High Times

Things are really kind of rough, which is why I'm writing this in the middle of the night while listening to Joyce Meyer. Pain and nausea just preclude sleep.

Yes, medical marijuana had been suggested, is legal in my state (so is 'recreational' marijuana), and no, I don't use it.

Why not?

Read on...

Bigfoot arrived at the ball,

wearing a tuxedo,

and there he leaned against the wall,

smoking a torpedo.

Someone told him Cheech and Chong

described the best life to be had,

but it wasn't very long

'fore he got the munchies, really bad.

First the hors d'oeuvres disappeared,

and it wasn't that much later

(just as everyone had feared)

that he tried to eat the waiter,

and thus is learned the reason why

you don't get a mythic creature high.

The Five Minute Friday prompt this week is REALIZE.

Or maybe REAL EYES?

Whatever.

I once knew a stoner dude

who really should never have used,

because his once-sharp attitude

came to be dazed and confused.

He once forgot where he had left

his vital backpack and his bike,

and new-bought gear he had to heft

on his lengthy get-home hike,

only to find said Missing Schwinn

still parked in his living room,

and backpack (with all kept within)

resting in the shadowed gloom

of the closet, dark and cool

of a weed-besotted fool.

Three minutes for a true story, and this was a friend worth having.

Music from Brewer And Shipley (opening in a new tab) with One Toke Over The Line.

Sylvia's high is McDonald's ice cream. Mine, too.