I’m gonna come right out and say it. It’s about time someone had the gall. No goofing. No pussyfooting. Not gonna beat off in the bushes. Cuz you know why? Cuz I don’t sugarcoat diddly-shit. I prefer Special K to Frosted Flakes for that very reason. No sugar-coating. Especially, when said coat is this vintage Goo Goo Dolls blue jean jacket.
Marijuana kills. No matter what Matt McConaughey and his pot abs try to tell you. He’s a dope fiend and a pawn of Big Marijuana’s corporate death machine. They use his rocking bod, white teeth, thick head of hair, and disarming southern drawl as an opiate of the masses, to distract them from the proverbial holocaust that is reefer.
How do I know so much? Well, I don’t tell this to everybody but you seem like a real coolassmotherfuckingpussyeater, so I’m going to tell it to you straight. I used to do dope. I used to toke fattie doobers. I used to get blazed the fuck out, child. My eyes would get all red like a doggie’s dick and I would think I was real hot shit. I used to load up heady nuggiez into me bong, James Van Der Bong, and ascend to the green peak of 
Mount Ganjamenjaro under the tutelage of my spirit Sherpa, the Weasel himself, Paul E. Shore. I been there, kid, and it nearly ruined my life, buuuuuddddy.
You see, marijuana works fast. Like a deadly jellyfish. One moment you’re munching out on Jack Links and Cool Ranch Doritos with your besties, trying to figure out if sea turtles can put their head inside their shells, and the next thing you know, there’s blood and severed dicks and ripped up pictures of Ang Lee everywhere. As quick as that.
One moment you’re trying to figure out how to work the blu-ray player because Gordy Redboxed The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey and the next thing you know, Gordy is dead meat and you’re wearing his skin like a wet suit 
to CVS to return the movie because those late fees are bonkers. Just like that, Marijuana took a giant shit all over your life.
But that’s not the worst of it. One moment you’re piling in the Subaru to go to CiCi’s Pizza to have a chocolate pizza eating contest, then Gordy says “Aw wait man, I forgot how to get to CiCi’s. Isn’t it by the Hobby Town USA?”
and Kyle says, “I don’t know, man. I think Hobby Town closed down.”
and Gordy says, “Shit, I guess it is a pretty niche market. My cousin, Big Brucie, had one of those radio controlled helicopters from Hobby Town though. He chopped a bird’s head off in the blades. And we gave it like a legitimate bird funeral. It was solemn as fuck. But when we were burying it, I got to thinking, like, when we bury this bird underground, little worms are gonna ravage its headless corpse. So I got to thinking, like, those little worms are probably seeking revenge for the thousands of their brothers and sisters this heartless motherfucker ate. It really is an ironic sort of justice.”
and Kyle says, “Well, what if we just went to Hungry Howard’s? They’ve got those special flavored crusts. Like, butter flavored and butter cheese flavored and butter garlic herb flavored and I’m merely paraphrasing the menu.”
A momentary hush falls over the entire car as everyone considers the vast possibilities of Hungry Howard’s flavored crusts. The moment of reflection reaches a pinnacle and shatters into an eruption of enthusiastic cheering and high-fiving. Granted, it wasn’t CiCi’s chocolate pizza buffet- but flavored crust?! How the fuck do they come up with this shit?! The excitement inside the car escalates quickly. High-fiving turns into hugging. 
Hugging turns into French kissing. And the next thing you know everybody is jerking off on one another. Blasting fat goo-wads all in each others’ hair and eyeballs. Urethras are on full blast like Bull Connor’s firehouses in Birmingham 1963. There’s no concern at all for the Subaru’s finely crafted artisan-quality upholstery. It’s like that scene from Ghostbusters, you know, after they kill the giant marshmallow guy and there’s a thick layer of sticky mallow coating New York City. More mallow than you could shake a stick at. And much like the current citizens of New York City, now everybody in the Subaru has AIDs (thanks to Kyle), so they’re not even really going to enjoy the butter garlic herb flavored crust by the time they get to Hungry Howards because they will have those Tom Hanks lesions on their mouths That’s how quick marijuana can turn on you.
So next time some peanuthead offers you a little puff-puff of the green demon, tell them to stick it in their peehole. And tell them “AIDs is my anti-drug. And Redbox late fees.” And then call the police.
The following are real life victims of Marijuana overdose:
The internet is a wet, wonderful labyrinth.
