YSaC, Vol. 1354: I’d also like to thank my agent, and my publicist, and …
I want to photograph your pot before harvest
Total discreetness on this topic, I want to make a book about harvesting bud. indoor gardens too.
I need photos of your plants, up close and of your garden,
no names or places will be published and will have respect for your hobby, Once you meet me you will invite me back every harvest,
I’m not any type of cop or snitch. I know how serious this topic is to you not to mention risk and I want to keep doing what I do best, take photos of your Kaya now….
I am setting up some new shoots and revisiting old ones, Thank you, Jerry, Ken, Bill, mantis? and the lady who made most of my work easy in finding yous’…….
I am a trustworthy person that works alone.
hope to hear from you before the season ends.
Thanks,
Jack Purple
I’m serious. Total discreetness. So thanks, Jerry, who lives at 185 SW 9th St, Apt B, for letting me photograph your righteous bud. And Ken, who lives in a blue van down by the river under the McDonough Bridge, thanks for setting up your plants in that semicircle so I could pretend they were Stonehenge. Bill, I know we were supposed to meet up at the McDonalds on 12th where you work, but I got stoned with this mantis? guy at his place in those apartments on the corner of 14th and Potter and just totally spaced on coming by. I’ll call you to reschedule.
Thanks, Laura!
This is Mr E. R. “Bogart” Bradshaw of Napier Court, Black Lion Road, (London) SE 5,
He is a notorious stoner, and mooch extraordinaire. He is not held in high regard by his fellows, other than those so over-baked as to be unaware.
All are guilty of failing to understand that, A, Big Lebowski is a (quite good) entertainment, and B, is fictional.
I cannot admit to be overflowing with charity this morning, and must needs cope with an over-whelming need to blow stuff up.
I am not a cop. Upon request, I will send you a .PDF of my (hastily composed) “Not a Cop” license.
Yeah, “Mr. Pink” sounds like “Mr. Pussy”. Tell you what, let me be Mr. Purple. That sounds good to me. I’m Mr.Purple.
Your not Mr. Purple. Somebody from another job’s Mr. Purple. You’re Mr. Pink.
Let me guess, you don’t believe in tipping either.
Tipping is the famous mountain-top seaport in NW Szechuan, correct?
No. You’re thinking of Tipping Point, New Mexico.
Cow tipping? Of course.
Okay Jack, here we are. This is my field of barley. It’s a very good four row barley. It malts well and has a fairly high concentration of enzymes. Now over here are my hops. Now I haven’t quite got the taste of Bud down yet, but that really isn’t the flavor I’ve been trying for. it’s more the flavor I’ve wound up with…
…What? Not that bud? You mean bud light? Oh, you want to light some bud? I don’t understand, you want to smoke some mash? Get outa here you weirdo!
(bad puns: they’re what’s for breakfast)
“Also, thank you for the samples. RIGHTEOUS, dudes!”
Is it illegal to smoke photographs of pot?
The critics will totally pan his book of pot pictures!
The last guy who tried to photograph my bud ended up with two black eyes, Mr. Purple! Total discreetness, indeed!
When precisely does pot season end?
At 11:59:59 p.m. every April 20th.
When rabbit season begins.
Duck season.
I cruised right into town, I was looking for some green.
I stopped into this place they called The yellow submarine.
I walked up to the greeter, I said my name is Jack.
I told him that I’d like to score some good Chicago Black.
He handed me a baggie, he asked me for my cash.
I left to buy some munchies ’cause now I got my hash.
I got my 420 stash right by my side.
I’m gonna light it up until I’m fried.
I went back to my hometown, to hook up with my buds.
I knew this girl, we had a whirl, and now she calls me Stud.
She handled my baggie, she handled my seed.
She handled my cheeto when I pulled out my weed.
She asked me for a reefer, I handed her my dope.
All I can remember is that we were smoking rope.
I got my 420 stash right by my side.
I’m gonna light it up until I’m fried.
In case you were wondering, That rendition was inspired by this.
Hey, what if this is “What Happened to the Stoners Who Would Not Clean the Kitchen:Aftermath”?
Keyser Söze, having, most heinously, tossed them out on the street, they have had to resort to chicanery and begging to meet their needs.
“Cool Harvest, Man. Hey, look, this [points] fell off, mind if we roll it up? Oh, yeah, duud, we ordered pizza–you’ll get that, right? Hey, this is work, mind if we crash here a minute? You got any blankets, this floor is hard, man. Hey, hold it down, my bros is sleepin’ . . . ”
Is “Not. a. Cop.” anything like “Not. a. lion.”? Because if so, I like it.
Is it just me or is there a reason I cannot get reading this in the voice of Bacontini out of my head?
I mean he’s Jose Suave, right? But I think here he’s channeling his inner-McConaughey.
Oh man! Ken and Jerry grow pot! I wonder how many different kinds they have. (Bill,mantis? keep your off-brands to yourselves)
Dude, you can take a picture, but the camera has to wear a blindfold. Don’t need nobody figuring out how to find my secret grow location…
“Once you meet me you will invite me back every harvest….”
You don’t know Jack.
A gecko is posting on YSaC,
A gecko is winning the snark!
LimeLolly is lurking at YSaC,
Beware of the snark in the dark!
Bring back, bring back, oh bring back my Punchity Punch Punch!
Good Morning, Doobie Brothers!
Thank you, thank you, thank you all.
I’d like to say thanks and kudos to all those that have inspired me in my chosen career. I have to say that I never expected to obtain such recognition in watermelon seed spitting, but me and my teammates just come out and give it a hunnert and ten percent. That’s all you can do is give it a hunnert and ten percent and …
Wait, what speech am I giving?