From Bongs to Bells — Marriage Over Marijuana
Why you should stop smoking pot and get hitched
Ah, getting “stoned,” what a delight. The world goes a tad dimmer in that Purple Haze. Your immediate goals and other burdensome tasks, like basic cognitive functioning, become silhouetted against a smoky void, temporarily suspended.
Here, the Northern Lights imbue the sky permanently, under which tropical skunks roam the grasslands rich with trichomes, passing floral buds and spicy, fudge-like resin. The wind is but a breeze, carrying the staccato of a thousand dry coughs, followed by drizzles of Cheetos.
It’s paradise — if your definition is inertia and saturated fats.
High in “Paradise”
What you puff on today differs vastly from what the ancient Hindus smoked. It’s also far from what the hippies got stoned on in the 1960s. Hell, it’s not even the same as what I smoked in the early 2000s.
So, the argument “People have been doing it for millennia” doesn’t hold up.
What we have today are cross-bred, genetically manipulated strains, far removed from their natural ancestors — a creation by breeders, who wear stolen lab coats instead of shamanic robes.
