Weediquette – Learn to Scrape a Bowl for the Apocalypse

By T. Kid

This week, after years of speculation about what the American people want, need, and deserve, a black candidate got a second chance. But more importantly, a green candidate got a second chance, and no, I’m not talking about Jill Stein. I’m referring to a homey you have actually heard of.

Citizens of Colorado and Washington State earned the right to use marijuana recreationally on Tuesday, and I could not be happier. Though both states are on the other side of the country—by my estimation at least a grueling three-to-four-hour drive from New York—their relaxation of marijuana laws suggests that many more states will someday ease restrictions on getting and burning cheeba. At least, that’s would you would think.

The West Coast has been more progressive about decriminalizing marijuana and moving toward its legalization (big up, California). And Tuesday’s vote was proof that such good temperament will forge on. However, let’s not get too hopeful all the way out here in the East. While Massachusetts has decriminalized small amounts and New Jersey has legalized medical use, New York, the only place on the East Coast that really matters, remains fairly dick about it.

Rather than moving forward as a civilized city, we are a police state where smoking a J on the street can land you in jail. That is, until shit gets apocalyptic. Sure, New York banded together after 9/11 and turned into a party after the 2003 blackout but Hurricane Sandy showed us a different side of things. If you were anywhere near the Alphabet City projects or Far Rockaway or Staten Island, you saw the potential for Mad Maxism bursting at the seams of reality. Fuck laws. This is the world we are headed for New York.

In the future, the West Coast will enjoy 60-degree winters with blonde bombshells holding surfboards while smoking Swisher Sweets filled with fantastic, affordable weed, while we on the East Coast will be engulfed by Frankenstorm after Frankenstorm until nothing is left of this city but towering concrete skeletons and smaller, human skeletons. Survivors will have no choice but to forage for sustenance—potable water, non-perishable foods, and whenever possible, a little bitty something to puff on. The bowls and pipes of yore, abandoned but caked with resin, will become tiny treasure chests waiting to be found by starving, bored New Yorkers and gently scraped for their sweet tarry filling.

Resin, my friends, is the new black gold, and the survivors will smoketh upon it with great zeal. Will you survive? Will you be one of the resilient few who battles forth for your existence? Even if you don’t, it couldn’t hurt for you to learn how to scrape a bowl.

When you find a nice resin-caked bowl, you’re first instinct will be to set it on fire and shove it into whichever facial orifice it can fit into. Remember, by this point you haven’t eaten or smoked anything in weeks except for human flesh (which, incidentally, you have both eaten and smoked). Restrain yourself, for there is an art to the artless act of smoking the remnants of better times.

Grab a thin piece of metal, like an unraveled bobby pin or paper clip. Hold the pipe over the fire and melt that resin as much as you can without burning it. Then shove the metal piece into the pipe about two or three hundred times, shaking, blowing, and pulling out the chunks of resin that accumulate and come loose. If you do a really good job, you’ll have enough resin to get you really dirty stoned for at least a week. Finally, you’ll be able to forget the troubles of post-apocalyptic New York, like the lack of a balcony in the abandoned penthouse you’re squatting in.

If you do it right, the process will go something like this.



Another huge plus of finding a sticky pipe and having the skill to scrape it clean is that it gives you the will to live. If Survivorman taught me anything, it’s that giving yourself something purposeful to do in a survival situation is paramount, tantamount, and Mount fucking Kilimanjaro.

Good luck out there. And if we run into each other at the end of the world, I’ll probably kill you and eat your eyeballs.

@imyourkid

GIF by @DanStuckey


Previously:

Weediquette - You Sell Me Drugs, but Are We Friends?

Weediquette - Fresh Greens

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