canadian weed enthusiast – your old hash pipe

Canadian weed enthusiast


Your old hash pipe


The overwhelming realization that you are about to shit your pants in public


Dear rectum,

Fuck you, asshole. You’re a real shit talking ass, and you’re just a fraction of a man.

You know what? your fucking breath smells. You’re a fucking follower who just blurts out hot air all day, and you seriously need to shave. Like, your closest friend is a piece of shit too. Fuck, dude, you’ve been on my ass for 36 years and you just don’t stop giving me a hard time.

Let me think; there was that time you got sick in my diaper and I had to scrape it out with my bare hands, like, shit man, I had no sink near me, I had to rub your sick off my hands on the walls and sheets just to get it off me.

Oh! How about that other time, in scouts when we talked about how I was going to eat all those pickled onions and we were supposed to let out that huge fart and shock everybody at the bon fire? Yeah, you remember. again, you got sick and you shit my pants. For fucks sake, you didn’t just shit my pants, you shit my underwear, my long underwear, my sweat pants, my insulated waterproof snow pants and you even got my seat wet. What about when you got sick in the lineup at the lcbo and I found myself standing in a 4 foot radius of poo sludge, huh? I couldn’t even step over the mess you made without getting my feet dirty.

There’s been so many times when I have had to plan out walking to the store, or bar, or wherever because I always have to make sure there’s a public toilet of some sort around. I mean, its chippawa, everything closes at 10pm around here. You make things real challenging because you’re so goddamn sensitive. I’d be in a real mess if there weren’t so many fields in chippawa and thank god I always wear an undershirt. It makes horrible improvised toilet paper, but I’m glad it’s there.

I’ve heard you’ve been up to no good, conspiring with your other dumb little asshole buddies too. I heard about that girl who shit her pants at that napalm death show. Uh-huh, I heard. Right in the mosh pit, eh? You have no shame. What’s worse, is that some dude wrote her an open letter afterwards trying to get a date with her using napalm death song titles as puns trying to swoon her off her poop treaded feet. You guys are real shitty friends too, you know that? My buddy shit his pants trying to fart at the bar, and that one time my big, big friend was wearing shorts and your butt buddy said that he should lift his leg and fart to shock his family, remember that? Oh yeah, he jumped on one leg to let out a seriously huge fart like he and his butthole agreed on and what happened? He dropped a fucking turd right through his shorts and on to the kitchen tiles. What the fuck, man? When I was in grade school somebody shit in the fucking urinal! Did poop come out the kid’s dick?! It was a lunker! It must have split that’s kid’s dick in fucking half! No wonder nobody owned up to that one.

There was that one time my buddy pulled down his knickers and bent over to fart in his sister’s face at the kitchen table and he squirted out a little poop on her. That girl still cannot get a date! She’s going to die single because of you assholes.

I really wish I could never see you again, but it turns out I need you; you’re my exit strategy. We’re in it ‘till the end. Sometimes I wish we could just split, but, hey man, that shits for pussies, right?

With that in mind, I used to walk my old girlfriend to work sometimes and on the way back I would use her old hashpipe to smoke out of. The pipe was old and never cleaned. It reeked of burnt weed, hash, mushrooms, and tobacco, and it tasted like years old oil and tar. It was a little clogged and you had to really burn a lighter down the stem just to clear out some of the old resin just to get a decent hoot. I think I even spotted a little rust on the side of it. but, that’s beside the point. I’m still mad at you, asshole. You said you’d be chill if I smoked a little grass out of it on the walk home. And guess what? Turns out you’re a liar. Once I smoked my little bowl of weed and lit a smoke, you started acting up again. I would have to walk home knowing that at any second you might get too high and just fall asleep, letting your guard down, and it would only happen whenever I saw the front door of my house. Christ man, I lived on a three block straight away, I could see the door to my house for three blocks! I had to walk a few steps, stop, and clench my ass cheeks together like a steel door, and just to make it seem less obvious I would pull out my wallet or something stupid to not make it look so blatant. But of course it looked obvious! Who the fuck stops walking every twenty feet to look in their fucking wallet?! People would stare at me through their livingroom curtains and shout out to their friends ‘oh hey! Come look! This guys going to shit himself! Look, he’s walking with stiff legs and he’s checking his wallet standing still every ten steps. ‘

Sometimes i want to call you a dick, but I wouldn’t want to insult my best friend.

overall, I guess we just have to figure out a way to live together. I promise I won’t smoke out of any old dirty hashpipe and I’ll probably go on a diet and lay off the chicken wings and cashews as long as you promise to do a little exercise so you can tighten up your act and get your shit together. It would really suck if I were known as a guy with a loose, sloppy butthole, ya know?

Honestly, though, you should consider getting a little plastic surgery or something. You’re ugly, you look all wrinkly and old, and I really don’t like looking at you. You look just like your buddies and I really couldn’t pick you out of a line up.

In closing, fuck you, asshole. You didn’t just ruin my favorite pair of cords, you rectum.


THC overdose