? Your cattitude is waiting to be awakened.

The point is that cavemen (and women) were able communicate through grunts and sighs. And we’ve just developed a more sophisticated adaptation of that which has been manipulated over time to formulate an expression that suits contemporary needs. And it’s time to break the mold and start over.

No more telling people that your weed is the shit.

Now your weed is the at.


Episode #36

Episode #36: LMFAO - Transcript


We all know what this means, right? But in case you’ve been held hostage in a dental office waiting room for the past decade tortured with easy listening music and nine-month-old gossip magazines, it’s an acronym for Laughing My Fucking Ass Off. Which implies that someone is overcome with a howling expression of jubilation. And this reflex is so genuine that it goes beyond the ability to contain one’s composure. This is not a giggle, this is not a smirk, this is a response to something that is so inherently funny that it results in the physical release of happiness, expressed without restraint. The person is not just laughing, they are laughing hysterically.

However, he or she who is using this language, almost always through texting, is only chuckling…maybe.

They are not laughing hysterically at all. They are pretending to do so by channeling their emotions into contemporary terminology that seemingly does it for them while the actual expression of this joy, whatever level it is, is still contained within their mind and body.

Kind of like being held captive in a dental office.

Imagine standing in front of someone and telling them that you are laughing your fucking ass off. They would say, “No you aren’t.” The reply would be, “Right, but I think it’s really funny.” And the other person would say, “Then why aren’t you laughing?”

Yet, when an individual sends this expression through their mobile device, their intent is to have us believe they are a fun loving, outgoing friend who drinks up life with a reckless sense of humor. Realistically, however, this person spends an average of 8-12 hours a day being entertained though a digital screen with very little to no reaction at all.

Just because you say something doesn’t make it true.

BTW, cannabis is my BFF.

Episode #35

Episode #35: THE ROARING 20’S - Transcript


Cannabis got cheated.

About a hundred years ago, prohibition was passed “to cure the ill society” by eliminating liquid courage and other sinful excesses, making the 1920’s the decade where wetting the whistle got replaced by the Crossword Puzzle and Charlie Chaplin.

Being an alcoholic must have sucked.

Being a stoner would have been worse. Because although they couldn’t make liquor go away, they sure put the kibosh to marihuana by labeling it as a poison.

What a bunch of assholes.

But you know what they also couldn’t make go away was the weirdos who loved the madness of reefer. And maybe they loved ragtime and jazz music and Kerouac along the way, and trippy tapestries and Hendrix and Cheech and Chong and Half Baked and Harold and Kumar and Tame Impala. Maybe they loved a lot of things about the way it makes us feel healthy and happy. We love it. And love is a powerful phenomenon. You can’t kill love. Because it will survive as the cockroach survives and evolve into something indistinguishable. After all, it is a weed. And if there is sun and water, it will grow.

The freaks flags are flapping in the wind and the inmates are the new CEOs of the asylum. This is the beginning of the globally recognized, legally empowered culture of cannabis where anything goes if you’ve got an open heart. Everyone’s welcome. Be prepared to be blown away. It’ll mend your untethered sail.

Cheaters don’t win in the long run. Sometimes a hundred years.

2020 is the year of vision.

We’re gonna dance the Charleston

Episode #34

Episode #34: ICE CREAM IS THE DEVIL- Transcript


Don’t buy it. Because you’ll eat it. I know, you’re saying, “And?” But you’re not eight years old anymore and when the metabolism slows down, the pounds hang around.

If you don’t give a shit, fine. Enjoy your flavorful, beautiful, abbreviated life.

But for anyone concerned about health and appearance, ice cream can be the forbidden lust held captive in your refrigeration chamber of torture, beckoning with haunting ecstasy to be freed, seducing your sensibilities. It is within reach, the flavor unmistakable; melting on your tongue, cooling the nerves, conjuring your weakest senses to surrender. You know you shouldn’t, but it’s too easy. And you like things that are easy. You want it. And it is totally game for a steamy affair.

Now, there is a new version of this silky milky smooth satiation of the taste buds that they call Halo Top, which is lower in fat and calories with most of the flavor. So, is that supposed to stop us from eating twice as much? Because I don’t know about you, but I don’t have much of an off switch when I’m in the grip of the throes of passion, and the guilt really becomes a factor afterward when you know you’ve been bad. So, you know what we do? We leave a bite at the bottom of the carton.

This gives us peace.

It’s a lifeline that can be the last vestige of hope for staving off the edge of the tall building; the last defense against the deep slope of self-deprecation.

Thank god we humans have well-formed brains.

So, don’t buy ice cream. Potato chips, too. Try Kale chips. Hey, Canna Chips!

Episode #33



“I can hear you, can you hear me?” This is the sound of modern frustration. “Hello? I’m here, are you there?” Dumb question, right? I mean, yes, they’re obviously still there, having not spontaneously combusted into a pile of ash, or vaporized into a pool of bong water. And you’re still actually in the same place you were standing, sitting, driving through a tunnel, watching television, eating dinner in a restaurant, etc., with the cellphone in your hand when it went silent. You’re still in the physical form wherever that was before the line blipped out into a black hole of nothingness leaving you stranded and abandoned in an existence with no contact to society, completely devoid of a healthy sense of self. Right? If there’s no one there to capture the event, then it may as well have never happened. Because there’s no value to anything you do if you do not have someone, or something, there to validate it. To give it meaning.

They say we need companionship to survive as much as we need food and water.

Think about the dude who saw the double rainbow. He was alone. But he had his cellphone which had a camera, a conduit with which to share the inspirational moments of pure emotion. Without that device no other soul would have been impacted by what he saw, what he was able to share. And because of this easily portable, compact partner, his experience became one of the most watched YouTube videos in history, spreading joy and visual magnificence to the masses, culminating into millions of giggles. And a few tears for those who felt his pain.

Cannabis is a good companion. It will never drop your call.

Episode #32

Episode #32: YEAH RIGHT- Transcript


“Yeah right.” Then there’s a short pause. “What’re you doing?” This is how my girlfriend communicates. “I’m sitting here on the couch reading while you do stuff on your laptop,” I respond. The question was code. What’s really being said is that she’s now ready to move on to something else that involves me. She uses Yeah Right a lot.

And it can mean just about anything. It’s one of those umbrella phrases, which makes sense. She’s from Seattle where they also call an umbrella a bumbershoot. They have a music festival of the same name, otherwise who in the world would’ve known.

She had a lot of roommates in a party house when we first started hanging out, all in various local rock bands. And you could pretty much count on some sort of throw down on a nightly basis resulting in curtain closed mornings with bodies scattered amongst the bong ashes and dead soldiers stacked like terracotta warriors on anything with 4 legs except for maybe Rocky the horny Pitbull.

I recall a plastic canoe one time serving as a living room bed, appropriately christened Yeah Right on the stern with a black Sharpie. You knew someone was awake when the words Yeah Right haphazardly replaced the sound of snoring.

The WiFi code was Yeah Right.

It’s very easy to buy gifts for her on Christmas and birthdays. She has a Yeah Right tank top, a Yeah Right hoodie and a Yeah Right license plate frame. I’ll catch her staring at me sometimes like a cat. Maybe she’s hungry, maybe she’s frisky, maybe she wants to go outside. She’ll say, “Yeah Right”, the human equivalent to a meow.

“Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to cherish in sickness and in health?”

“Yeah Right.”

Episode #31

Episode #31: YOGA PANTS ARE AWESOME- Transcript


Every guy in the world owes a beer to the dude who invented yoga pants. Because he, thankfully, killed Mom Jeans like Grunge music killed Cock Rock back in the day. And I think everyone can agree that yoga pants are a vast improvement. All women look better in them, no matter the shape, and no matter whether they’ve ever even attempted a downward dog. Yoga pants are always an improvement.

You ladies feel better in them, too, which improves your attitude, which improves your relationships. And your man (or woman) appreciates the refined look. Everyone wins.

They’re practical and interchangeable, great for lying around, or dressing up. You ladies can hike in them, grocery shop in them, go to dinner in them.

You can do yoga in them.

You can use cannabis and do yoga in them. It’s a thing.

Yoga pants are true. They don’t cover a woman’s face like make up and they don’t give the illusion of tallness like high heels. Instead, they accentuate the lovely curves of a woman’s body, tightening and compressing the outline from the hips to the ankles, oftentimes accentuating the robust roundness, or the sexy slenderness, while simply embellishing the natural gift of femininity.

Please don’t ever invent these form fitting yoga pants for straight men, though. I’m pretty sure someone once tried in the 80’s. Maybe that’s what helped define the term Cock Rock.

Episode #30

Episode #30: WEEDS - Transcript


I was in a cannabis retail shop and heard a man call weed “weeds”. He meant to call it weed, but he mistakenly added an “s”. It was a silly slip up, but not really. Because he was right, they are weeds. But a lot of people call it flower. So, which is it?

The Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines weed as:

  • A valueless plant growing wild
  • Any desirable or troublesome plant, especially one that grows profusely where it is not wanted.

I’m pretty sure we’re shopping for flowers. In fact, many of the flowers sold for Valentine’s day, for which we’ve all at least once paid a significant price, should be called weeds.

Think about it. Stuff your honker into the best bouquet of your local grocery store and you’ll be hard pressed to ascertain much of any effervescence at all. You’ll be vacuum sniffing the roses into light-headedness pining for that essence of romance, hoping you don’t swallow a bee with your nostril. Meanwhile, mosey into the detergent aisle and you’ll find the air freshener smells more like rose petals than the rose petals smell like rose petals. But walk in to any legal cannabis shop and you know you’re in the olfactory factory. Because there’s absolutely no mistaking that superlicious scent that has you pondering whether some mother fucker grew some fire ass dizzy dank, or Pepe Le Pew just farted.

So, if these are actual “weeds” that we’re using, there are some people taking painstaking measures to cultivate some gorgeous, smelly weeds. The nicest weeds I’ve ever seen to be quite honest. In fact, let’s keep calling it weeds. Fine with me. These are some beautiful weeds. I think I’ll fire some up right now.

Ahhhh, that’s beautiful.

I wonder if you can vape rose petals.

Anyway, who in the fuck is this Merriam Webster person?

Episode #29

Episode #29: ROCKY ROAD IS A VEGETABLE - Transcript


According to one of the world’s most highly revered modern thinkers, my buddy Davey Dabs, that is. It should be noted that he does not intend to live to the age of 40 and I personally don’t think it’s a bad way to size up life. I mean, at least he’s got a plan.

The man is a munchies machine and will pair anything with anything, a self-proclaimed panfoodial. He heard the term pansexual and came up with that. While most people aren’t smarter than a 5th grader (a fact Davey Dabs concluded from his favorite tv show re-runs), at least they learn that the food pyramid is an essential template from which to gain a balanced, nutritious diet. Davey Dabs, however, believes in the inverted food pyramid. Which explains why he often deliberates on the soft distinctions of Upside-Down cake.

He never trusted a skinny chef, which is why he carries with him a high level of confidence when dining at Arby’s.

Davey Dabs can be a brat. He’ll ask an unsuspecting 16-year-old girl if she likes seafood and when the response is, “Yeah”, he opens his whopper filled mouth and blarts, “See food, Get it?” Belushi style. The poor youngster will recoil in shocked embarrassment and Davey Dabs will turn to you with a grandiose chipmunk smile, then open his orifice and proudly belch at a curdling volume. Suddenly, the foul odor of a decomposing beached whale carcass will add to your queasiness. His antics can be bizarre, but for some reason you still take his call.

Not always, though. You’ve got to be in the mood to hang out with Davey Dabs. Like, you’ll stare at the phone for a good 5 or 6 rings without answering, pretending you’re unavailable, hoping he’s not hiding somewhere where he can see you. When that ring tone of a jalopy horn rattles your sanity, you know there’s a profile photo of an imposing, multi-ethnic crazy man in a fuzzy dinosaur costume ready to get weird.

If Rocky Road were an ethnicity, it would be Davey Dabs. Anyway, I’ve seen him put it on steak.

Episode #28

Episode #28: BEGGARS CAN BE A BUMMER - Transcript


Now I’m going to sound politically incorrect here but know that I have empathy for the homeless. However, not everyone who begs is homeless. Some of these fine people just wish to capitalize on your inability to look away.

We’ve all pulled up to an intersection where there is a panhandler on full display and your first thought is one of annoyance, “Gee whiz, I did not ask for this.” Only a moment ago you were enjoying a peaceful moment with your thoughts before being unsuspectingly thrust into a moral dilemma that requires your involvement,
propositioned by a space invader raiding your private sanctuary with a piercing glare, challenging you to meet eyes, unflinching and severe. These are champions of staring contests, professionals, and they intend to collect their prize money.

And however badly you wish to ignore this situation, the impulse to grab a curious glance is undeniable. You’re interested in their pitch, their appearance, lured by fascination. Begging has become an art form, really. Will it be the lighthearted sign with a smile and a friendly wave, or the rock bottom desperation with watery eyes that washes you with guilt, influencing you to contemplate reaching into your cash stash? Either way, you might resent this person for forcing you to make an unwelcomed decision that will have lasting implications, leaving you with either the feeling of pity, or that of having been hoodwinked.

By the way, if you have a joint lit or a vape pen handy, you should always offer without thinking twice. It’s like sharing your food.

And you will never regret getting someone stoned.

Unless they won’t give it back.

Episode #27

Episode #27: BACK WHEN IT WAS DRY - Transcript


They call them the good dope days, but that’s a complete misnomer. There was very little good about it. The quality was inconsistent, there was never talk about pesticides or growth hormones, and to use the words Sativa, Indica, or Cannabidiol, you may as well have been speaking Icelandic.

And often it was dry. Meaning, there were tense times of archeological searches beneath couches and between car seats for rogue crumbs that may have been fumbled in the careless process of rolling a doobie or packing a bowl during previous times of bounty. The last resort was to scrape the pipe.

Concentrates did not exist.

Except hash. If you were lucky, about once a year, hash would eek its way into town. You might get a golf ball sized chunk and it was like Christmas morning. This specialty item, generally from some exotic corner of the globe, had to be flaunted. And the confidante who witnessed this rare luxury fashioned a requisite taste to not only validate their curiosity, but your baller status for possessing it.

“Guess what, I’ve got hash.” Your palm would slowly open to uncover the cannabis equivalent of the Hope Diamond.

“You’ve got hash?” Their astounded eyes popped wide for a gander at this mystical gem, instantly overcome with the servitude of an obedient dog, pandering for a treat.

But you had to be very diligent and calculative in how you portioned the rations because If you spread it too thin, in 3 short days this beauty would be whittled down to the size of a booger. Then Poof, gone.

And in blew the dessert winds.

Episode #26

Episode #26: NEAR LIFE EXPERIENCE - Transcript


 I have a friend named Davey Dabs. And much to the perplexment of those who consider him a pal, he is seemingly always attempting to influence, or impress. We’re certain that this need for attention is inspired by something that predates adulthood, but it’s a theory that isn’t addressed out of the sheer fear that he may snap. We just sit back, watch, and hope for the best. It’s all you can do. We can’t save the polar bears, either.

So, recently Davey Dabs decided to test the boundaries of spirituality with an attempt to attain the highest cannabis buzz in the history of mankind. It sounded like a lofty endeavor, but since no one has ever proven otherwise, it was agreed to be a reasonable proposition. Rachel The Ripper volunteered to
be the official documentarian.

The experiment took place in a walk-in cooler with Davey Dabs in a full body wetsuit underneath a snowboarding onesie with his bearded dragon, Clarise, clutching his chest between the two layers directly over his heart. Thirty minutes prior, he had eaten one-thousand milligrams of infused Leaf Chews. He would stay inside for twenty minutes and continuously dab 3 grams of THC-V crystalline and 1 gram of full spectrum Co2 hash oil.

When Davey Dabs exited, he resembled Charlton Heston as Moses after witnessing the burning bush in the original motion picture The Ten Commandments.

Davey Dabs has since begun a Go Fund Me account in hopes to raise enough money for a two-month trip to Tibet to study with the Buddhist monks.

The success of this endeavor, by the way, prompted Davey Dabs to initiate a petition in the Leaf magazines to begin the cannabis version of the Guinness Book of World Records.

Davey Dabs now believes that maybe we can save the polar bears.

Episode #25

Episode #25: FRI-YAY! - Transcript


Friday is the best day of the week. It’s why party goers get really excited for Thursday nights. With tact, you can cheat your way to a long weekend, effectively turning Friday into an extra weekend day. Then you have two Saturdays, but Friday is better because you know you still have Saturday ahead. All you have to do is muddle through one more day of responsibilities and then it’s a Friday night full of optimism and a pocket full of change. And everyone is always focused on extending their weekends, it’s the American way. In Israel, Sunday is the only sure day off.

Let’s go through the days of the week and break down their significance. Mondays are mundane. Tuesdays are too soon to Mondays. Wednesdays are when days, lost in the wilderness of identity. Thursdays you’re thirstin’ for excitement, but there’s a day of responsibility looming that can ruin the whole thing. Saturdays are awesome, there’s no denying it, no matter what you do the day belongs to you. And Sundays are fun days, for sure, but they are spoiled by the impending obligation to Monday.

And then there’s one long cocaine bender that begins on Friday night and extends to Sunday when you suddenly realize the sun is coming up and have no idea what day it is. That day is Fraturunday, but it doesn’t qualify for this discussion.

So, what would constitute Friday as the best day of the week?

Cannabis, that’s what. It turns Friday into Fryday!

Episode #24

Episode #24: HARLEY RIDERS ARE ANNOYING - Transcript


Uh oh, I’ve crossed the line. Boy, am I gonna get my ass kicked now. I stated the opinion that everyone else is thinking, but too afraid to actually voice. At least openly in public. And the last thing you want to do is belittle the thing to which these irreputable enthusiasts attach their identity, because if you insult the motorcycle, you insult the person driving it. And that’s a sure-fire way to get stuck in the gut by a Hell’s Angel, Altamont style.

Hey Harley rider, I get it. You want people to think you’re a lion in the jungle, that your ear-curdling roar induces tingles of hair raising fear. And that you just don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks. Which is ironic. Because it would appear that you care very much what everyone thinks, otherwise your motor would be muffled. Yes, you’re unconventional, a rebel, unique, fringe, anti-establishment. It’s just that it’s hard to be convinced when the company of whom you so fiercely endorse has a spreadsheet of 5.6 billion dollars in revenue last year.

Now, motorcycles are cool. And if it’s not raining, they make an exciting form of transportation. It’s a liberating feeling when the sativa-soaked sun is shining on your face with the unbridled summer wind sweeping across your body while you harness a stout, speed machine. And what do I care if your favorite pastime is standing around inspecting one another’s bikes like dogs sniffing their buddy’s balls? To each his own.

But could you turn down the volume a little? It’s irritating when your conversation is interrupted by a passing DC-10 on the street, that’s all.

Note: This never applies to a woman on a Harley. Chicks on motorcycles are always awesome no matter what and have license to crank their volume any time they feel overcome with the need to express themselves.

Episode #23

Episode #23: GETTING STONED IS HORRIBLE - Transcript


In countries like Iran and Yemen. I mean, I assume it’s horrible. I’ve never been stoned before, at least that way. stoning is a measure of torture. In fact, it is considered a form of capital punishment whereas a group essentially pelts a person with rocks until they die. Ok, I think we can agree that it’s horrible and drop the assumption.

So, how did the term “getting stoned” happen its way into the English vernacular to become a colloquialism for intoxication, when for ages, it’s been a way to frighten the public into behaving according to religious doctrines? Well, if you actually look into the etymology, it is in fact derived from the inanimate object with which the aforementioned group will kill the aforementioned adulterer, blasphemer, sodomite, etc. And that inanimate object is indeed a stone.

The term originated as a description for someone who is intoxicated, or “blind as a stone”, or “stone cold drunk”. Which is ironic, because when using cannabis, the exact opposite is actually true. Your perception is heightened, your heart is full, and people’s actions are more tolerant. In fact, you may find yourself laughing at the absurdity of politics. You may actually enjoy being stuck in traffic. You may want to call your mother and tell her how beautiful she is.

Therefore, I think it is safe to say that what we have here is a prime example of a double entendre. Because cannabis cannot kill you. It is physiologically impossible to overdose on cannabis.

Oh, and by the way, people in Iran and Yemen should try getting stoned. The good kind.

Episode #22

Episode #22: PEOPLE AND THEIR ANNOYING KIDS - Transcript


Who’s got a sturdy noose handy so I can hang myself and end the misery?

As if the steady banging of neon flashing little boy shoes with the tiny roller wheels into the back of my seat isn’t enough, there’s the incessant whining that is unsuccessfully quelled with parental coddling that makes me want to set the whole fucking airplane on fire. Rather than a good old scolding, the mother reasons, guilting the child for being irrational, to which the spoiled brat responds with a piercing squeal? “Why do you do this to me? It’s not fair,” she concedes while everyone around her pretends to be deaf.

Or when you’re out having dinner and the tinny pitch of miniature voices tinkles out of the IPad like an annoying, buzzing fly where Dora the Explorer is solving a riddle. The child chimes along with the parents entirely tuned out, entranced by the repetitive motion of their fork to mouth while the ambience of the room is completely foiled, effectively turning the restaurant into a daycare center.

I know what you’re thinking, “You were a child once”. And, indeed, I was. And I’m sure there were times I was difficult. But I remember being taught to maintain a degree of respect in public places. And I understand parent’s weakness because kids are little and cute, but this is their responsibility, not everyone else’s. One day this little monster is going to turn into an adolescent, zit faced, pizza eating, video game playing, apathetic, masturbating machine who refuses to leave home and get a job. So please have a pinch of empathy and get on birth control.

I guess I’m the asshole here. So be it.

And by the way, when is Nabisco going to start infusing Fruity Pebbles with CBN instead of 28 grams of sugar? It couldn’t happen soon enough, in my humble opinion.

Episode #21

Episode #21: PARTY INJURIES - Transcript


It happened in the co-ed dormitory at college. There I was chatting it up outside of someone’s room in the hallway when I heard the words splattered out in a high pitch cheer. “Mikey”! It is one of my buddies who is twice my size. He comes charging down the hallway with what I think is going to be a loving bear hug. Which is indeed the case. Until midway through when he spontaneously decides to apply a World Wrestling Federation Standing Guillotine Drop finished with a ripe, moist kiss on the cheek.

My knee has never been the same.

My girlfriend was floating the river with some friends. They came upon a 60-foot cliff ledge that people were climbing to and jumping from. What ensued for her, having had zero experience in this particular field of expertise, was an extremely painful seated landing that resulted in severe, dark purple bruises that led from the bottom of her feet, up the backs of her legs, to the cusp of her buttocks.

She sat on an inflatable donut for two weeks.

My childhood friend Brad disappeared at a Kenny Chesney concert, completely blacked out, and no one could find him anywhere. He was wearing an American Flag bandana around his head, which made picking him out of the crowd difficult. His phone was going straight to voice mail. Then the show ended, and everyone was at the car ready to go home when suddenly he appeared like Charlton Heston as Moses returning from the mountain with the Ten Commandments in tow. He’d spent the entire set sitting cross-legged with his knees resting on the stage-right amplifier, so he could “really feel the bass”.

His hearing has never been quite as acute.

Please note that none of these episodes occurred while under the influence of cannabis.

Episode #20

Episode #20: STONED DRIVERS - Transcript


“People on ‘ludes should not drive.”

This elementary declaration made by the infamous Jeff Spicoli from the 1980’s movie Fast Times at Ridgemont High should ring indisputable to anyone who’s ever clutched a steering wheel (The Quaalude was a popular sedative in the 70’s). And if you’ve seen the movie, you’ll remember the defining scene where the epitome of stoner stupidity is blatantly displayed just before he totals Charles Jefferson’s shiny silver Camaro while puffing a proverbial brain dart.

And so goes the debate of cannabis use while operating a motor vehicle. Is it safe to be under the influence, and if not, can it be accurately proven when you are caught?

Marijuana is a mind-altering substance thanks to the psychoactive properties of THC. Therefore, you will experience life through a different lens as the compounds from the magic plant integrate into your bloodstream and attach to your endocannabinoid receptors, modifying your perception. Many would argue that It’s not that your motor skills that are affected, but instead, your grasp of reality.

So, what is the danger?

Well, one time my friend Edible Ed ate a 200-milligram dose of Leaf Chews and tried to drive 3 blocks to a convenient store. He didn’t make it. Looking traumatized and weirded out at the end of his own driveway when we arrived, he claimed that he was lucky to be alive having nearly been trampled by a giant armadillo.

This turned out to be a hunched, little old cat lady driving a Prius.

“People on edibles should not drive.”

Episode #19

Episode #19: THE DRUNCHIES - Transcript


Remember that movie where the guy is dying of thirst in the desert and he keeps thinking that he sees water up ahead, but it’s only a mirage? Well that is what your brain is doing when it tells you that if you drink more alcohol, you’ll feel better. And be more amazing. And be a more amazing singer.

You know how it works; the progression casually begins at Friday happy hour with a beer and a shot just to take the edge off, a reward for the tempest of horseshit you weathered all week. Then things turn professional with more pints before throwing all caution to a stiff wind with the kind of reckless abandon that involves consecutive rounds of mystery shots with trendy names followed by hard high fives and puckered faces. Inevitably, the evening will wind down with a large cocktail and another beer that goes half drank before waving the proverbial white bar nap in staggering surrender.

Your mind, body and spirit are separate entities now, clashing like titans, fueled in a paradoxical lather of physical imbalance and a false sense of mental fortitude.

With your better sense of rationale completely disregarded and your level of sobriety stubbornly defended, you’re in no position at this point to make calculated decisions. Like whether to invest the $43 for an Uber ride home, or drive yourself. Or whether to provoke an argument with another drunk person, or your significant other. Or whether to provoke an argument with your drunk significant other.

Or whether it’s a good idea to eat. And eat a lot.

This is called the Drunchies.

Be it the Denny’s Grand Slam loaded with maple syrup and a banana split chaser, a Super-Sized Big Mac Meal accentuated by dubious packets of ketchup and a crushed Oreo McFlurry, or a fully loaded bacon wrapped street dog, a liquor induced feeding frenzy is a recipe for a boiling volcanic cauldron.

Note: Under no circumstances should this condition ever be confused with the munchies.

Episode #18

Episode #18: POT-PURRI - Transcript


My roommate had a bag of Funyuns. I had a bag of Nacho Cheese flavored Doritos. My other friend had brought over a bag of Sour Cream Ruffles with ridges that he mistakenly left on the coffee table the night before next to the bong, the rolling tray, and the dab rig. There was a Domino’s pizza box with a couple pieces left over, too. We heated up the pizza and placed one slice on two separate plates, then as a side dish, combined three handfuls of each style of chip and mixed them all together. We called this dinner a Pot-Purri.

One time my cat, whose name is Todd, nibbled a bud that somehow trickled its way underneath the recliner and sat undiscovered for months. Well, when cannabis gets aged, the THC slowly degrades into CBN through oxidization creating a very relaxed, sedated effect. So, when the effects started to take hold, Todd proceeded to find his favorite spot in the apartment atop the pile of dirty laundry right next to the water heater in the pantry and didn’t move for 24 hours other than to get up, take a drink of water, dine on some Fancy Feast, and poop. There were a couple times we thought to take his pulse to make sure he was still alive if it weren’t for the continuous vibrating circadian motor in his chest and Cheshire smile. We called this Pot-Purri.

And by the way, last time I was in Pier 1 Imports with my girlfriend I saw this $16 bag of dried bark and walnut shells that smelled like grandma’s foot deodorant. They called that Pot-Purri.

What the hell is this world coming to?

Episode #17

Episode #17: THE TAO OF PHO - Transcript


Back before the millennium, there was a Tao of everything. There was a book called The Tao Of Pooh, even a movie called The Tao Of Steve. Never had the West been so interested in Eastern culture as America fused the secrets of the orient with other crazes of the modern era. Suddenly, trends like Kung Fu and Kawasakis had their place in the annals of history with Mullets and the Macarena. Many faded and others have stayed. No need to explain which.

But somewhere along the silk road to culinary exploration, we really screwed the panda by adopting Kimchi and Sushi over one of the most flavorful, colorful, reasonably priced surprises the foodie world has ever ladled. But now Pho is having its day, getting deserved attention while growing in popularity with every noodle slurped.

Pho is very hip right now, it has a likeable image. It’s trending, like a catchy comedian, or an underground rapper with a mix tape, or a killer series on HBO. You mention Pho and people act like you have the password for a super exclusive VIP party at Coachella. You can use it in place of the word Fuck and nobody criticizes you for stealing a stale joke. Instead, they wink and acknowledge that you’re in the know.

Aqua Teen Hunger Force fucked up when they didn’t include a bowl of Pho into the cast. He could have been the friendly, loveable Asian guy that everyone accepts, because he never creeps people out. Like Aziz Ansari. Wait, not the best example, allegedly.

So why in the world would you not like Pho? It is awesome because it comforts you like a woobie. It makes you feel relevant by always being a hot friend who accepts you. You know what, that would be badass if they named a strain of cannabis called Pho. A dab of Pho. I mean, why not? They have a strain called Purple Monkey Balls. Pho shizzle!

Episode #16

Episode #16: THE INSUFFERABLE DAVEY DABS - Transcript


Everybody has that one friend who refuses to compromise. This can be annoying, often resulting in your embarrassment. But their nature is so original and their intentions so solid, that when they are not around, you find yourself talking about them more than anyone else you know. Being their friend is like going on tour with a juggling circus bear on a tightrope. It’s cringeworthy entertainment to watch from below, but if they fall, it will most likely be on top of you.

They are relative to a hurricane. You know it’s gonna hit somewhere and there will be destruction and maybe you’re thinking you’re outside the line of danger, but an erratic turn can change everything. However, once the storm settles, there is always a lovely calm that follows. And a good story.

You see, there is a magnetic quality to someone who makes you laugh, even if sometimes the comedy is tragic.

His birth name is David Gustavo Hernandez Dabrovski. He has a Mexican mother and his father is Polish. So, his appearance and mannerisms settle somewhere between Pope John Paul II and the Chupacabra.

Davey Dabs is loud. Davey Dabs is relatively plump, but intimately proud of his large baby bump that he will show you by raising his double XL Why Be Normal t-shirt and protruding his hairy belly. He has a name for the baby. He calls it Clarise which he accentuates like Anthony Hopkins in Silence of the Lambs while rubbing it.

Surprisingly, Davey Dabs is a fastidious connoisseur of cannabis and generally only dabs from one of his quiver of seven custom glass rigs. With a diplomatic tone, he will debate eloquently on the finer details of terpenes and the interaction of cannabinoids, giving the impression that his knowledge was gained through dedicated emotional research and development and as if his own life is given to the search for the perfect strain as a decorated wine steward after the perfect pinot.

Davey Dab’s job is making pizza. He wreaks havoc on tidiness. Yet, you feel like his obliviousness to organization, or etiquette, is simply a rejection to unreasonable demands set by an uptight society too focused on parameters. But then at dinner he returns to the table to show you a photograph on his cellphone that he just took of a beached turd in the restaurant toilet stuck with a cocktail umbrella and you must wonder.

Episode #15

Episode #15: DISTLLATES SUCK - Transcript


I was going to write an entry here, but then I got high. It was a distillate. The buzz lasted for about 30 minutes and then I nose-dived like a Kamikaze into an aircraft carrier. And it wasn’t the happy, creative, energetic feeling that I get from a full spectrum oil that’s loaded with indigenous cannabinoids, but instead I was agitated and teetering on the verge of paranoia. “When is this going to wear off?” I asked the college student who was trying to impress me with his irrationally high THC percentage and introduced food flavorings. “Aren’t you high as fuck?” he annoyingly blurted as I zeroed in on the volcanic zit centered on his forehead. “I’m not sure what I am,” was my response, “but I feel like I just lost the Superbowl.”

Everyone has different preferences, I respect that. Some people want their cannabis product to taste like a margarita, or cotton candy. Fair enough, have at it, knock yourself out. But mine lie somewhere in the rainbow of tastes between the flavors of bud and nug. Call me a luddite, but am I old school by wanting fresh squeezed orange juice over Sunny Delight?

I’ve got an interesting question. Does anyone use quality bud to make distillate, or is it the hot dog of the cannabis world, all lips and assholes and unfortunate rats?

Is it feasibly possible to polish a turd?

Here’s the deal. Mad Dog 2020 is about five bucks a bottle. A good Stag’s Leap cabernet is about 50. They have the same amount of alcohol. So why is the price different?

Anyone over the age of 15 should know the answer to that.

Episode #14

Episode #14: LEAVING LAS VEGAS - Transcript


Leaving Las Vegas is like coming down off cocaine. It sucks. Well, probably because you are coming down off cocaine. Because there’s nothing fun about returning to your mild-mannered desk job after getting a taste of what it’s like to be a rock star. In fact, no one ever said, “Thank God that’s over, now I get to go back to my accounting firm.” Ok, maybe someone did say that. Like, an accountant who unexpectedly got fast tracked into a frenzied bacchanal. And it scared him. Because no one should paddle into Bonzai Pipeline if they haven’t first learned how to steer a boogie board.

Is there anything more punishing than the reality bite of seeing that skyline shrink in the distance through the small airplane window? It’s as if you’ve just had a chunk of your soul grizzled out by a werewolf, but the exciting myth that you’ll morph into one with the next full moon to devour fleshy tourists gorged on gargantuan buffets and Yardaritas is all a farce. In fact, you’re only going to die a slow, excruciating death from the bite. For the next 2 days, at least, until the liver filters out the poison.

Of course, it might be different if you’re headed back to normalcy with bulging pockets after crushing it at the tables, but that’s never happened to me. Or anyone I know. Well, that’s not exactly accurate. I have friends who have won money in Vegas, but they generally won’t include an excel spread sheet detailing the losses incurred leading up to those rare moments of dopamine filled glory. And it is those losses that keep the casino lights on, the air cool, and the carpet confusing.

But if gambling is the driving force of Vegas’ success, I wonder what affect cannabis will have on Sin City now that it’s been legalized. Because embarking on a strip search for the Great Pyramid, the Eiffel Tower and the Big Apple can be a dangerous lure with a belly full of Redbull and vodka, but a head full of Super Lemon Haze can create a completely different course for a city built on bad decisions.

Can Cannabis kill Vegas?

Episode #13

Episode #13: DON'T HAVE CHILDREN - Transcript


Guess what the leading cause for divorce is. Marriage. You know why? Because when you’re young and horny and good looking and fit and ambitious and wild and optimistic and horny, the idea of growing old with someone who can shoulder half the responsibilities seems like a great plan. And the honeymoon sounds like a blast. Who wouldn’t want an exotic, all-expenses paid vacation on the family dime where your only responsibility is to bang through the soreness?

“One day we’ll be the sweet old couple who bickers at each other, but it’ll be cute.”

No it won’t.

Firstly, you’ll be complaining about how much greater life was when you were young, somehow relating being broke with innocence and romance. You’ll get heavier, slower, lazier, and waaay less fun. You’ll twist the wrong way getting out of the car and end up horizontal for the next 48 hours. And as far as your partner? Over years of repetition, you’ll begin to despise their little ticks like the noticeable groaning noises when they eat, leaving an empty carton in the fridge with barely a full sip remaining, and involuntary farts.

And it’s the same with having kids. When they’re new and fresh and little and curious, they’re as cute as anything in life can be, all doe-eyed and non-judgmental. They have to be. It’s a matter of preserving the species. If babies weren’t precious we wouldn’t put up with their bullshit. But then it doesn’t take long until they’re hairy, teen-aged, argumentative, Hot Pocket eating, Grand Theft Auto playing, zit-faced, mango flavored distillate vaping, masturbating, money vacuums who eventually, apprehensively, become adults.

Have I mentioned I have a friend named Davey Dabs?

I wonder if he was ever cute.

Episode #12

Episode #12: ROCK STAR ROBOT - Transcript


Who doesn’t love robots? I’ll bet even the Dali Lama loves robots. Cats don’t like robots, but that’s their problem. I’m pretty sure my vacuum cleaner is a robot.

Ever since the 1950’s when television popularized human-like machines with electronic voices and construction crane extremities, we’ve imagined a future of leisure where we’ll never have to butter our own toast, change the channel, or be lonely. And in time, they’ve become sleeker and more dynamic with each advent of new technology, many of which are set to task to complete the jobs that most of us don’t want to do. Like treading through mine fields, exploring the inside of a volcano, or taking sex from a grunting pervert.

Robots are modern slaves.

And they say that eventually, their computing minds will develop to the point to where they can think for themselves. So, at what point will they start demanding equal rights? And equal pay?

Eventually, the art of artificial intelligence will have been so well integrated, that differentiating a boxing robot from the Real Deal Holyfield will have its challenges. So, you’ve got to imagine that there will come a time when celebrity robots are an accepted part of mainstream popular culture. And further, there will be a point at which we can’t tell the difference between their real human tendencies and our own.

Your bartenders will be robots. And NFL players, too. In fact, robots will have cool gigs and live in lush habitats while other robots clean their dirty dishes. Or us.

There will be no way to differentiate them from real humans.

Except for the bloodshot eyes, of course.

Episode #11

Episode #11: WHAT A TITLE! - Transcript


Alexander the Great, what a fucking name! But how much do you actually know about him?

Sure, he was a successful conqueror and all, but how successful do you have to be in your lifetime, or how many victories to you have to compile, to deserve the title “the Great”? I mean, a guy can call himself that all day long, but for other people to do it and do it for a couple thousand years and counting, he’s got to be one hugantinormous championshiptastic gangsterlicious brocicle. And I say “guy” because women aren’t nearly as ridiculous as men. In fact, only a guy would use the term hugantinormous championshiptastic gangsterlicious brocicle.

Now, there are extraordinary people to whom the title “The Greatest” has at least one time been applied when alluding to their craft. Like Michael Jordan, the greatest basketball player; Marlon Brando, the greatest actor; Kanye West, the greatest rock star. But how influential do you have to be to be called, or to call yourself, “The Great”?

It’s equivalent to being named the greatest of the great.

If you read the history books, they’ll tell you that Alexander the Great never lost a battle, that he was a military mastermind, one of the most influential people that ever lived. But I think it’s safe to say that Mozart never wrote a shitty tune. And Nabisco never made a shitty cookie.

So then, is it plausible to agree that greatness is entirely in the eye of the perceiver? That the title is completely subjective to when that person lived and what they did to gain notoriety?

And that while people will boast of their own greatness, kind of like every cannabis company claims to have the greatest weed, in reality the validity of the claim is proven only with time.

By the way, does Kanye know how to play the guitar? Or sing?

Episode #10

Episode #10: I Think I Blacked Out. . . - Transcript


Puppy dog breath. Can you define the smell? Because it doesn’t smell like anything else. They are so new and young, but their breath is borderline noxious. Is it the food, or an odd combination of a strange bacteria paired with the culture of milk from the mommy? What is it that goes on in that soft, warm potbelly? It’s a tough smell to put your finger on. It’s kinda like a three-day old re-heated latte, or a bazaar Middle Eastern hookah. No, maybe it’s a woodsy smell, like moldy leaves on a warm day, or bark. There it is, it smells like bark.

Anyway, these are questions that were manifesting during the transition from a dream state into utter, blatant, brutal consciousness when my humpty dumpty eggshell head manged to pry open one pasty eye to see a dog bowl in extreme proximity. How did I know it was a dog bowl? It said DOG in bold, judgmental letters. At first, I thought it was a GOD bowl. I think I may have drank from it just before I passed out because my mouth tasted like puppy dog breath. Or maybe it’s because two pit bull puppies were licking my face and I’m pretty sure my tongue was hanging on the linoleum in the kitchen only moments before. Was it because they loved me, or was it because of the dried pizza sauce?

These rolling blackouts are becoming an issue. However, I think I have a talent, kind of like Lieutenant Dan on CSI: NY. By initiating a proper forensic investigation and a professional analysis of the remaining shrapnel in my pockets, it’s very possible to piece together the collage of events until the mystery is pretty much solved. So, does this mean I blacked out. Or did I gray out.

I should have greened out.

Episode #9

Episode #9: Brain Freeze Disease - Transcript


Human Beings are fragile organisms. We all are quite aware that this precious life of ours can be gone in a split second without much warning at all. At any given moment, a satellite dish could literally crash your party. A rogue solar flare could flash fry half the planet into a sunburned ass cheek. You could wake up dead.

You could slip on a banana peel.

Every day, everywhere you go, there are risks. Yet, there are some things that we tend to commonly ignore that put us in a higher category of becoming a statistic. Like driving slowly in the fast lane. Driving fastly in the fast lane. Driving stoned fastly in the fast lane.

And then there are people we know who barrel through life with an alarming mode of reckless abandon, almost to the point of where you get the sense they’re purposefully antagonizing destiny in a direct game of chicken.

My buddy Davey Dabs is one of those people.

Not one to shy away from repeated gravity dabs at house parties followed by shirtless belly flops off the roof into the swimming pool followed by hours of marinating in the hot tub to the point of where the water begins to acquire flavor, he once stared into an old, dirty microwave for 40 minutes while it was running just to prove that he wouldn’t die.

I know, right

And then he pounded a 64 ounce Slurpee, moaning and groaning through the pain. He said, “What doesn’t kill you makes you…” There was a moment of silence with temple veins bulging, and the word never came to him. It was as if the synapsis’ seized up like a locked clutch on a ’69 Volkswagon Beetle. Davey Dabs has never been quite the same since.

When Davey Dabs head is shaved, it exposes tattooed Viking horns on each side.

In Viking Age Scandinavia the average life expectancy was 25-30 years.

Davey Dabs is 32.


Episode #8

Episode #8: New Miserable Experience - Transcript


It was an album by the band Gin Blossoms in the nineties. And so was Definitely Maybe by Oasis, an oxymoron that represented the slacker mode of unmotivated and pridefully bitter twenty-somethings.

This was the decade of gloom, where pessimism derailed eighties optimism and the machine of Reagan era excess broke down with a plume of smoke billowing from distant Baby Boom in the fields of Vietnam. Desperate to claim an identity of their own, the youth willed this freight train of counter-culture into a lather of angsty music and anti-fashion. And through these mediums of expression, these wayward young adults, fraught with pre-millennium tension, were intent on making their own claim to a proper rebellion, and ultimately, some meaning to a jangled life littered with disillusionment.

Where the parent’s sixties revolution was largely fueled by the discovery of psychedelic drugs, theirs was more about communing through the artists that did the experimenting for them; modern martyrs who expressed their feelings through guitar feedback and lyrics about the disenchantment of adulthood and their frustration with authority’s hypocrisy. And nothing could represent the struggle better than one iconic photo on the cover of Rolling Stone Magazine with Kurt Cobain’s plain white t-shirt noticeably scribbled upon with the words Corporate Magazines Still Suck.

Then, like all movements spurned by the young, it reached a zenith and faded as the inevitability of time quelled their once tumultuous energy. And the hangover hit with the arrival of the year 2000. Brittany Spears and Backstreet Boys topped the charts.

And there’s been nothing important since.

So, what will define the next culturally conscious empowerment of the people as 2020 looms? New Wonderful Experience?

The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind, the answer is blowin’ in the wind.

Episode #7

Episode #7: Change the Channel, or Loose Your Life - Transcript


He who holds the television remote controls the destiny of the room. He who controls the destiny of the room is the Room Wizard. And as we all know from seeing the steely Lord Voldemort get his ass handed to him by Harry Potter, magic is a very powerful phenomenon that only the most seasoned conjurers have license to harness. And magic is precisely what the television remote is.

Now, manipulating the elements into a formidable stream of energy is nothing to be trifled with. And if you stop to think for a moment, when you clutch the television remote with your palm and fingers, you have utter authority over a mechanism that would have been unimaginable hundreds of years ago. It’s sort of a magic wand. With the simple touch of a button, you control the flow of vast information that is painstakingly pieced together by countless media outlets designed specifically for the education and entertainment of the masses.

You hold the oracle.

That kind of power can corrupt.

And be corrupted.

Any ordinary wizard will be tried with temptations throughout his alchemical career. And a weak wizard can be easily seduced by the gravity of influence, and most notably the influence of a lovely temptress who’s wearing a tight tank top with no bra. So needless to say, the Room Wizard, if not resolute in his directives and in complete control of his craft whilst maintaining the highest degree of unbending confidence, can fall prey to the manipulations of a particular siren. In fact, that Room Wizard will be rendered powerless upon the spells that a seductress can cast, ultimately relinquishing his supremacy right along with his dignity. Sadly, the result is a tranquilized half-self, devoid of any necromancy at all, induced by the intoxicating pheromones emitted by said enchantress. He will find himself numbed, dulled, rendered nearly lifeless while pretending to be engaged in the educational episode that she strongly suggests.

Until a red-eyed Davey Dabs boastfully enters with Taco Bell Fire Sauce on his sleeve, wondering why the Fuck a documentary about turtle rescues is on the boob tube instead of the inimitable Rick and Mortie.

Hundreds of years ago, if you possessed the oracle, you were respected by kings and high clergy.

Episode #6

Episode #6: Ultimate High Five - Transcript


You don’t have to have a degree in communications to know that one of the most positive connections between two people is the High Five. And by the way, if you do have a communications degree, expect a career in sales. Which leads to closing deals. Which leads to High Fives.

All things that are celebrated in the world can be substantiated by a sturdy overhead slapping of hands. Because when you think about it from a molecular level, it is a surefire stream of energy produced by opposing palms, creating a small lightning bolt of particles popping like a summer sparkler, undetectable by the naked eye, but dazzling to the open mind.

It’s like a human nuclear reactor.

High Fives can power the world.

My shrink once told me that he went to a silence retreat, where no one speaks, and constant meditation is the prescribed medication. I wonder if High Fives were allowed. Or if they were considered a “distraction” because too much exuberance might upset the collective healing. I’m imagining a NO HIGH FIVES sign. Sounds like hell. High Fives are not a crime. And neither is skateboarding. Do they allow High Fives in prison?

The High Five is a true modern form of expression. It represents democracy.

You know, some goofballs in college officially initiated a National High Five Day and it’s on the 3rd Thursday of April every year. April is a good month. Because on the 3rd Thursday you have the High Five. And if that 3rd Thursday falls on the 20th you have the Hiiiiiiigh Five.

Note: This only qualifies if you are using cannabis with 4 friends. If you’re not, then you’re blowing a wonderful opportunity and desperately need to re-evaluate your principals.

Episode #5

Episode #5: We Don't Exist - Transcript


Finding the meaning to life has been the crux of being human since cavemen started scribbling pictures on their living room walls. Well before Confucius quipped sayings like, “He who runs behind bus becomes exhausted,” and Bill and Ted waxed philosophic with Socrates along their excellent adventure, people have developed billions of headaches in search of the ultimate purpose.

And the ways and places we look for inspiration are tireless. Did you know that someone actually spent $28,000 on a grilled cheese sandwich with the image of the Virgin Mary miraculously toasted onto the exterior of the buttery crust? And Tibetan Buddhist monks will spend up to 30 years in solitary meditation retreat attempting to reach nirvana. So, it’s suffice to say that when inspiration presents itself, potentially illuminating the path to enlightenment, it is highly regarded as a divine sign.

Now, my good ol’ buddy Davey Dabs has been known to be enthusiastic about a number of things, often claiming insight through visual discoveries in unexpected places. For instance, with his signature slanted smile and an elementary eyebrow crooked, you may find him sitting and discerning the peculiarities of a particularly shadowy tree that, if viewed under the right circumstances (those circumstances being having recently ripped a juicy dab of full spectrum Co2 oil), will appear to have within its branches the odd image of a sleeping dragon accentuated by the waning afternoon sunlight.

He’s really big into clouds, Davey Dabs is. Like on one particularly springy day while looking skyward from our horizontal perspective upon a patch of warm grass in a city park, he witnessed a distinctively shaped billow floating past, as if it had somewhere to go, resembling the form of a mushroom. And the following explanation was a sensational dissertation of serendipitous delectation.

Ah, These episodes have been fun; we’ve giggled and waxed philosophic.

Until one day at the all you can eat Asian buffet, Davey Dabs cracked open a fortune cookie that was empty.

Episode #4

Episode #4: Cereal Abuse on Aisle 6 - Transcript


The sound of farting is funny. Call me immature, but if the timing is just right, the surprise audio booty burst of creaking wood, or the short brunt of a brass instrument, can be playfully startling, resulting in a good giggle.

Even my 70-year-old Victorian bred mother finds small moments of joy in the embarrassment of those who become the butt of her connivery. She’ll covertly plant a remote controlled fart machine into an unsuspecting person’s backpack (me), or purse (my girlfriend, or my sister), then await the most opportune time to sabotage the target in an elevator, or in line while ordering a Frappuccino. With the deft press of the button, the device is detonated, releasing a robust, attention grabbing rip, forcing a potently awkward situation. And more so when locked into eye to eye contact with the barista.

After, I’ll say to my mom, “What, are we 8?” And she’ll respond, “What, are we 98?”

So it’s safe to say we all agree that wind-breaking has comedic value, at least on some level.

But nobody likes being sucker punched in the nostrils by some mystery skunk at a concert, or in a crowded bar. It can be a game changer. The culprit knows who they are but avoids accusation by playing ignorant while everyone else in the vicinity, to no avail, painfully attempts to discern the direction from which the putrid vapors might’ve been released while hoping to God no one is secretly blaming them.

It’s like peeing in the pool. Totally undetectable. Totally not cool.

So, here’s the deal for you jerk off’s who don’t have the decency to relocate your rotten innards out of respect for people who don’t care to share the remnants of your cheap lunch. Either own it or take it somewhere arid. And if that’s not an option, then at least have the courtesy to flood the area beforehand with a pungent, sappy bowl of fresh bud, you barbaric, Neanderthal fuck!

Episode #3

Episode #3: Strategic Cropdusting - Transcript


The sound of farting is funny. Call me immature, but if the timing is just right, the surprise audio booty burst of creaking wood, or the short brunt of a brass instrument, can be playfully startling, resulting in a good giggle.

Even my 70-year-old Victorian bred mother finds small moments of joy in the embarrassment of those who become the butt of her connivery. She’ll covertly plant a remote controlled fart machine into an unsuspecting person’s backpack (me), or purse (my girlfriend, or my sister), then await the most opportune time to sabotage the target in an elevator, or in line while ordering a Frappuccino. With the deft press of the button, the device is detonated, releasing a robust, attention grabbing rip, forcing a potently awkward situation. And more so when locked into eye to eye contact with the barista.

After, I’ll say to my mom, “What, are we 8?” And she’ll respond, “What, are we 98?”

So it’s safe to say we all agree that wind-breaking has comedic value, at least on some level.

But nobody likes being sucker punched in the nostrils by some mystery skunk at a concert, or in a crowded bar. It can be a game changer. The culprit knows who they are but avoids accusation by playing ignorant while everyone else in the vicinity, to no avail, painfully attempts to discern the direction from which the putrid vapors might’ve been released while hoping to God no one is secretly blaming them.

It’s like peeing in the pool. Totally undetectable. Totally not cool.

So, here’s the deal for you jerk off’s who don’t have the decency to relocate your rotten innards out of respect for people who don’t care to share the remnants of your cheap lunch. Either own it or take it somewhere arid. And if that’s not an option, then at least have the courtesy to flood the area beforehand with a pungent, sappy bowl of fresh bud, you barbaric, Neanderthal fuck!

Episode #2

Episode #2: The Bodies Exhibit On Shrooms - Transcript


You want to know if I did it. Of course not, are you out of your fucking mind? I understand that the title may have revved your imagination, but no person of sound mind would, or should ever attempt such a psychotic journey into the darkest recesses of one’s essential nature for any reason. The mental stability of a thrill seeking individual bent on this ultimate experiment would have to be seriously questioned, save for maybe that deranged whack job from the Human Centipede.

I mean, if you have some morbid desire to screw yourself up with self-inflicted behavior modification techniques that are way beyond normal rationale so that for the rest of your life when you look at a sandwich what you really see is a Chinese prisoner’s dissected cerebellum between two slices of bread, be my guest. But this is something not even recommended for those asshats in that shitty Jackass TV show that was popular for thirty seconds.

Throughout history, People have purposefully endeavored ridiculous feats, like Hunter S. Thompson infiltrating a District Attorney’s convention on a sheet of LSD, Evel Knievel attempting to jump the Snake River Canyon on a rocket cycle, and Michael Jackson kissing Lisa Marie Pressley on national television. But thankfully, instinct has provided a built in dipshit button that prevents most of us from doing irreparable damage to ourselves.

So understand, in the attempt at heightening your adventures by way of dual integration, realize that there are some things that will never mix: Whiskey and ice cream, Jeffry Lebowski in Malibu, and The Bodies Exhibit on Mushrooms.

A succulent Durban Poison with a quality terpene profile? Well now we’re getting somewhere.

Episode #1

Episode #1: Keep It Simple Stupid - Transcript


There are some things in life you just can’t unsee. A dog getting hit by a car. Your parents tongue kissing in front of the fireplace. The back side of a 276 pound plumber wearing Carhartts bought at 243 who engages you in professional conversation about pee traps while awkwardly arching his back for a distinct angle on the garbage disposal.

But as with everything that exists in the universe, there is a balance, a yang to the proverbial yin, and thankfully, life has a way of offsetting these disturbing shocks by providing pure visuals of situational bliss. And many of us find, through the kaleidoscope of cannabis, that the myriad of events given in any particular day are delightfully accentuated by its recreational use.

Now, there are, of course, particular times when augmenting your reality through the haze blazed effects of cannabis are not recommended, like while attempting to solve algebraic number theories, landing a fighter jet on an aircraft carrier, or defending yourself in court. Which is exactly why, when dabbling in your preferred method of marijuana mindfulness, it is generally advised to follow one of the world’s most elementary guidelines: The KISS principal, the acronym better known for the wise proverb “Keep It Simple, Stupid.”

That said, the odds of your daycation embarkation resulting in a pleasant experience rests on the complexity of tasks with which you assign yourself. So, when preparing to enjoy some of the multitudes of cannabis’ nuances, remember that the outcome is directly parallel to the day’s duties. Be it flying the friendly sativa skies, or indica inertia resulting in an arm bar by your couch, know your roll, like which strains and methods best suit your unique temperament.

The Dali Lama once said that our purpose in life is to seek happiness, or in other words, to out-yang our yin. And there’s an old Irish proverb that states that Cannabis Is Proof That God Loves Us (ok, beer, too). So enjoy the fruits of nature’s labor, but be cognizant of the wondrous varietals that provide the distinctly delicious effects. And by the way, give Mom and Dad their space when they’re feeling frisky. No parent wants to be caught getting busy by their kid.

Who is this Asshole ?



Back in the day, a frumpy 7th grade teacher known as Mrs. Frinak called 5 actors to the front of the classroom to read a play written by one of her least favorite students, the wiley little Michael Ricker. And from there, he never stopped writing. Now, because a long, successful radio career got in the way (if you consider getting fired 5 times a success), the fruits of those labors have finally culminated into this infused pop culture panorama. Hey, what doesn’t kill only makes you realize that something else will!


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but if that’s not an option, feel free to LIGHT UP!



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