Are you of legal age to consume cannabis related news?
Listen, I know how it looks. I’ve been crashing on your couch since the pandemic started, smoking your weed all day, rifling through your medicine cupboards in search of anything psychoactive, leaving smudged fingerprints behind as evidence. I don’t shower more than once per month, and when I do, it’s more of a rinse-off because I don’t want any of those corporate chemicals messing with my signature musk. I don’t even trust Dr. Bronner, because why would he go to medical school if he was just gonna make soap? Obviously it’s some kind of biological experiment.
And no, I don’t think about the fact that your apartment is only 400 square feet and my aroma has thoroughly infused every cubic inch of your furniture. Why should I? I’m too focused on the bigger issues, like, where can we score some free hallucinogens now that all of the festivals are canceled?
I could totally understand you being annoyed if I was doing all of this on purpose – but the thing is, I didn’t choose the wook life, the wook life chose me.
How was I supposed to know that after overextending my stay at your place in early 2020, I’d be officially stuck with you due to quarantine – and that you wouldn’t legally be able to kick me out? I know the vaccine has been available for a full year, and I would totally go get one if I thought it was safe, but I just don’t feel comfortable putting some unknown chemicals into my body if they’re not going to fuck me up in some enjoyable way.
I couldn’t have predicted that you would need to use your living room as an office every day for your job, and you will NEVER hear me complain about your boring work conversations distracting me from the task at hand: scraping your bong bowl for resin and picking through the carpet for any little bits of weed that I can find. That’s why I don’t think it’s very cool when you give me a hard time about blowing those stinky resin-stem clouds into the background of your Zoom meeting and disrupting your coworkers with my death rattle cough. I live here, too, okay?
Note: this is a developing story. Depending on what facts you confront me with, it may be updated with new excuses.
