The first time I smoked pot right before sex was in college with my girlfriend. I didn’t know shit about herb then and didn’t know what strain my girlfriend was repeatedly loading into her one-hitter. Read more »
Every tax-paying citizen has an armed militia protecting their private property. If someone steals or threatens that property, the police will jail or blow the head off of anyone resisting or threatening them. As a weed dealer, I don’t have that protection. Read more »
If you live in New York (or any big city for that matter), you know how much of a bummer weed-delivery guys can be. They’re always showing up late, skimping you on the weight, and are generally pretty miserable human beings. But not Sneaky Leaf, our resident “guy” with Santa Claus-sized sacks full of marijuana. He shows up on time (and has the courtesy to call you if he’s going to be even five minutes late), has a multitude of varieties to choose from, offers referral discounts, and is just one hell of a nice guy. So one day when we were buying something with a name like Blueberry Pink Skullcrusher 2000X Beast Stink Marmaduke Midge Tickler, we said, “Hey, Sneaky Leaf, why don’t you write a column that simultaneously expounds your weed buff tendencies while exploring your undoubtedly interesting backlog of drug-dealing stories?” And to our surprise he said, “Sure.” So here it is… the first installment of Sneaky Leaf’s Diary of a Dealer. Enjoy! Read more »
Teaching your kid to fly is pretty impressive, we’ll admit, but it still doesn't make up for all the racist shit.
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Er, if you’re going for medieval biker punk you might want to get something a little more substantial that a fucking Vespa. Those are for a type of in-the-closet girly man we call a “mod.” When you ride it you look like elephant Satan going to battle on a tricycle.
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