Uncle Fudge snuck out the back door with a big bag of beef jerky, some nails, a hammer and his trusty weed, mumbling something about how he was “goin’ Squatchin’.

“ If you see him nailing beef jerky to trees, just leave him alone. He’s in the zone. It’s better that way.

This month, I want to talk about all the namin’.

Yeah, it’s part of the fun of the weed world, but some of y’all are a little touched in the head. I’m talking about the whole ‘White Widow Trainwreck on Green Crack with Meat Breath’ people, the ones that can’t put your feet in one camp or another. Y’all are like them fancy people who hyphenate their last names because you don’t want to leave anyone out of your family tree, then you ask your bank if the checks can make the signature line longer. Stop the madness.

I don’t care what you call it.

Call it whatever, but for old broads like me who use the key fob to locate our cars at the Walmart, these names are super hard to remember. We walk into a dispensary and stand there looking even stupider than we expected to. If there are a bunch of young bucks working there, we feel extra stupider. All I can think is, “I look like a confused old broad anyway. That’s just great. I’m gonna go with what I know and go home.” I feel like the whole long name thing is done to trip me up on purpose. And I ain’t down with that. I can look stupid without any help from others. I end up with my grape ‘cough syrup’ every time. I just need a teaspoon and it’s so easy. No special names, extra tools or knowledge required.

Okay, enough of the lecture.

I also want to talk about my friend from high school, I’ll call him ‘’Kevin”. Kevin thought that bong water had mystical properties and would pour it into a soda bottle before school every day to drink at lunch. This was a guy who couldn’t find his ass with both hands but knew to use a root beer bottle for his bong water to color match. He also wore clothes that were Goodwill-ready but he also bought Polo aftershave to cover the smell of weed coming out of his pores (barely worked). Of all the crap I learned in high school, (isn’t that a Paul Simon song?), the biggest thing that stays with me is ‘Kevin’ gagging his ‘root beer’ down at lunch every day, then trying to kiss all the girls at the lunch table with his dragon breath. Of course, there were many days where he almost lost his lunch because his bong water was so disgusting.

One day, his bong water spilled in his locker and the entire hallway smelled horrible for days. It became a legend at my alma mater that grew into a much bigger story over the years involving a fire, an M-80, an explosion of some sort, the po-po, and other things I can’t remember right now.

Kevin was also an amazing artist

. He was funny, smart, and a little weird, but weed brought out his gifts. Weed had a bad rep back in then (but cocaine was more acceptable for some reason). He also developed a taste for alcohol, just like his daddy. And because alcohol was so easy to get, he took to it like Sasquatch takes to beef jerky. He got into many car accidents. BIG ones. Alcohol and Kevin replaced bong water and Kevin. Kevin turned into a jerk. He was going to marry a good friend of mine, but he got abusive and they split up. I saw him a few times and he wasn’t the Kevin I knew, not even close. He was a mean drunk. Kevin died in a car accident in 1996.

No one can tell me that marijuana is more dangerous than any other ‘drug’ out there.

Anybody that’s ever been beaten by an alcoholic will agree with me. The myths need to be sorted out and put to bed. Then, let’s get some cafeteria pizza.

Be good to each other and if Uncle Fudge bags a ‘Squatch, help him tie onto his roof, would ya? Much abliged!

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