My apologies for the lack of sexiness in that title. It is no secret that in the current zeitgeist, nothing kills the sexy quite like any mention of politics. But I decided to go with that title anyway, in the hopes that it will be vindicated by the passage of time. Perhaps this blog post will have a sexy title in another era. An era when the free world is not being ruled by a living breathing Oompa Loompa. An Oompa Loompa of a far less intelligent breed than the familiar Wonkan stock, with an even looser grasp of human normalcy than the experimental bastard child of a wolverine and some thousand-fanged entity that hatched from an undigested corn kernel buried deep in a roadside pile of excrement shat by the Dark Lord Cthulhu himself somewhere in the same parallel timestream in the multiverse where everybody’s evil twin lives. A timestream where CEO is an anagram of God, but dog is not.
A couple of weeks ago while I was waiting on baited breath for some special announcement telling us of the grand opening of a fancy new dog park at a certain house on Pennsylvania Avenue, politics as it relates to world-building in fiction spontaneously came up as a discussion topic on the aforementioned Oompa Loompa’s social media network of choice…
Anybody who knows me well knows I dig the ganja. I’ve smoked it all from Jack Herer to blueberry kush and everything in between. Indica! Sativa! Various hybrid strains! Homegrown! Edibles! Dabs! You name it. I’ve even tried one of those newfangled vape pen jobbies. Yet strangely enough, I’ve never smoked Maui Wowie. Until recently. My usual ganja supplier had it on offer last month, so I picked myself up a few grams of that just because I could.
One of my favourite things about scoring a new baggie is The Ritual. I swear on my mother’s grave there are few non-sexual things in this world more pleasant than inserting your schnoz deep inside that Ziploc receptacle to fully taste it with your nasal hairs. Like smelling God’s vagina. I always do The Ritual before I start smoking it or even grinding it; it should completely go without saying that I performed The Ritual in honour of this new baggie that Nature has blessed me with. If you accented the sweet aroma of the divine naughty bits with faint hints of a scratch n’ sniff version of a vintage bottle of Médoc, you’d have Maui Wowie. This doesn’t even describe how it looks. Tell me this is not a gorgeous bud…
I overall found this strain to be not as sticky as some of the other many strains I’ve smoked. I had to pack Her Majesty’s bowl in an indoor area with adequate shelter from the wind, in order to keep that good shit from accidentally blowing away on me. But that’s about the only downside I can think of regarding this strain.
This smoke had a noticeable grape flavour to it and a nice cerebral sativa high. Not one of those strains that’ll glue you to the couch; I could still function after the session and perform needful run-of-the-mill activities. But before I started doing those run-of-the-mill activities, I overheard the neighbour’s dog barking, and it suddenly dawned on me that dog language must be far more sophisticated than ours. They can tell an astonishing number of things about a person or another dog just by smelling their urine – a language completely incomprehensible to us. If we could smell that language, we totally would have gotten the dogs to write the Bible for us. It would be the best version of the Bible ever, and we would be so awed and inspired by it that there would instantly be peace on earth and no more wars. But alas, we can’t smell dog language, so we had to write the Bible ourselves and come up with some cockamamie backstory about how it was written by a mythical creature who apparently doesn’t urinate at all. The result? The exact opposite of peace on earth. I was suddenly inspired to shout out unto all the nations of the earth with a voice of triumph:
there’s a reason dog is god spelled backwards #staylifted
…and as soon as I tapped on that tweet button, a brilliant idea came to me about the social dynamic between the characters in my book that I couldn’t believe I’ve never considered before, and I thanked the neighbour’s dog for telling me that. Dogs can read people’s brainwaves, I’m pretty sure of it.
A Special Message for Facebook
I know you read all my blog posts, and you’ll probably get up in my business about this one because of your sanctimonious attitude against the depiction of “illegal”† products on your platform. Let me spell this out for you. Remember that old episode of The Simpsons where Mr. Burns tried to block out the sun so that the people of Springfield would be more dependent on him for their illumination needs?†† If you think of the sun as Mother Ganja and Burnsy as a stand-in for the Big Oil corporate lobbyists who own the politicians, that episode illustrates perfectly why ganja was outlawed. Greed and lust for power, and nothing more. Greed I’m personally taking a stand against. So suck it, Zuckerberg.
† I am Canadian. In my country, ganja is not illegal. So again, suck it, Zuckerberg.
†† Not that I’m suggesting anything, but I’d like to kindly remind you that this was the same episode where Mr. Burns got shot.