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Spending time with loved ones and indulging in life’s little pleasures are what birthday memories are made of. Likewise, getting zonked with people you barely know, and inevitably bonding over a shared love of cannabis, is a time-honored 4/20 tradition. That means you, my friend, might just be the luckiest person I know by celebrating your birthday today on April 20th. It doesn’t get much better than that.
But, let me make sure I heard this correctly: you mean to tell me that your birthday is today, on 4/20, and you won’t do this giant dab with me?
Pathetic.
What do you mean, you “respectfully decline” my generous offer to facilitate a standard 4/20-birthday crossover activity? Seriously? You’re not going to do a gargantuan hit of concentrated THC right now, via a contraption I bought a 3D printer to make? That’s pretty standard protocol when your birthday falls on Cannabis Christmas. This is sacrilege.
What’s next? I guess I should go out on a limb and assume you have no interest in splitting this 6 lb. weed gummy with me, huh? Which means you probably aren’t into sharing a single-person sensory deprivation chamber, so that we could know what it’s like to be twins in-utero, and confront our innermost fears together? And if that’s the case, would you even drive me to CVS after because I actually have a really terrible gelatin allergy? Unbelievable.
I guess that’s too tall an order for someone who can’t be bothered to do this humongous dab with me. Turns out I’ve hyperextended my elbow to avoid burning off OUR eyebrows with this flame thrower for just me, I guess. It isn’t even MY birthday.
I guess you won’t be needing the other pair of these ill-fitting welders’ goggles, either, huh? They’ll just sit there, dry and sad, while mine are sliding down the bridge of MY nose because I’m the only one with the dab sweats. Even though it’s YOUR birthday. Clown shoes.
If you sincerely won’t do this giant dab with me — on your birthday, which apparently I need to remind you, is on 4/20 — you’ll have to say it loudly, and boldly. Look me directly in these blackout goggles and say: “No, I don’t want to smoke flambéed earwax out of this enormous steampunk butt-plug.”
Yeah. That’s what I thought. Pathetic.
Ashley Ruark is a stand-up comedian, musician, and writer from Rehoboth Beach, Delaware.
