Marble Racing and Quarantini's are Not Making This Chill Any Better
What’s up homies? Day 10 stuck at home is just fine and dandy right? F that. I just accidentally watched like four straight hours of marble racing, but what does it matter, there’s still nothing to do, other than make homemade quarantini’s! Which is, literally any mixer, with any alcohol, in my apartment--the latest was chocolate milk and a shot of old tequila. Is Xbox live down again? This has been the biggest up-and-down, across-the-board, major downer of a buzzkill that there ever was. But the worst? A freakin’ run on the ganj stores!
If you told me 20 years ago, that someday I’d be smaking the world’s most cutting-edge ganj, legal, store-bought cup-worthy flower -- and then if you told me that the mind-numbingly awesome freedom to smake totally gnar ganj was going to be hinged upon, encroached upon, because of the next freakin' world epidemic, and then if you told me that people would be lined up at their ganj stores, around the block, just to stock up on sweet, jawsome, gnar ganj, before the last of the crops were harvested because of the worst-mishandled health crisis we’ve seen in a century, I never would’ve believed like, half of that.
You follow me?
I went down a few days ago in a panic to that dispensary down the street, and it took me two hours just to get in the door. Two hours! I’ve stood in an unemployment line before, the DMV, even a cop shop line-up, but you’ve never seen more depressed people than those in a slow-moving weed store line. Everyone had fear in their eyes. We were all asking the same things: “Will they have any grams left of my go-to, Island Sweet Skunk? Will they be out of those chocolate-covered Goji berries that rip me sideways? What if my vape cartridge is a dud and I have to come back?”
It’s not like I wanted to raid the place! As the line crawled, I decided on something simple, a satchel of Golden Goat and maybe a brownie or two. I reassured myself, “I’m gonna be happy with whatever they give me.” So many times I kept repeating it under my breath, over and over again, until someone tapped me on the shoulder and asked me to please shut up.
And right before I went inside, they literally had me swab down with baby wipes and rubbing alcohol. Not sure if everyone had to do that, but it’s been a minute since I had a chance to shower, and my sneakers probably smell like death.
I wish I could tell you the bright, happy story that I got my Golden Goat and brownies. But no man, it was the saddest thing I ever saw. They pretty much had three strains to choose from, an indica, a sativa and some downright shitty Kush. No brownies left, just white chocolate. White Chocolate! I’m like, whadaya think I'm doing here? Buying for Grandma?
Now I’m puttin on the Corona-15 pounds with the third pizza I’ve ordered this week, and another quarantini, and all I can think of is, man, if this goes on any longer, I’m gonna have to setup my own marble race track, because, damn yo, I’ve never been this bored my entire life. This is literally the hardest chill I’ve ever chilled. And the white chocolate hasn’t even kicked in yet.