It is apparent that I missed the “wear galoshes and pack your snorkel” memo this morning before parading to class. It’s a dismal monsoon out there, kids. Everybody in my lecture just looked like drowned rats, soaked head to toe. Thank god I still have possession of Rachael’s umbrella, or I would have drowned en route to class.
Speaking of umbrellas, I’ve concluded that you have to have a degree to effectively use one. Gusts of wind threatened to rip it from my grasp on more than one occasion, and I forget that my personal space increases exponentially with the additional three foot diameter. I was accidentally slicing peoples’ faces on the sidewalk the entire afternoon. My apologies go out to the victims; I am inexperienced.
I had the most gory, f’ed up nightmare in my entire life last night. I won’t go into any specific details because people would question my sanity, but it was messed up, and I awoke feeling very afraid and very disturbed. I have no idea what would have triggered such a horrific dream. All I did yesterday was watch 10+ hours of America’s Next Top Model, and then the VMAs.
—Ohhhhh, Britney Spears. Case closed.
If you’ve ever been exposed to a television in your life, you’ve more than likely seen the anti-pot commercials with the crudely drawn cartoons, with the signature ending of the raising of the flag. They don’t make sense to me. For example, the one where the shitty cartoon stick-man is smoking, and his girlfriend thinks aloud, “Not again.” Then a flying saucer lands and sweeps her off her feet and back up to friggin Neptune with him. End.
All this commercial says to me is that if you smoke weed, aliens will steal your girlfriend.
Example numero dos: Long scenario short, shitty stick man is smoking, and his crudely drawn dog says that he would prefer he didn’t smoke weed. For starters, I don’t know how blazed you have to be to engage in conversation with domestic animals. And secondly, if you’ve had that experience, marijuana should be the least of your concerns. Perhaps lay off the psychodelic hallucinogens, such as, but not limited to, acid and shrooms. Again, this commercial is just telling me that Bingo will see me in a different light if I do the doobie. Not convinced.
A different ad, from different producers than the cartoon examples above, shows some chick getting a drink out of the fridge when her dog enters and verbally addresses her. “I wish you didn’t smoke weed. You’re a different person when you smoke! I miss my friend,” he says. I repeat: what kind of weed are you smoking that your pets keep speaking to you. Check your source: it’s laced. Next, whose idea was it to start this trend with Clifford the big red dog in the first place? The messages I get from these ads is either “if you smoke pot, your dog won’t like you,” or “if you get high, your pets will speak to you,” and the latter might actually be appealing to many prospective marijuana users. Again, I’m no expert.
My point: I think you have to be blazed out of your mind to write these commercials, and twice as blazed for these scenarios to come to life. That is all.
“Why are you wearing those clothes?”
“I just paid my income taxes.”