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Rip this joint

I’m just hurt, that’s all I’m saying.

I am trying not to take it personally, but it’s really challenging. Because whether you want to see it or not, you’ve changed, man. You aren’t the same anymore. Bottom line: You pay way less attention to me, and I feel like my place in your world, shit, in the whole world, is slipping away.

Remember the 20th century, man? Or, hell, even the early 21st? The first thing out of bed, and you couldn’t wait to sing my praises: I smoke two joints in the morning, I smoke two joints at night, I smoke two joints in the afternoon, and it makes me feel all right.

Do you know how truly important that made me feel? What it did for my self-esteem? Juxtapose that with this morning, dude, and the low-of-lows I’m feeling. I heard you get up, make your little cup of tea and tip-toe through the tulips right by me on your way back to your room. I’m sitting there, thinking, “please, please, please, will he pay attention to me today?”

But nooooooooooooooooo. You didn’t, did you? And, in fact, later, you walked right by me in the ashtray, without one word, on your way to your precious vape pen. WTF, man? What does she have that I don’t? OK, she’s younger, but I mean, shit, does it help you write your little articles better than I did/could/still would/should?

I’ve heard all that fake news about how you’re breathing in less toxins without burning the whole flower, but I don’t buy that crap, just like I don’t buy that our president is not a serial nutjob. “Ssh, ssh,” you say to me, “Don’t get political, this is my job you’re putting in jeopardy.”

Well, once again, excuse my French but F--- that.

BTW, I used to like it when you’d get your french fry grease all over me. When you reached for me the moment after that last fry was in your mouth. So sexy. So sensual. And, from the bottom of my Zig Zag, thank you for not ever calling it an “American fry.” I ask you this: Does everything have to be American for the world to be right? Kind of seems that way. And, oh yeah, FYI: They still smoke a lot of me in Morocco, or the Congo, or, I don’t know, a lot of shithole countries that have not been invaded by the T.V.A. (Terrorist Vape Army).

I’m now — like a lot of other objects, people, the environment, social mores — feeling afraid and left out. Like someone wants to do me/us harm. Like past history doesn’t mean anything. Some of your kind are even questioning the point of teaching stuff like history, science or the arts anymore. The irony is, the only thing they want to save about the past is the part where they were in total control.

Listen, I know I am only one f---ing joint. But I’m afraid, bro. Because this “new normal” looks pretty damn frightening to me. And, ya know: Put that in your damn vape pen and smoke it.

Rick Cipes has been published a lot and encourages you to check out his 420 T-Shirt Collection on Amazon at www.bit.ly/420tsc