I see your post-coital sandwich and raise you post-coital pumpkin pie. The high point of the relationship, really. And on the topic of sandwiches:
Glass of wine, bowl ready to be smoked and all you have to offer is sandwich porn. Some dirty ass midget type porn at that. You know- the kind that you can't stop watching and yet are disgusted by? Ever had a grilled cheese stuffed with Tillamook Pepperjack, sauteed mushrooms and bits of bacon? Stoners know how to make a sandwich. Anyhow, I guess I can go rape Mr. Pimptress now... ...I have ideas for a killer fucking sandwich, courtesy of bewildered.
I live to serve. Wish I could drink myself into a coma but instead I will have to delay that until next weekend. time for sleep, TiBers.
So, a local woman was just recently convicted for killing her baby in a microwave. PETA has confirmed they're working up a billboard ad comparing the defendant's actions to cooking animals. Christ, these people are ate up. Between that and the headline entitled "Man faces 9th OVI charge", I need a beer.
God I'm a pothead. I "ran out" of weed yesterday, but there are always two to three stages of running out: 1. You run out. 2. You collect the little bits of weed from the bottom of the bag, from in your grinder, etc. and pool them together in one last, glorious bowl. 3. You cut the bag open to get every last spec of weed hiding in the corners, clean your grinder out with a knife, and put all that on the ashes from your day-after-running-out bowl. Anyone need their dick sucked for an eighth, shoot me a pm.
Is a quarter bag too much to ask for? Is undercutting the competition part of your marketing strategy? Furthermore, you forgot: 4. You scrape the resin and emerge from the session black-fingered and lethargic.