I was reflecting the other night as I loaded my dab rig with a stainless steel little scoop, how far I’d come. Notice I didn’t say, "loaded my McGuyver gravity bong with a wax topper using a rusty nail." Remember when that was like, my calling card? Even though I’ve come so far, and occasionally dab with the best of them, and like, go out and see shows and my Corolla is still in pretty good shape, the truth is pretty obvious now and then: ya always gotta stay humble.

Even though we smoke the blunts rolled in caviar now, who’s the chode still pickin’ out roaches for the wake and bake the next morning? This guy. In fact, remember my “pot stash?” It’s what I used to call that potted plant out on the balcony that died, and now it’s a bunch of weeds and I kinda use it as an ashtray. I used to pull a handful of roaches outta that thing when I was dry to just, you know, get that nice gooey weed high I needed before going into 12 hours of scraping resin from all my pipes. Well guess what I did last friday night? Not jonesin’ or low by any means. I just fished a good 10 roaches out and loaded up the bong, just for the memories, if you can believe it. It hit hard, and my lungs hurt for a couple days, but in a good way.

No more Goodwill brand suits for this guy, it's all Temu now--I’ve moved up. Damn, remember when I was in that tiny studio, with the toilet in the kitchen? And now here I am sittin’ pretty with a freakin’ one bedroom with its own bathroom, even a front closet. And a view of Clancy’s! I always know when it’s time for a bucket of wings. But I still try to keep it real whenever I can. Still make my bong ice in a tray. And sometimes I go park in rundown parking lots in front of abandoned KMarts and other great places I used to sit for hours, waiting for my hookup to finally arrive. Even though he was always late, and the bag was always a little light, and overpriced, and inconsistent as fudge, I still miss it. 

Once I thought I saw another dude waiting for his connect -- but I didn’t want to freak him out with my tales of dankness. Just knowing I’d been there once -- and have come so far -- that was reward enough, yo.

Life’s better now, but sometimes I wish I could have it all back. I miss that goose chase and not knowin’ about the next rip, or whether I’d make it through the week or even night with the satchel at low levels. And know what? I’ve got the-the, uh, the Puffco thingy, and I had one of those huge Volcano, you-knows, that just sits on top of my dresser, but you know what else I still got? Ol’ Victor, that disfigured two stem bong with zombie teeth that I got in Juárez. Remember that? Mad times from college, yo. 

These days I got straight up pure kief layin’ around to just make edibles all day or toss in my dinner, but you know what I’m doin’, dog? Gonna chill with some old school brownies! Betty Crocker style, just add water! Sure I might have to eat the whole tray to feel anything, but if that’s what it takes to hold onto your roots, then so be it. We ain't kings, yo. Ya gotta stay humble.