Oldirocks and the Three Bowls

Her Majesty’s first official royal portrait.

A few months ago I accidently knocked my bong off the royal nightstand that she surveys her queendom from, sending her tumbling to the ground. Fortunately, Her Majesty survived the fall intact without a scratch. Part of me is tempted to proclaim that as testament to her quality as a piece of glassware, but the fact that she landed on wall-to-wall carpeting probably had more to do with it. One presumes her fate would have been very different had she landed on a hardwood floor.

The incident was not completely inconsequential, however. The whole bottom part of her bowl broke off…

It still works if you hold it to the stem at just the right angle.

This is the bowl she came with. The only one she ever had, up until that point. I’ve accidentally dropped this bowl once before, back in January 2019. On a (garage) floor of solid concrete, to wit. A glass shard broke off the bottom part that fits inside the stem (a part that according to Google is called a “joint”), but that shard was not big enough to render the entire bowl inoperable. I could still fasten it snugly into the main apparatus despite the blemish, and continued to use it for the next three years. Up until the aforementioned incident last April. Whatever remaining portion of the original joint that didn’t break off in 2019 broke off then.

Within a fraction of a second, my bong found herself in need of a new bowl. Good thing I live in a country that practically has more head shops than churches. Two of which are operating in my immediate neighbourhood. It was in one of said establishments that I picked up this specimen…

…and with strange aeons even death may die.

This was an impulse purchase. I was in a rush and had not the time to carefully weigh my options. What’s more, I entered the store believing that replacement bowls were largely one-size-fits-all. A presumption I now know to be false, through practical experience. This bowl looked close enough to something that would fit my bong, and that tentacle struck me as exuding all manner of kickassitude. So I was sold. It would have given Her Majesty a certain Lovecraftian glow, if only it actually fit inside her stem. Turns out I’d just wasted thirty bucks on something that was one size too big.

Slightly more planning went into the purchase of the second bowl. At a different head shop, I brought the remains of the original bowl in for inspection so that the salesperson could better advise me on what kind of replacement part I needed. She suggested this compact number that fit Her Majesty perfectly. One of those contraptions that filters the smoke though tiny holes. It worked like a charm for about a day, until the tiny holes became clogged with tar. The second I tried to clear the holes of tar, this happened…

Lookit those tiny little holes.
…but at least it came in a pretty box.

The third bowl was the one that was just right. Unfortunately they didn’t have a Cthulhu bowl in my size. They did have ones that were all glittery. But I passed on those, judging them to be too much of a pain in the arse to clean (these things get right revoltingly filthy after multiple sessions). So I settled on this guy…

This is probably the cleanest it’s been since I first got it.

This is actually a hollow piece of glass. I didn’t realize it until I used it for the first time. It fills with smoke during a hit, enhancing Her Majesty’s royal powers by functioning like a second chamber. Since TikTok and YouTube tend to tsk-tsk me if I post anything depicting cannabis use, I give you a demonstration in GIF-o-vision™…


The Charmin Bears Would Not Be Amused

I was originally going to use my shiny new TikTok account as a showcase for my spontaneous poetry, but that concept lasted only for the first couple of videos. The more abstract and avant-garde creations of mine elicit more of a reaction from the Internet-surfing public, from the looks of things. Creations that will presumably become even trippier now that I’ve acquired Premiere as part of a bundle package with Photoshop. Had to do some tinkering around with the graphics card to get Premiere to work properly on Windows 11, but before long I had churned out the maiden GIF. I found myself promptly deactivating that Creative Cloud portal/updater doohickey that Adobe always installs on your machine when you buy one of these programs, though. That thing’s just a RAM whore. Mostly useless to boot.

On a completely unrelated note, this particular location has never had toilet paper. Ever. If you go number two, you must wipe your ass against the trees like the bears do it. But the beach is lovely.


Fly the Flag. Fly It Proud.

This Canada Day weekend, do your country a solid and fly the Maple Leaf high* and proud. The more you do, the more you reclaim the flag from being the rudely adopted symbol of a loud, pompous and obnoxiously triumphalist religious minority**. A minority which clearly suffered a collective nervous breakdown in the wake of Obergefell v. Hodges (not that they were a particularly charming lot prior to that). If defecating on people’s lawns over something as utterly trivial as a vaccine now constitutes the Lord’s work, then the Lord*** should seriously consider professional help.

* In any sense(s) of the word you deem fit.😉🌿🔥

** Misogynist to boot. We all know what happened last week.

*** By this I mean his followers, of course. Fictional characters generally don’t need psychiatrists, unless it’s a Tony Soprano sort of deal where the protagonist’s therapy sessions are part of the plot.

The aforementioned landmark SCOTUS decision of 2015 was indeed the very bucket of pig’s blood dropped on the collective head of happyclappydom.