In Which We Become Comfortably Numb


I always knew that hussy Diane von Austinburg was a bad influence. While she was here visiting, she wanted to go down the street to the very schmancy pot store so I went with her just to make sure she didn’t get in trouble. You know how she is.

The store is very luxe, with the decor sort of modernized Victorian whorehouse. All the staff are very attentive and serious, like pot sommeliers. I hadn’t really intended to buy anything, but they were so earnest, I wound up shopping. The guy who was waiting on me listened to my requests for something that wouldn’t get me too loaded with much more attention than my doctor pays to my rambling description of symptoms.

I should mention when Diane and I were attending the University of Texas I was a great big ol’ pothead and my goal when smoking dope then was to get as obliterated as possible. I gave up on marijuana a few years later because I was tired of being stoned stupid. Then somewhere in the late ’90s, R Man discover the wonders of medical marijuana. I tried it a few times, but it was much too strong for little me. I approached this new bacchanalia of the marijuana boutique with that in mind, and was determined to not get so blasted as I had been with R Man’s.

And yet, even with my newfound discretion, I looked up later that evening from playing Yahtzee with Diane and SuperAgent Fred and realized “Whoops.” That’s the thing about edible pot, It takes a while to come on and then when it does, it tiptoes up and smacks you in the head.

All in all, I’d give my new dope experience a qualified thumbs up. It’s more effective than the dirt weed I knew so well in my youth, but not so overwhelming as R Man’s industrial strength stuff. I have a tin of mints now and I’ve tried them a couple of times since Diane was here luring me down the primrose pot path. Each time they take so long to have effect, I wind up forgetting I took any and suddenly find myself once again in the now familiar “whoops” territory. That’s not bad particularly, and it reminds me of a saying from my old dope days: “Time your drugs or your drugs will time you.” So true, so true.


You’re really cute daddy, but your panties look dyslectic.

I tried doing my yoga one evening after chowing down on some pot mints. I kept getting distracted.

This guy is pretty distracting too.

I don’t know what office he’s in, but it certainly is an argument against work from home.

Apparently, his name is Scott Cullens, in case you want to run out and do some research.

More of Scott Cullens, because I am feeling the love.

Also, our old friend Philipe Soulier.

Pavel Patel, the late and much lamented Russian beauty and queer agitator.

About mrpeenee

A former bon vivant and terror of a number of New Orleans bars in the mad, gay 1980s, I'm now quietly retired and widowed in San Francisco. I have a crooked nose due to an unfortunate Frisbee accident.

12 responses »

  1. I gave up on pot years ago for similar reasons – sick of losing hours of my life to oblivion. No amount of visits to Amsterdam have changed that.

    Men, on the other hand, are an addiction that’s harder to break! Jx


  2. I remember walking into Macy’s and seeing FCUK banners all over the place and couldn’t help thinking, Really? That’s how clever you are? Wow. Wonder how much the FCUK company paid someone to come up with that oh so original name.


  3. I’m not keen on it, especially skunk, that awful feeling of paranoia, it’s the same with magic mushrooms, at least with weed your ornaments don’t move.

    I know a lay-by with a small forest attached to it, where men meet up for anonymous sex, the wanton Jezebel who practically lives there, takes a rolled up towel with him, rolls it out on the forest floor and adopts a similar position as pic 2 and lets passers-by use him and I have seen him being used by some pig ugly lorry drivers that look like orcs.


  4. Pingback: In Which the Supply Chain Breaks | mrpeenee

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