I’ve always felt a connection with the human race -- not. I mean, we have the biped thing in common, we both make good use of the thumb, and there’s the whole cognitive reasoning thing of course, but the similarities end there. I do try to get along, but every time I go to hang with them, some idiot snaps my picture and puts it on the internet. I prefer to keep things on the DL, you know? But the woods get lonely, bro. Have you ever tried to have an intelligent conversation with a bird? Chirp chirp chirp. Bleep bleep bleep. It’s like talking to a fucking Game Boy.
That reminds me of a joke. One day there’s an eagle flying down Sesame Street. Big Bird sees him and says, “Hey Mr. Eagle, would you like to be on the show today? Me and Snuffaluffagus are going to teach kids about the letter ‘Q.’”
The eagle shakes his head, no.
Big Bird says, “Why not, Mr. Eagle? Think of all the good you can do for children. Sesame Street is seen in millions of homes around the world, and I’m sure it would be an incredible learning experience for all those kids to hear you tell them about what it’s like to be an eagle, America’s National Bird.”
So the eagle says, “Big Bird, let me tell you something. My picture is on the dollar bill. Do you know what that means? It means my face is kissing stripper titties all night long in every city in America from New York to San Francisco, from the Canadian border to the Rio Grande. So you can keep your A-B-C’s and your Fuckaluffagus, ‘cuz that shit’s for squares.”
It’s not really a joke, I guess. It’s more of a story. It’s funny if you know eagles, because the thing about eagles is, they’re a bunch of assholes, but they make you laugh, so long as you’re not the guy they’re being an asshole to.
There was a point I was trying to make… I’m sorry, I smoked a heavy sativa before I sat down to write this, and it feels like Spongebob Squarepants is doing a booty dance in my brain. I think what I was trying to say is that shit gets stoopid in the forest after a while, you know? When I set out on this journey to the Cannabis Cup, I was looking forward to some urban, cosmopolitan-type kicks for a change.
When I got to Seattle I figured, what the hell, I’ll do the tourist thing and check out the Space Needle, but that turned into a whole fucking debacle.
I walked up to the line by the entrance and people just started freaking -- moms started screaming, kids were dropping their ice creams. Just a real bad scene. Some guy started barking into a walkie-talkie, and then this other guy comes over and shoots me with a Taser. It didn’t hurt or anything, it just kind of made me sad. Here we are in the 21st Century and speciesism is still rampant in this so-called civilized society. Such is man. You take the chimp out of the woods, throw a uniform on him, and suddenly he thinks he’s a predator.
So I ditched that scene, jumped into Lake Union, and started swimming in the general direction of the Cannabis Cup. When I arrived outside Freemont Studios, I saw people of all shapes and sizes, smoking joints and blunts and pipes, and to my great surprise, everyone was chill. It confirmed my belief that potheads are generally an enlightened bunch. I broke out some Blue Dream I’d been cultivating up in the mountains and passed around a spliff. People started asking me how I grew it, what fertilizer I used. I told them I make my own compost, mostly of deer carcasses, salmon heads, and my own special blend of bird, bat and sasquatch guano.
I was offered some edibles, a Cheeba Chew and a few medicated gummy bears, and that was pretty cool. It got me thinking. Like, if there was a human being with a lot of THC in his system, and I ate that human being, would I get off? I wanted to test this theory, but then I said, screw it, these peeps are cool, and I promised myself there would be no snacking on the crowd, no matter how bad my munchies got.
Obviously I don’t carry a wallet, but I told the guy at the gate that I was with the band. He looked at me kind of stoned-like, then slapped a wristband on me and I was in.