I work with a pot - head

I went to work last night like I always do, but tonight I would learn something that I wasn't sure I wanted to know. This man that I work with, we shall label him with the letter P, confided in me that he was planning to return to his abode, smoke a little weed and then clean his house. I had no words...I assume that he chose to tell me this for one of two reasons a) he finds me quite compelling and feels he can trust me or b) he is already slightly stoned. I soon found out it was a combination of the two. Not only was he already a bit hungover, but he asked me for my phone number.

I proceeded to seduce him by telling him about the small field of weed that I used to have on my farm. Granted, my father routinely chopped it down and put it in the burn pile...yes that's right the burn pile... He did not fall for my little act, but he did grin at me with the most disgusting teeth imaginable. I know someone who flosses quite regularily who would probably kick the bucket right then and there.

Another time that I came in contact with this loverly weed was at a camp I worked at for several summers in high school. There was a rather large growth of it behind the chapel and the matinence staff decided to get rid of it. So they chopped it all down....but unbeknownst to the director of the camp they then proceeded to burn in back on the burn pile. I'm starting to notice a trend here....

Do you suppose that's how we discovered pot? It was a complete accident, like chocolate chip cookies. One afternoon a cave man noticed that his rock field had a weed growing in it, so he picked the weed and then burned it in the fire back in his cave. Well the smoke gathered in the cave and soon we have a high cave family, who is way happy with its new weed.

The moral of the story....don't share your pot with the neighbors...