Hola, amigos. Whaddaya say? I know it’s been a long time since I rapped at ya, but I’ve been tied up lately. Actually, I meant “pissed off,” not “tied up.” It’s hard for me to think straight these days. It seems like every little thing is stacking up against me, like the universe has got something against your old pal Jim Anchower.
Like, I just left this job yesterday at this big insurance company where I had to run around the building delivering mail and water bottles to all the different offices. They made me wear a tie, and if the money hadn’t been so sweet, I never would have done it. But you know I ain’t the type that can live in that buttoned-down world for long, even at $10.35 an hour. They wanted to hold me down. After two days, I was like, “Fuck that noise,” and I was gone.
Here’s a little insight into the deep mind of Jim Anchower. The way I figure it, there may be a lot of trouble in your life, but in the end, life just keeps on keepin’ on. So you’ve got to learn to roll with it.
Like, when your car breaks down in the middle of nowhere, and it’s 3:30 in the morning, and you walk a mile to get to a phone you can use, but you can’t get any of your friends on the phone ’cause it’s so late, and the one friend you do get on the phone is so out of it he don’t even remember you calling, let alone agreeing to pick you up, so you wind up sleeping in your car with the stick shift jabbing you in the nutsack until somebody finally comes by and gives you a lift into town. When that happens, you’ve got to remember that today won’t happen again, and that you’ve got another day ahead of you that can go right.
You should pause right here to let that soak in, hombre.
Sometimes, though, there are things you simply cannot turn the other cheek to, even if it’s your ass cheek and you’re hanging it out a car window at a bunch of dorks. Right now, I’ve got something like that in my life, something that’s really getting to me on a profound level: My weed connection is all dried up.
I used to buy it from this guy Randy Rasmussen. I probably shouldn’t have told you his name, but I will because he pussed out so bad. He used to get some awesome stuff, and he always seemed to have it on hand, even when other people couldn’t find it to save their lives. Plus, he’d always be willing to split a joint from his own stash when I stopped by so we could hang out and shoot the shit.
The problem started when Randy started settling down with a girlfriend and a real job. Pretty soon, he wasn’t up for smoking and hanging out. It was all business. Next thing you know, he’s got a kid coming, and he says he wants to set a good example, so he doesn’t want to be selling weed. What the hell? Like a baby can tell you’re selling weed and that it’s illegal? I tried to tell him, but he just wasn’t listening. Personally, I think the guy’s whipped, but he’s all like, “No, man, I just want to do right by my kid.” Whatever, tool.
So, my connection gone, I decided to grow my own stash. I have to say, amigos, I was pretty hard up by the time I stumbled onto this plan. Since I’d smoked most of my stems and seeds, I went over to Ron’s place because he has legendary amounts of shake lying around. He said he’s saving up for the big weed drought that’s supposed to be coming. He’s been saying that for almost four years now, so he’s got, like, a whole Ziploc bag full of it. After giving Ron a six-pack and my solemn word to share some of the weed when it sprouts, he forks over, like, a dozen seeds, telling me that if I planted four of them in the same pot, the contact high alone would knock me on my ass.
That was almost two weeks ago. I planted them in all these little containers around the house, making sure they got plenty of light and water. I even bought a hydroponics guide at the head shop, but I haven’t had time to check it out too much. I mean, how hard can it be? Out in nature, plants grow all the time without any help. All I could do is walk by them and go, “Looks good.”
Problem is, I’ve got no weed until it grows and gets sticky. And, believe you me, that’s a real problem because, without weed, I’ve been getting pissed off at the littlest things. This one time, I dropped a sandwich and almost lost my shit. I was gonna throw the sandwich across the room, but I was pretty hungry, so I picked up a beer bottle and threw that instead. Hey, I didn’t say it was a good idea, I said I was pissed.
So, until the homegrown’s ready, I’m looking all over the place for a new connection. I found a high-school kid who sells, but I ain’t doing that–I’ve got to have some respect left when I look in the mirror. Besides, the shit he sold me turned out to be real weak stuff. It took about four pulls from my three-footer before I even caught a buzz. Made me cough like a dog, too. So, if you’ve got a connection I could get some off of, hook me up. I ain’t an addict or nothing, but some decent weed right about now would make life go down a whole lot smoother.
Jim Anchower joined The Onion’s editorial writing staff in 1993 after several distinguished years on The Come Back Inn dishwashing staff. He comments on community-affairs, automotive, and employment issues. He attended LaFollette High School in Madison, WI.
