Self, You Just Got Way Too Ripped

Dispatches from the Highlands

News from CannaTown
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Alright self. That last bong rip, that was the one that pushed you over the edge. Woah, now, woah. Have a sit. No rushing the afternoon from here on out, right? Besides, you’re only wearing one shoe. Woah! How long have you been only wearing one shoe? 

Oh, man, you stupid bastard, you took too much, self. You’re five tokes over the line. No, ten.

This is gonna be difficult. This is gonna be hard. The room is kind of spinning, kind of bouncing, no wait, that’s you, me, that’s our body spinning and spazzing out and stuff. Holy crap, what did we smake this time? Was it the pineapple kush? Oh great gods and hyenas, Oreos to Zeus, we are leaning sideways, rolling sideways now. Right the ship! Find your gravity, man! 

Ok, self. I know it ain’t easy getting a grip. But I believe in you. Because you’re me. And if I can do it, so can you.

If we can...just make it--to--the--kitchen, steady yourself on whatever furniture you can. Oops, there goes the flower pot. That’s a lot of dirt. Don’t stop now, self! Keep going! Mess for another day. Argh, gah, vegetable oil, all over the floor! Did you make this mess? Good God man, the whole kitchen is ruined! You’ll have to jump like Indiana Jones to get your Cheetos!

One-two-three, graceful now, self, you sly bastard, you could’ve been in ballet. You nailed it around that oil, now just to grab the Cheets, and maybe some…Oreos, and, hey self, we got any jelly beans? How about another seltzer? Let’s feast, let’s feast, it all, ha, grab everything you can and let’s ski-daddle post-haste for the parlor to load a pipe and read the news! Now quickly, gracefully around the--

--ARRGH, --ARGHH! You shyster bastard, you stupid son of a bitch, you forgot about the oil, oh good lord, oh you sopping oily bastard, you are a shame! Oh you stupid bastard. You stupid bastard. It was right there. You were the captain of the ship and then you lost it. Damn, the Cheets. The damn Cheets, all over the floor, all over the bureau, jessington chrissel, how far did all that food sail? I see a few donut holes over by the furnace--jiminy.

Well, you cretinous oaf, now what should we do? Can we eat this shite right off the floor whilst we run a bath? How low shalst we traverse tonight? To the lowest low? Should we maybe, strip nude and burn our life’s savings in the bathtub with gasoline before we feast of these stupid, oily vittles in our oily fingers? Ballet indeed. More like Pagliacci, you puerile half-wit! 

You took too much, soul man! We gotta chill. That's right, lay down in this oil and take that nap.

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