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Stoney Baloney | A Narrated Cannabis Column

May 3, 2019

Puppy dog breath. Can you define the smell? Because it doesn’t smell like anything else. They are so new and young, but their breath is borderline noxious. Is it the food, or an odd combination of a strange bacteria paired with the culture of milk from the mommy? What is it that goes on in that soft, warm potbelly? It’s a tough smell to put your finger on. It’s kinda like a three-day old re-heated latte, or a bazaar Middle Eastern hookah. No, maybe it’s a woodsy smell, like moldy leaves on a warm day, or bark. There it is, it smells like bark.

Anyway, these are questions that were manifesting during the transition from a dream state into utter, blatant, brutal consciousness when my humpty dumpty eggshell head manged to pry open one pasty eye to see a dog bowl in extreme proximity. How did I know it was a dog bowl? It said DOG in bold, judgmental letters. At first, I thought it was a GOD bowl. I think I may have drank from it just before I passed out because my mouth tasted like puppy dog breath. Or maybe it’s because two pit bull puppies were licking my face and I’m pretty sure my tongue was hanging on the linoleum in the kitchen only moments before. Was it because they loved me, or was it because of the dried pizza sauce?

These rolling blackouts are becoming an issue. However, I think I have a talent, kind of like Lieutenant Dan on CSI: NY. By initiating a proper forensic investigation and a professional analysis of the remaining shrapnel in my pockets, it’s very possible to piece together the collage of events until the mystery is pretty much solved. So, does this mean I blacked out. Or did I gray out.

I should have greened out.