hxxps://youtu.be/CEK8TtQLq4A
-THe Colonel
It was legal in the sixties. It was Nixon who built your edifice of virtue signaling, that the great majority of people associated, have come to tacitly accept as completely acceptable. Rational, thinking beings have been hoodwinked into accepting a reality in which it seems acceptable to have two primary, exclusive sources for honest citizens to procure their choice of selections when it comes to formerly "illicit" drugs.
#1) A Pharmacy.
#2) A Sourceror.
This is an incomplete picture of the reality that is yet to emerge, and is as much hallucinatory as it is hypothetical. However it has become an increasingly strained situation, this odd life that consists of day-in check-out all-silent runnings with pinking shears...
I'm getting pretty tired of these various forms of shade that arrogant, self-absorbed, narcissistic douchebags routinely spout-off with. "Stoner!"
"Alcoholic!"
"Full-Performance Artist!"
It's fuckin' weak. Any appellation can be turned down into a sneer with a tonal modulation, a slight sneer, and a middle-finger, served in a dirty, lone finger-less glove. And of what good is that? Whining and crying at maximum forum volume, "hey! hey! you know that font package you're using is unlicensed,
oi! oi!!I think we know where I am going here. A slippery-slope, and an icy one at that. And it's not for any real purpose other than predictive programming. Is there anyone more amongst us, with more debonair class and jazzy joi d'vrie than the
totesquare who makes snooty references to UNACCEPTABLE ACTIVITIES???
Look, it depends on the book and the yardstick and the smarmy authoritarian fuckhead who condemns The Reefer(tm) and embraces a scotch broom stuffed teddy-bear all the live-long day, "Okay! that one is okay! Not that one! It's too much sulphur! VIOLATIOIN!" I think it's clear where I have arrived at this.
It looks like a cop wrote it, because he did. Gee thanks Dude. Your opinion on the limits of your juris-my-dick-shun are epic in scope and colossal in grandeur. You bring the light of thunder and the crack of the workday-whip... by yon pace we set our clocks. Now, here's this simulated gold pocket watch; stuff it up your ass and kiss it on the way out.
