Aloha, Jollydabbers. How’s your miserable shred of existence? I’ve learned so much, like how patchy my beard is when I grow it out. This is what I would’ve looked like as a pioneer. And this is what my life would’ve been like back in the day, playin’ video games by candle light, eating plain rice night after night because I can’t cook, makin’ Rube Goldberg contraptions and givin’ up like, right away every time--and on top of all that, I just smaked my first resin bowl in years. Dudeman!
That’s where we are now.
I'm on a resin surfboard, a goofy, weird misadventure full of sights and sounds that won't last more than a half hour. Always looking over my shoulder for spiders. Contemplating the quantum opposite of a polar bear, and wondering what quantum really means. Is it even a real word?
Last time I smaked resin was way back in the day, when the weed stores 'round here still had the occasional drought! Remember that? Friday night one August I stumbled into the Mom and Pop place I always went to, and the flower was just, out. I couldn’t believe, it, no, not in the land of smake galore! With few minutes left before closing time, I didn’t have time to hop the bus. I went right home and scraped a heaping wad of resin from all my pipes, a glorious mountain of years’ worth of stuff, and smaked it ‘til morning.
And I thought that was like, the end of the world at the time. Man, oh to be 2014 Hugh. I’d do it all differently.
Never did I think I’d be scroungin’ around for leaves and steems, any crummerts around my bedroom. 'Course, I could still run down to the store -- apparently they’re still open. But I can’t get an Uber and I’m pretty sure I’ll die if I take the bus. We were gettin’ so close to dro-drones that I’m not sure history books will be able to capture the stingin’ irony of going from drone delivery back to resin bowls in a matter of weeks. My cousin from Kalamazoo just wrote me he hasn’t smaked in a fortnight. Fuuuudddddge that.
Now I’m waitin’ for a check while I wait for another check, while I wait for one more week to pay fifty bills, pickin’ up every weird little job I can, to make sure I can eat and smake and live, like, fixin’ toilets. I’m like, a pro at that because I’ve had to fix my own crapper about 20 times, since I’ve been using almost anything within reach as TP these days.
Oh, glory hallelujah, if only to be 2014 Hugh.
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