Please Give Me What This Guy Is Smoking
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On Wednesday, sex pest and generally incompetent governor of New York Andrew Cuomo signed a law that will legalize cannabis in New York, most likely as a means of distracting the general public from the sex pesting and the incompetence. This is great news for everyone in the state of New York (hello) who enjoys weed and would like to eventually buy it in a store instead of texting a guy. It’s also wonderful news for communities that have been unfairly targeted and imprisoned for weed-related charges. It’s also very good news for me, who would like very much to know what the fuck weed this man was smoking, because if it’s legal now in New York, I am clearly getting the wrong shit!
Greg Kelly is a Newsmax personality, which means we should and will read this tweet in bad faith, knowing full well that he is doing a troll. Weed is great for some people, worse for others, and usually, the user has to make that decision for themselves. You kiss a lot of frogs before you find a prince, etc. However, the thought that there is a weed out there that would fuck me up so bad that I could share a fatty with four friends and then wake up on another continent is appealing.
It’s been a long couple of months, nay, a full-ass year, and anything that promises to literally remove me from my current home and place me somewhere else with no memory of how I got there sounds not too shabby. At its best, weed works to calm any lingering anxieties, and makes me feel like a Sim—doddering about my apartment, cleaning the bathroom, standing in front of the sink eating a cracker and cheese, or sitting on the couch, watching television. At its worst, I will accidentally sometimes become too high and have to meditate for 20 minutes because I have somehow convinced myself that everyone I know and love hates me. Never at any point during my marijuana consumption have I felt like I was transported somewhere entirely new. But! If Greg Kelly of Newsmax has stumbled upon some dank whatever that ended up landing him in Nairobi, well, hello, excuse me, I’d love to see it?
This is what I want now, more than ever—to eat a hunk of edible, pack an overnight bag, close my eyes, and wake up on a white sand beach with a fucking piña colada in one hand and another joint in the other! I want this to be consensual, obviously— perhaps I sign a contract with, um, the weed, I guess, that states that I am fine with wherever it is I end up. Maybe the weed picks from a series of four pre-selected locations, and makes sure I have my passport and that someone has arranged to feed the cat while I’m gone.
Once we’ve reached that agreement, I imagine this will be a Bedknobs and Broomsticks situation, where I melt into the bed and then someone—the cat, the anthropomorphic weed, whoever—twists the loose leg of my bed frame three ticks to the left and one to the right, and then off we go! But instead of landing on the Isle of Naboombu, which is where the titular bedknob lands the gang in the movie, I will end up in or around the Flora-Bama, where I will get a daiquiri, eat some fried shrimp, and stare at the Gulf until I feel the sunburn blooming gently over my exposed flesh. Take that shit, Greg Kelly from Newsmax. Put that in your pipe and smoke it.