“This bill makes the racists happy. Just dig the comment threads on any videos on this topic. Sweet lord, these vile, selfish, thoughtless creeps who cluster to threads on immigration oughtta be shipped out to their very own island as far as I’m concerned. Judging by 90% of the noise they make, they simply are not fit to share a community or society with other people. They should be airlifted to an island and stuck there with a library of history books and made to work their own land and wait on their own damn tables and watch their own kids and chop up their own steers and otherwise bootstrap their asses to their own private, ridiculous destiny and leave the rest of us out.”—nezua (via amandaw) (via rosasparks)
Tonight I sat through a dinner full of Cancer talk and old stories about my dearly departed father that made me want to laugh and scream and crack skulls all at once, all while being served shitty white wine and over-cooked lamb in a lavender dining room.
Yeah. I know. It’s 4.20. Guess what? I don’t give a fuck. I don’t need a special day to celebrate weed smoking. 4.20 is for amateurs, the unemployed, college kids and old guys who think wearing a 420 shirt will actually garner them access to unattainable Girls Gone Weed pussy.
I am a highly functional stoner who refuses to align herself with most mainstream weed culture. Shit is just embarrassing.