Stop the Presses! This just in: A User's Guide To Smoking Pot With Barack Obama.
Yes, oh so timely. Except that....
[First Published: 2008-12-18 01:14:25]
Vintage Postcard, 1969
Cause I'm a picker
I'm a grinner
I'm a lover
And I'm a sinner
I play my music in the sun.
I'm a joker
I'm a smoker
I'm a midnight toker -
Steve Miller, The Joker
Don't get me wrong. I'm all for a little toke every now and then. Somewhere legal, like, man, say in Amsterdam. Not that I see, smell, or smoke the "Devil's weed wherein lurks murder, insanity, death" frequently, if at all, any more. I don't look for it, but if some smouldering spliff comes my way, well....
All the same as a (reformed) card-carrying member of the original Berkeley/Haight Hippies, I have had my share of smoke so powerful it could, as we once said, cause "the baby Jesus to open your mind and shut your mouth." I have been in rooms in Paris where the leaders of the Columbia student protests of 1968 stuffed up all the windows and doors of a cheap hotel room and lit an entire kilo on fire. And then we all stood in the smoke until it drove us out of the room. I've known people who smuggled 5 keys of Afghan hash into the country disguised as a carved wooden table. We worked on that one with a cabinet-maker's plane for about six months. I've done radio shows where the fans would mail us joints to make the music that much more interesting. I've sat on a floor with a man so stoned and yet so adept that he took about twenty papers and rolled, perfectly, an entire orange right down to the twisted ends. I've been to the Cannabis Cup in Amsterdam. Twice. I can't even talk about the entire front garden of weed that we accidently planted in Venice, California. It grew to about six feet tall before anybody got straight enough to notice it wasn't "calendula." We hung the plants head down in the garage for a month waiting for them to dry. We spent a lot of time in that garage. We wired it for sound.
Now when your throat get dry
And you know you're high
Everything is dandy
Truck on down to your candy store
Get you kicks off peppermint candy
Come to think of it, I've probably had more than my share. That's why I know, I say, I KNOW, a viper when I see one. And this young man is having a viper moment.
Frame One: "Have another hit."
[I know that various Obombers are blathering that it's "only tobacco" -- but you know they're lying. Either that or this kid is the most effete smoker since before Candy Darling was a pre-op. C'mon, Obamoids, fess up. Who holds a cig like that? Sissys and weirdos. Who holds a joint like that? Everybody. And... oh yes... here and below: 'Watch the eyes. They tell a story.']
Frame Two: "Feel the Buzz"
[You take a hit and then you hold your breath, right? All young vipers have that moment when the smoke hits your backbrain and makes you just, well, vague-out before coming to terms with your altered state. This is an exceptional expression of just such a moment.]
Frame Three: The 10-Second Nod
[You're still holding your breath since, hey, this shit costs money and you need to get the full benefit. Problem is that you not only need dope, you need air. This conflict causes you to take a short nap as you try to keep it all in. In drug lingo, you go "on the nod."]
Frame Four:"How sweet it is."
[Here we have a President who not only inhales, he exhales. And it's a relief -- as you can see -- because now with the buzz embedded in the brain you can get back to breathing.]
Frame Five: "Did you ever, like, notice how your hand moves when you want it to, man?"
[Oh, yeah. That's what I'm talkin' about. That frisson, that mellow warmth oozing through your limbs, that quiet riot in the backbrain, that slow, infinitely profound question forming: "Do... we... have... any... ice cream? And if... there is.... also chocolate sauce does that prove God exists, or what?"]
Frame Six: The Happy World
[In which we are assured that there is ice cream and chocolate sauce.]
Frame Seven: "How stoned am I? Look into my eyes, dude. I mean, man, check it out. This is visionary weed, man. I can see, see the future. I see myself as, whoa, President of the United States, man. How far out is that? Hey, don't bogart that...."
Now I hear all you non-vipers, you "we don't do no chronic, no how" dope-virgins, all saying, "Uncle Gerard, how do you know?" I know because I KNOW. And all my fellow vipers, active or in retirement, know the same thing.
The good news here is that, maybe, the Federal Government will get out of the War on Dope and concentrate on crack, coke, and crank. The bad news is that the Federal Government may get into the cultivation and distribution of "Official" weed. If they do, it will be the methadone of marijuana: You won't get sick. You won't get high. You'll just stay on it.
In 1980, when Obama was a freshman at Occidental College in Los Angeles, he was approached by an aspiring photographer named Lisa Jack, who asked him if he would be willing to pose for some black and white photographs that she could use in her portfolio. --Obama: The College Years - Photo Essays - TIMEPosted by Vanderleun at May 25, 2012 11:14 AM | TrackBack