I have recently become irritated by the amount of cannabis smokers at this school. I know several of these cannabis fiends and I despise each one of them. Many of these bud bubs consider themselves cannabis CONNOISSEURS. Frankly, I don’t find this an appropriate pastime for one to attain connoisseurship. Everyone should be a connoisseur at something. I have engaged in delicious dialogue with many a fellow Moconnoisseur, and I also have acquainted myself with many hot dog connoisseurs (one chap on my hall absolutely adores hot dogs—he offered me one the other day—I declined because it appeared undercooked). But to be a cannabis collector, cultivator, and connoisseur, like the aforementioned students, is absolutely unacceptable.
Often these smokermonkeys enter my room while I am conducting my stamp-collecting experiment (if you would like to help me conduct this intriguing and usually-sexually-fulfilling experiment, visist www.stampsarefun.com for details). Their eyes appear the color of sweet roses and I hear the growling of their stomachs. Often they steal my roommate’s cache of hot dog—y roommate often accepts the hot dog offers from the hot dog-crazed chap down the hall), while I pretend not to notice. “Those are good hot dogs,” I think to myself. “THOSE ARE GOOD HOT DOGS! And those hot dogs should not be stuffed into the relentlessly churning mouths of those MARIJUANAMONGOOSES (or is it MARIJUANAMONGEESE?)! The potpoopers then utilize my computer thingy to listen to music. Their faces melt as they revel in their music and then decide to pick up Cheetos.
”But from where?“ they debate for six minutes.
”I think Neon sells them for cheaper. But Weshop is closer.“
”NAAAH dude, Neon’s closer.“
”DOOOODE. No. Let’s go to Neon. And we can j it up on the way.“
This reference to another cannabis-consuming session catches the other ganja-guru’s attention, and the issue of where to procure the Cheetos becomes moot. Sometimes when these fellows are smoking ”Evan Carp,“ as one of the elevation-ceremony-performers calls it, they play Mario Party. Mario Party is a complex and often religious game, and I find it sacreligious to play it while under the influence of the cannabis leaf.
Please—even if this compelling Wespeak (and if you’re still reading then it’s at least slightly compelling) doesn’t stop you from smoking ”la cosa verde,“ as my high school Spanish teacher dubbed it, I pray that you do not mix marijuana and Mario Party.
After all, as I always say to my colleagues, it’s called Mario Party—not marijuana party. Thank you, and I hope you reconsider your decision to inhale cannabis this evening.
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