To me, smoking pot meant sitting with a newspaper on my legs, rolling the seeds down, pulling the twigs out and finally producing a perfectly cylindrical, absolutely wonderful joint that you either locked at both ends or pinched off, or pinched at one end and left open at the other.
How do you write zero in Roman numerals?
If work is so terrific, how come they have to pay you to do it?
When cheese gets its picture taken, what does it say?
I hope we're not just human garbage drifting toward a big sewer. But I think so.
I'm kinda like herpes, I just keep coming back.