grifty51

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This story is metaphorical. I believe that marijuana can open our minds, enhance our creative abilities. However, I firmly belive in the axiom "All things in moderation". The stoner mentality has to long marred the progress of legalization of our beautiful life giving Soma. Smoke to heal and ease suffering. Toke to enhance your natural talents and abstract thinking. Blaze in homage to the beauty of nature while watching her paint a sunrise. Puff not in a habitual manner to escape from the reality of life and the pain that may accompany it. When we start to get high to deal with our problems we stop growing emotionally. Let marijuana set you FREE my brothers and sisters. Do not shackle your self to the mind set that you need weed to have a good time. Each time you toke appreciate the moment you are in and use marijuana's gift in a productive manner.

I once knew a guy who liked peanut butter. He didn't just like peanut butter, he loved peanut butter. Lived every waking, breathing, laughing, crying, fucking moment of his life for peanut butter. And that's what made him go. When I'd see him at the grocery story, aisle 6, on Tuesdays at 6:15pm - he'd be buying peanut butter. I'd shake his hand and feel peanut butter. He'd open his mouth and I would smell peanut butter. And when he smiled, I tasted the shit.

My friend rarely went out. Although he never admitted it, I was convined my friend would hide on purpose so that he could masturbate with peanut butter, to peanut butter, right after eating peanut butter and before bathing in it. While he never said one word, not even a hint or a nudge, about peanut butter to me, his friend, of all people - I understood that some creatures needed to keep secrets.

It was reasonably late like 8:49 or somewhere around there. My friend knocked on the front door. I never liked visitors at night because, often, I'd use the time to think about sex...but that's a different story. Possibly the same..I'm not sure. He was upset. But not the kind of upset where you cry and you sigh and search the floor for an answer to a question it was never asked. I'm talking about the kind of hurt you (meaning me) cannot see. Because it's deep. Real fucking deep. Inside the gut, in a dark corner, stuck there for eternity.

It's the kind of hurt that makes you crawl. It makes you leave the safest places for un-explored territory. It makes you come to my place. At 8:49pm...or somewhere around there. And before my friend could even move, blink, breathe, flinch, fucking form one, single complete thought - I knew it was over. I knew he had given it up. The peanut butter.

I shook his hand. I said something that I hope sounded nice or at least inspiring, and sent him on his way. I then thought to myself, "There goes my friend who likes peanut butter"

Gross