Stoney Baloney | A Narrated Cannabis Column Mike Ricker

It’s unfortunate, I know. No one is proud of this fact. Well, ok, there are some dudes who boast their ass exhales as an exclamation point to their manhood, but for the rest of us without some lingering infancy poop disorder, farts can be embarrassing.

Especially when you do it and someone sneaks up without warning. Those moments are excruciating as you both adopt an acting role, pretending as if the smell doesn’t exist until the air eventually thins. You can only pray the episode gets forgotten.

But it doesn’t always.

Farts can brand an impression. Even accidental ones can permanently impair someone’s glossy image of you, rendering the relationship altered. And if it’s an SBD (silent but deadly), the damage can be irreversible. This is a bummer, but real. No one is exempt and everyone learns to contend with this inconvenience to the best of their ability.

Now, fluffing in the comfort of your own space is not a problem. Some view it as being in touch with the inner self, literally. In fact, I’m pretty sure that Sigmund Freud asserted that the smelling of one’s own excrement is an animalistic reaction to gauging one’s health. So, you are not to be blamed for being aware of your windbreakers, but it should be agreed that the means in which you handle the vapors in the public sphere is worthy of consideration.

And thank goodness for the cover-up, as lighting a match or incense is a considerate way to show that even though you are admitting you’ve baked up an air biscuit, you have the class and maturity to bypass the awkwardness with pleasant scents.

By the way, smoking a pungent bowl works too. 
 

I’ll tell you something, in about 10 years, you bullies better watch your asses. That’s because you do not want to mess with a dude who’s been well-trained in martial arts as a kid. And these days, it’s awfully popular with the youngins who aren’t too down with team sports. Some of them are nomads, riding solo, hanging in the shadows, maybe a little anti-social.

As an adult outside the bar, they can appear to be easy prey.

The prima donna skilled in the practice of intimidation may want to swallow a pill of caution when the Saturday Night Fever is brewing. He’s been at it since happy hour and now midnight is approaching. His blood is carbonated from the fiery liquid that’s loading the bulging trapezoids and it’s fueling his arrogance.

He’s got his swagger in power mode, feeling alive, looking to step up the excitement, ready to entertain, an easy ass-whipping guaranteed for the primed crowd.

But there are no guarantees in life, we all inevitably learn.

And for some, the lesson comes hard.

Everyone loves an underdog. Some of the most memorable events in history have featured a reluctant participant pushed to the corner with no alternative but to defend what is right. He is surprisingly prepared.  And if you’ve never seen a skinny, undersized dude who’s trained to fight handle a bodacious, drunk a*****e until he’s beet red-faced and gassed, it is truly a delight to witness.  I mean, I’m all for peace and love, but sometimes you get a meathead who feels compelled to put all his gym hours to use. And he f***s with the wrong guy. What he leaves with is called an epiphany. It’s when the lion learns that he no longer rules the pride.

He just had to have that last shot.

Dipshit should’ve smoked a bowl instead.
 

It sure seems like everyone has a trigger or fifty these days. Not to say that people haven’t always been fragile, but now we have classified the proper terminology that pinpoints that moment where something clicks like a slipped disc in your mind and propels you down a rabbit hole of displeasure.

Obviously, the term generates from the trigger of a gun, activating an emotional response that equates to a heightened reaction. The catalyst kind of hits you like a bullet, too, creating an abrupt shock to your mood. You may not be entirely aware that your reaction to the incident stems from something traumatic in your past that is affecting your attitude in the moment, but either way, your current state is altered, provoking an immediate reaction.

In this modern age of psychology, we’ve become very efficient at analyzing nuances in the human temperament and identifying how drastic changes can exacerbate symptoms. Like, a hundred years ago people just called it rattling the nerves, but when you place a validated medical term to it, people clutch onto diagnosis like a life preserver—a safe zone. But the problem with that is we’ve become accustomed to having a technical explanation for everything we feel, raising expectations that since it is well-defined, there must be a simple way to resolve it.

And usually with a pill. Or a drink.

Or a fit of rage.

And the misunderstanding from which most people suffer is thinking that acting out negatively is the most effective way to resolve the situation. But as we all have learned from experience, these confrontational reactions only intensify the problem. And therefore, I would like to share my philosophy to settling an issue before reacting in a way that could prove irreparable.

My lighter is a trigger.

And my bong is my gun. 
 

Most well-rounded people will agree that just because you can effectively navigate your way around a video game, a streaming service, or pretty much anything that has to do with sitting on your ass in front of a screen, it does not necessarily make you worldly. Like, just because you saw a movie scene set under the Eiffel Tower, it doesn’t mean you can escargot there in conversation.

Get it? Whatever Becky.

The world is full of analytical dweebs who can dissect algorithms, but while this ability of moving numbers can equate to more of them in your bank account, too much can result in a complete failure at life. Because one of the most important aspects for being a valued component to this remarkable existence is possessing the ability to socialize with other people.

I mean actual interaction. Face to face. Eye to eye. Not profile to profile.

Behold the modern nerd. It is an individual who, in their mind, is a fun loving, exciting person who fancies exploration. Just so long as it doesn’t mean leaving the house.

But these geeks are having their day because the information age churns them out at such an alarming rate that anti-social behavior is the new black. To them it’s perfectly acceptable to wear a face mask and keep the eyes peeled to the ground in a grocery store while stocking the cart with microwaveable fish sticks and instant mashed potatoes, but if a stranger were to offer to help carry one of the bags to their car, the dweeb might spray them with mace and call the woke police.

Anyway, the real meaning of Big Bang Theory is their concept of finally getting laid.

And Stoney Baloney is the rock-hard remnants of a mom-made sandwich that’s been marooned in the refrigerator for 8 days.
 

People tell me this sometimes. But am I narcissistic, or just eager to be recognized? A little of both, methinks.

Aren’t we all guilty of wanting attention at some level? I mean, at what point are you self-absorbed, or just looking to feel relevant in this glorious human experience of lightning strikes and rolling stones? Because, let’s be honest, every one of us, from an instinctual level, is looking out for numero uno as much as any other living organism. And some of you would argue that you always put your child before yourself, but if that’s really the best means for your DNA reaching the next millennium, then why does the flight attendant instruct you to put your life vest on first?

Because the kid ain’t gonna make it without its momma.

I get it, drawing too much attention to yourself can always be a means for criticism in this environment of acceptance where all people are welcome to share the stage equally. But all people aren’t equal, physically, or mentally.

Just like weed.

And I’m not claiming that I, or my country, race, religion, gender, etc. is better than any other person or living thing on the planet, just that it seems silly that we should consider ourselves the same. In kindergarten they told us we are all unique in our own special way like a snowflake. Right about the same time they told us how to dress, which God to worship and which football team to root for.

Contradictions are everywhere.

I understand that global equality is basically in reference to civil rights, which I’m down with. And I believe we all deserve the same opportunities. And I believe in mixing flower with edibles with dabs.

So, am I still a narcissist?

Or am I an alchemist?
 

Altering your reality by meddling with the synapses in your brain is one of the most common ways to entertainment yourself. Whether you’re poppin’ pills or pounding tequila poppers, bending the senses can bring about the most wonderful, kaleidoscopic effects.

Or getting turnt. Which is the fun, turnt way of saying turned up.

In the early aughts, Allen Greenspan coined the phrase “Irrational Exuberance”. He was the head of the Federal Reserve around the time of the Great Recession. Of course, he wasn’t referring to catching a buzz, but one cannot ignore the correlation that society was “getting drunk” on their own perception of wealth due to over-inflated home values. Or getting turnt. People acted like an ATM machine was sitting in their garage.

Anyway, enough of that boring shit, let’s talk more about getting wasted. Or turnt. There’s a very popular method of achieving one very tasty buzz and that is to “crossfade”. Crossfading is mixing Cannabis with alcohol. And then you add a couple other stimulants or downers to the mix and you’re cross pollinating. That’s not actually a thing, I just made it up. But how you define this is irrelevant because it all resides conveniently under one comfy umbrella. And that is called getting turnt.

Which is fucking fun! Until it’s over and your dehydrated brain and body wonders what the hell you were thinking. Because it’s not easy to brush off the little devil jumping up and down advocating to crank up the fun volume a couple notches with ill-regard to the looming consequences the following morning. Of course, those feelings of irrational exuberance can compound into a full-blown weekend of getting turnt. That’s called a bender. Which rarely ends well.

Too much getting turnt makes you burnt.