The Way Life Used To Be

Barty Littledong. My best weed dog.

Barty Littledong. My best weed dog.

Before I started smoking weed, I was a loser. No prospects. Without a future. Then I smoked weed and everything changed. Chicks piled on top of my hogan. Every company in the industry approached me for sponsorship. Money, women, sin, everything. My lawyer uncle was representing me and he fukked up. We went with Funny Weed. I spent the rest of the season training for the summer games. I placed third in bong rips and fifth in blunts. Several other companies approached us and even offered to buy out our contract. My uncle wouldn’t re-negotiate and by the time the winter smoke races started, I was still stuck with Funny Weed. They didn’t even have a racing weed. I bonged my lungs out five times a week for the whole fall. That winter, I didn’t even place.
It’s scary how fast you can be smoker of the month, and then some loadie seven months later. Now I’m living in a shoe box under a dumpster. I made friends with a weed dog. His name is Barty Littledong. He brings home two or three eighths of pretty serious weed almost every night. I do realize that life on this Earth is about to end.

After chewing through the garage door and running away for two weeks, Barty Littledong got a dork extension and I had to rename him Beefplug Louie. Are they following you too?

Beefplug Louie found a female weed dog and she came over all weekend. She brought weed, but they destroyed the house fucking and howling. They broke the screen door, the washing machine, my bed, chandelier, bear skin rug, swingset, mowing tractor, and fell through my roof. We are being watched right now. Don’t look. Just pretend you are reading this. Now click on the home button.

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