The Stoner Chronicles

May 22, 2004


Angelator, Sara B., K-9 and Birdman, can you tell angela's stoned?
posted from the stoner photo gallery


ROAR 2
posted from the stoner photo gallery


sometimes even the cutest puppies have bad days
posted from the stoner photo gallery


ROAR 1
posted from the stoner photo gallery


baby bison rox
posted from the stoner photo gallery

May 21, 2004


don't me and birdman look as badass as a badger in this pic? i'm loving Hello right now! Beneath us is about 3 finished boxes of thin mints and samoa's, circa girl scout cookie season.
posted from the stoner photo gallery


Mr. Squeekers, my stoner dog, loves to bite local political figureheads and sleep for hours on end...
posted from the stoner photo gallery

May 03, 2004

There is most definitely a pubic hair on the keyboard.

I've been an on again off again cigarette smoker for a lot of reasons, but never, for the record, because of a commerical. Cigarettes, in case anyone hasn't been reading or watching TV, is supposedly extremely addictive. I would believe in addiction, if it wasn't for cigarettes. Because, I am, in fact an "addict" of many circumstances. I love weed, sex, masturbation, birdman, thinking i'm pregnant every month, television, biting my nails, blackheads, bruce mcculloch, thinking i'm terminally ill. And believe me, all of these are no joke, they're knock down, rough and tumble realizations that could fight either of each other to the death for being the worst, although I don't know why they would want to do that. So, if there was such a thing as an addiction, you think i'd be broke, and headed to the the reservation after this post. I just can't get into cigarettes.

I love camel lights when i'm high, not only because of their smooth and delightful chemical taste, but also because they have a brown filter and it's easier to distinguish which side to light. When we were on our way to florida, the bargain hunter in me came out, and at 2.50 a pack I had to smoke, apart from the stress of a 34 hour straight drive. But when i'm not high, or cramped in a car for long periods of time, I have no real interest in smoking them. And now i'm usually not high all day.

Sometimes i'll smoke right after I watch a really good movie, or if i'm listening to the White Stripes, I can't help feeling just a little bit cool. Look at me, killing myself, i don't give a fuck, what an army these cigarette people are. I can't flick a cigarette that cool yet, and i don't do it enough to practice, whenever I see anyone with a perfect flick I think, 'wow, they're going to die soon", and of course, "damn that was really cool". ALMOST AS COOL AS WRITING IN CAPITAL LETTERS.

So, under my own circumstances, there is no such thing as addiction, or I am one.

If I pull my walkman headphones in front of me, and then push them under my lower lip, i look kind of disabled. you try!

Baby you can drive my car
Baby you can fuck my VCR

well, i thought it was funny

Are we supposed to be careful with things? Is it wrong to break or possibly lose other people's things, but be totally careless with our own shit, because it is exactly that? Does it matter that the other person's things are more expensive than your shit, sometimes even just the latest version of your shit? If you don't care about your shit, should other people let you borrow their's? Would it not be their fault if they were well aware that you were a stoner and can't feel your ass anymore and if in fact you sat on something expensive you would not know it? Is it possible to create an entire paragraph consisting entirely of questions? Probably not.

Angelator and Birdman and I have been staying at a rich indian's house that we know very well, i'm actually married to her, but that's another post. So, everyday I like to pilage through her really expensive clothes, cosmetic products and electronic equipment, and take the things I find most interesting. Then I sit in her really comfortable bed playing with her game boy advance SP, spritzed with chanel, some french shit that looks like it costs more than my life, and a bag of doritos that I bought with my unemployment compensation money.

It is here where I find myself staring at the sponge bob square pants that she painted on her wall, and just crying like a fucking mad woman. I don't know why I cry so much, it doesn't effect me, it's just the way I fall asleep. Sometimes, and he doesn't admit it but I know Birdman's got to be creeped out by not having an evening where I don't at some point cry in bed. I have, however, never cried after sex, it is something i've just promised myself I'd never do after I saw Stealing Harvard. I'm not doing it for attention! I've never really even talked about it until right now, and I usually wait till I'm pretty sure he's very asleep before it comes out. I could say it's depression, but she's one of my best friends, and I wouldn't blame that on her. What if I have a little known syndrome, what if i'm supposed to be somewhere else, in another time and place, a little sick boy with no socks on looking out the window of my parents sprawling estate, wondering why I wasn't a lower class fat girl with the potential to do something that needs to be done to save me?

Maybe i'm over reacting. Come to think of it i've only been crying myself to sleep for the past week.