The Goddess of Weed

One of the million kids who run through our back yard left a juice box.

God damned kids. Get off my lawn.

No. Seriously. Fuck off. I'm trying to do bong rips in my underwear with the patio door open. I don't need some little shit wiping their boogers on my bra.

Anyway. So, weed legalization rules.

Anyway. I found out that there's a smoke shop really close to where I live, which means I can literally walk like five minutes and buy weed. LEGALLY. That's fucking insane. Like, Daniel Tosh used to joke that if weed was legalized stoners wouldn't have anything to talk about anymore. But are you kidding me? Do you realize how stoned I've been and cranked out some of my best work? You don't know shit, Tosh Point Oh.

When I went down to the shop, I picked out a nice poop shaped clump of weed in a ziploc with a cartoon of a hot black girl on it and called over the woman who worked there. And, holy shit. Total milf.

I felt like I had met an ethereal goddess. The Sage of Blazedom. She had such pure, angelic energy. And she knocked $5 off my total, which means I'm pretty sure she wants to make out. I'm in like sin.