Tag: cannabis

4/20 Day: A Place For Your Stash

Fields of green.

High there! Today is 4/20, or World Cannabis day, the annual celebration of the plant George Washington instructed us to “sow… everywhere!”
But before you fire up that bong in celebration, beware! The Man has deemed the cannabis plant is evil and illegal, and you don’t want to upset all those criminals making money from the war on drugs oil industry pharmaceutical companies alcohol industry respectable law-abiding citizens, do you?
So where to hide your outlawed herbal horde?

Really bad places to hide your stash

Socks: Hiding those precious buds in an old pair of socks may seem foolproof. But your socks will smell skunkier than a Snoop Dogg tour bus. And one day you will need those socks. They will be the only clean socks available on the morning of that important job interview. Or you’ll have to fashion them into sock puppets to entertain a group of small children at a birthday party. It happens.

I wonder… Sock puppets + weed = Idea for The Muppet Show?

Cakes, Muffins and ‘Special’ Scones: Bad idea. An innocent chocolate hash cake could easily end up in the wrong mouths, and devoured by a group of small children at a birthday party. Or at the County Fair Bake Sale. To be honest, a County Fair Baked Sale would be a lot more fun.

Underpants: Never store your stash in your underpants, particularly if a) it is a very hot day and b) you are intending to sell your wares to passersby.

Erm, it was somewhere over there...Industrial Hemp: Do not attempt to grow weed in an industrial hemp field. You may think you’re being cunning, but consider a) how you are going to find your crop in a field full of identical plants, especially if you’re stoned and b) hemp plants will savagely fornicate with and pollinate your precious plant, rendering it about as potent as a privet hedge. You’d get higher smoking your socks.

A hole in the ground: Something will get to your stash before you. Worms like to get high too! Imagine if you were a worm, grubbing around in mud all day. You’d have nothing to look forward to in life except digging holes, more mud, and then being yanked out of the ground by a starling.

Can you imagine bumping into a bag of weed? Wow! A quick sniff and you’d be floating around your wormhole composing cool worm music, inventing magical mud-powered flying machines…then some gardening dick would slice you in half with a spade.
Then they’d be two of you! Trippy.

I wonder… is that how Cheech and Chong happened?

Really good place to hide your stash

Inside Billy Bob Thornton’s latest CD: It’s not like anyone is ever going to open that.

Dog Treats: Store your stash inside a box of meaty treaty Yummy Bones. In the event the cops arrive with their sniffer dogs, the slobbering bastards will seek out and devour the crunchy canine cookies… along with all the evidence!
I don’t know why cops like Yummy Bones, but there you go.

In an old coffee jar wrapped in plastic and hidden under a brick by the garage door: It works for me.

Howdy neighbour, I found this under my deck! Thanks!Your neighbour’s house: The respectable couple next door with the neat lawn and shiny RV won’t notice if you hide your stash under their deck. They’d never be suspected of having weed on their premises! Unless your neighbours are Cheech and Chong. Or Willie Nelson. Or Marc Emery. Or school teachers. Or NASA scientists. Or humour bloggers. Or…

Happy 4/20 everyone! I’m off to join the celebrations outside, where I can see flashing red and blue lights outside my garage door. It must be a parade or something.
Same time next year, stoners!


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The Lotus Position – A Fairly Story

4-6 buddha

My mate Sparky was delighted to hear his crabby old Aunt had died and left him a parcel of land in the valley. His happiness was soon extinguished after visiting his new estate. The land was wild and rocky; an old wooden barn stood decaying in one corner. The land was worthless. Sparky urgently needed to make some cash to pay his court fines. Short of striking oil, how could he turn his wasteland into a goldmine?

4-6 buddha handSparky had an idea. After being ripped off at a dodgy hypnotism course at the local community centre, he realized there was money to be made from naive idiots trying to discover a higher level of consciousness. And in a way that didn’t involve weed.

What better way to part the gullible from their cash than a meditation centre? Instead of a costly trip to the Far East in search of enlightenment, overpaid yuppies could flock to Sparky’s barn, sorry, spiritual learning retreat and sit uncomfortably in the lotus position all weekend.

Sparky was confident he could learn the art of meditation by channeling the infinite wisdom of Google. Super Dave and I were instructed to spruce up the barn to make it look Far Eastern and, well, spiritual. Obviously with me being female, Sparky reckoned, I’d know about curtains and candles and that sort of thing. Thanks, Sparky.

4-6 shipping containersSuper Dave headed to the docks in his truck. The port was in lock-down after a shipment from China had sparked a formaldehyde alert. Containers filled with cheap soft furnishings from Shanghai were stacked by the dockside – no-one would open them until the fumes inside had dissipated. Unfazed by the risk of noxious chemicals, Super Dave set to work with a pair of bolt cutters.

Super Dave arrived back at the barn light-headed but elated. His truck was brimming with Oriental carpets, fairy lights and plastic Buddha statues. The barn was soon transformed into a twinkling haven of peace and cheap incense. I wondered if Sparky’s plan was actually going to work this time. However, common sense told me to get out while I could, so I wished the gurus good luck and sped home.

****

4-6 barn burnA month later I received a whispered message from Sparky on my answer machine. He said the meditation centre had been doing a roaring trade until a group of architecture students on a weekend retreat smoked too much herb, fell into the candlelit Buddha shrine and knocked it flying.

The old wooden barn had shot up in flames like a Chinese firework, sending young architects fleeing and the stench of formaldehyde-tainted carpets billowing into the air. Worse still, the smoke was infused with the aroma of eight kilos of burning weed.

As the smell wafted towards the local police station, Sparky and Super Dave had fled. They were now hiding in an empty container at the docks.

I haven’t heard from Sparky again. Either the formaldehyde finished him off, or he and poor Super Dave are halfway to Shanghai.


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300 Guinea Pigs

300 Guinea Pigs. No, 312 Guinea Pigs. Hang on, 386...

I don’t know how I get involved in these things. My so-called friend Sparky rang me the other day as he had a problem. Sparky has many problems, but this one was a fluffy, squeaking problem.

His trucker buddy Super Dave had a job to collect a consignment of 300 live guinea pigs from the airport and deliver them to the local University research lab. Unfortunately Super Dave tends to gets rather misty-eyed about cute animals (especially after a few drinks, as on this occasion). Fearing he was driving his furry passengers towards a life of misery and pain, the idiot pretended they’d escaped from his rig and instead drove them to freedom.

More specifically he drove them to my house. Sparky had already declined the doe-eyed delivery due to the major house renovations he had coincidently just started that morning. But I wouldn’t mind looking after them – he’d call me right away and arrange safe passage for the liberated pigs. Oh, great. What was I supposed to do with 300 guinea pigs?

Super Dave is not planning to visit Ecuador.Not one to miss out on a money-making opportunity, Sparky realized he could make some cash out of the little critters. According to the Ecuadorian guy at the gas station, guinea pig tasted just like chicken and was a delicacy in South America.

Sparky figured he could sell them at $5 a pop to the local World Cuisine restaurant as an exotic entrĂ©e. They would also make great barbeque food as they were perfect patty size. Super Dave was not having that – he didn’t liberate them from the lab just for them to end up being grilled to perfection.

Sparky went off to visit his local herbalist with Super Dave’s tearful pleas ringing in his ears. I warned Sparky to hurry up and formulate a plan – my basement floor was now a wriggling carpet of fat-faced furballs. And their numbers seemed to be increasing.

One Pig and a Gram. Genius!A few days later, Sparky returned with his foolproof plan. His herbalist told him that guinea pigs were used by Andean bush doctors to cure arthritis. By gently rubbing the poor creature on the affected area, the pain would magically disappear.

The herbalist reckoned he could flog the guinea pigs at local seniors’ homes, where he had a large customer base for his ‘arthritic healing herbs’. They could probably sell two pigs a time – one for each knee. And the old folks would have a new friend to stroke and chat to. It was all good.

Sparky’s $15 ‘One Pig and One Gram’ deal sold like hot cakes. Within a week, they’d sold out of the little critters. For once I was impressed. For my help, Sparky gave me $200 and a promise never to let Super Dave anywhere near my house again.

Now all I have to do is find another $200 to cover my basement cleaning bill. Thanks, Sparky.

Ahhh.

Give a guinea pig some love and head to Humor-Blogs.com


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Drugs In Sport – Now There’s An Idea!

Runner's best friend after Nike!

What price glory, eh? Several atheletes at the Beijing Olympics were stripped of their medals after positive drugs tests. And for what? A metal disc and a trip around their hometown on an open-top bus. Drugs in sport are wrong! But supposing they were alright? Some sports could positively benefit from a shot of something…

Caffeinated Golf – The utterly dull ‘sport’ of golf could be livened up instantly by priming the dreary competitors with double espressos and energy drinks before play. Imagine the speed a game would be finished in as the hyper hitters tremble their way to the 18th hole!

No need for golf carts as competitors race around the green like retarded rabbits.

Heeey man, friends forever, yeah?

High Cage Fighting – Like most people, I enjoy watching near-naked sweaty men rolling around on the floor. However cage fighting can get rather violent and bloody. Where’s the love, guys?

I propose a much gentler version of the sport, where both musclemen smoke a giant spliff before combat. We will instead be treated to the sight of near-naked sweaty men rolling around on the floor, giggling and shouting “Dude! I love you!” “No I love you more!” A sure-fire hit with ladies and the gay community.

Drunk Javelin – Make sure the competitors are tanked up to the tank tops, give them a huge pointed spear and point them in the general direction of the target. Watch those javelins fly!

This could be the ultimate in audience participation sport, as the crowd will have to keep a keen eye on the direction of those mighty arrows.

The Canadian Freestyle Olympic team in training.500m Nicotine Back Stroke – To brighten up tedious swimming races, all competitors have to swim with a lit cigarette dangling from their mouths.

The swimmers must keep puffing away until the finish – an unlit soggy butt will mean elimination! Just think of the sponsorship possibilities for Marlboro.

Running – All runners should be allowed to take as many steroids as their bodies can handle. Races will be run in the shortest time possible – the 1500m will be over in a matter of seconds!

In that way, the Olympics will be over a lot sooner and won’t junk up the TV schedules all summer.

I’m thinking maybe LSD Formula 1 and potato vodka skydiving are non-starters, and any sport involving bullets should perhaps retain their drug-free policy. Are there any sports you would want livened up by a lychee martini or two? Tell Tiggy!

Their manly muscles are steroid-free over at Humor-Blogs.com


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