Stoney Baloney is the world’s first narrated Cannabis Column 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

New Miserable Experience

Episode #8: New Miserable Experience - Transcript

STONEY BALONEY by Mike Ricker

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.

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Episode #1

Episode #1: Keep It Simple Stupid - Transcript

STONEY BALONEY by Mike Ricker

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.

Episode #2

Episode #2: The Bodies Exhibit On Shrooms - Transcript

STONEY BALONEY by Mike Ricker

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 #3

Episode #3: Strategic Cropdusting - Transcript

STONEY BALONEY by Mike Ricker

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 #4

Episode #4: Cereal Abuse on Aisle 6 - Transcript

STONEY BALONEY by Mike Ricker

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 #5

Episode #5: We Don't Exist - Transcript

STONEY BALONEY by Mike Ricker

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 #6

Episode #6: Ultimate High Five - Transcript

STONEY BALONEY by Mike Ricker

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 #7

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

STONEY BALONEY by Mike Ricker

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.

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MIKE RICKER

MIKE RICKER

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. Play On!

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