I live near some pathetic drug users. I'm not supposed to
partake because it fucks with this whole “sobriety” thing I'm working towards, but
I can critique them; most definitely. What
truly needs to happen here, is mandatory classes, led by me, on how to do and care for your drugs properly.
I have this neighbor. He’s not a subtle drug dealer, selling
to other residents from the trunk of his vehicle in the communal parking lot. He’s
also not very smart. He approached me once and attempted to strike up a conversation
about his neck tattoo, which was clearly some kind of glitter body paint that
was flaking off. He was either convinced that it was real, or he was coming off
a serious trip. He should probably stick to smoking weed, which he totally
fucking sucks at, but at least he won’t end up talking to strangers about fake,
girly glitter tattoos, like he’s some hard-ass who did time and his cellmate
gave him this prison tat.
This guy has a nasty habit of making me want to straight
knee-kick him. Every night at around dinner time, when it’s most offensive, because
we’re trying to eat, this muthafucker decides to light up. In and of itself,
not so big a deal. The smell of pot is fucking glorious. It’s the sound of his
death rattle, cough-up-a-small-hairy-animal hacking, that makes me want to crawl
over the balcony and throttle him to a bloody mess. “LEARN HOW TO INHALE YOU
USELESS PIECE OF SHIT!!!” If emphysema and Slimer from Ghostbusters had a baby,
and that baby had a cold, his cough is exactly what it would sound like.
Fucking disgusting.
From my kitchen, through open windows and an open sliding
glass door, I yell “For fuck’s sake, learn how to hold your smoke!” Seriously, my
Mom can smoke weed better that that. He ought to be ashamed of himself, yet
there he is, out on his balcony, pretending to die every night, getting my
hopes up like a child promised a toy at Christmas only to find that their
parents didn’t order ahead, and the store is sold out. Not that that has ever happened
to me – nope…never.
There is performance with the drug in question, then there is
upkeep or maintenance of paraphernalia. You’d better be able to do one well. I feel
like, in our little community here, we have two halves of one whole.
Two buildings away from my own, and on my walk to my mailbox,
I pass an apartment that reeks. It smells not of the common smells one would
assume, like garlic, or curry, or dog shit, or even baby shit. It is a distinct,
unmistakable, and unforgiving smell. It’s bongwater.
Do you remember accidentally spilling the bong on your mother’s
living room carpet and thinking, oh shit, I am totally fucked! That
is never coming out! then
scurrying around the house for all the cleaning supplies you could find? Windex,
carpet cleaner, dish soap, Lysol, and Febreze all tucked under your arm for
good measure. Damn right you did! You knew good and damn well that shit was a
permanent blight on your mom’s carpet, and your ass.
Imagine walking past a home that smelled so much of bong
water that it permeated concrete walls. Either someone is excruciatingly clumsy,
or someone needs to clean the various smoking devices in that home. C’mon now
people, the shit you’re smoking can’t even taste good any more if you’re using 3-year-old
water. You don’t recycle your bath water, do you? That’s fucking disgusting. I’m
not saying clean your bong every time you smoke, but once a week is a real
goal. It’s attainable too.
For these reasons I’m thinking it’s time for simple instruction.
I’m going end up killing my neighbors. You’re not supposed to shit where you sleep,
so this may be my only recourse. I’d like to start using the clubhouse by the
pool for classes. They’ll begin on Monday nights. Monday’s already suck dick
for most people. Now they’ll have an excuse to hate it even more. When they’re
done, they can go home and smoke their weed. Properly. Probably for the first
time in their whole miserable lives.
Just because I’ve always wanted to, and because I was
subjected to catechism classes, I want a ruler to slap assholes with when their
doing shit incorrectly. “No, Margaret, that’s not how you clean the interior of
your glass bong! What did we learn in last week’s lesson about cleaning tools???
Soak first, then gentle swabbing!!! No wire bristles!” **Swat**
This could work. I’m building a better community…for…well…me.
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