I can’t tell if my boyfriend is super ripped or daft as peanuts

Dispatches from the Highlands

News from CannaTown
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I know my boyfriend gets high a lot. But when he crashes into those orange construction cones at one mile an hour--when he’s walking down the street--I can’t tell if he’s, like, flying on cloud nine from a pure wax-and-keef palm-leaf-rolled blunt, or if he might be just a complete idiot.

This morning I woke up and you know what I found? A pizza, in the oven. Still cooking at 420 degrees from the previous night. It was completely black. Part of me was thinking, well, there’s the ol’ dab rig and a gob of rosin out on the coffee table, he’s just gotta be more careful. But the other part of me screams, well, it just screams. 

The other day I told him to clean up because my mom was coming. And I swear, within an hour there was at least twice as much shit scattered around the place than before. I asked him to order me a pineapple chicken wrap, he comes home with a ground-beef salgado. From a different restaurant. This morning he accidentally baked his keys into a pancake. I mean, just level with me, I can take it. Isn’t that, like, stupid? Aren’t those stupid things to do? Or is he just clam-baked? 

Don’t even get me started on his boat venture. Here he bought an old fishing boat, and hauled me and my best friends out into the water, and of course, we started to sink! And then, after walking the water-logged boat back to shore the first time, he drove us clear into the middle of the lake, and we started sinking again! And the motor went out! Obviously, it was a simple, high mistake, right? And not the machinations of an absurdly dimwitted man? We had to be saved. They had to rescue us.

Does your man keep all his passwords on sticky notes? How many phones has he had and broken? Has he ever purchased plane tickets for the wrong year? Has he ever gotten locked inside his own hotel room? See, I can’t tell where to draw the line in the sand. 

This basset hound next door slobbered all over his ice cream cone. Like, ate a ton of the ice cream, with drool everywhere, I thought it was adorable. But then he goes and licks the cone, full tongue, right after the dog. He keeps eating it, as if those jowls barely touched it! And I'm in the corner, keeling over, almost retching my eyes out, like, how can I ever kiss that mouth again! I still couldn't tell if he was high as kingdom come, or if he's just got manure for brains!

Help me here -- tell me I’m not crazy. Is he just splifftastic from all the doobies? Or am I in love with an imbecile?

 

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