I checked inventory to find one remaining joint. I'm well-versed in the ways of the stretching a joint's pleasure so I started getting ready for the day while constantly drawing that stinky little lift ticket under my nose. While I brushed my teeth I held the joint to my nose and it was like Mary Jane Toothpaste. Figured I'd light up at work and delay the gratification. Shortie was still asleep when I left but if she was awake, I'm sure she'd give my some Birfday head. As a consolation prize I lifted the sheets and checked out her fine slumbering booty.
Started off my birfday going into work to bring today's country hits to the Westplex. As soon as my shift starts I light that bad boy and puff puff pass it back to myself. I went on the air and said "I gots these hot, hot Brooks and Dunn tickets. First one of you fine folks that calls in and tells me how I'm smoking this here weed gets the hook up." I had people calling and saying crazy shit like "hollowed-out apple" " Spleeeef" "bong balanced between your bitch tits" and "that fun house mirror forehead of yours". Didn't quite understand that last one.
The correct answer was cigarillo.
Fuck the haters. It is my Birfday.
After four hours of making Westplexian peach fuzz moist, my buzz had died I gave the shift up to Dave. No mention of my Birfday from Dave. The office had no cake and no gifts for BirfdayMonster. Nothing. Squat. I mean, these people are as useless as a sink in a men's bathroom at a country bar, but I require recognition on this my Birfday. The only thing I got was a memo about someone leaving Doritos Mix in the production room. Worthless bitches. No matter since my girl has since awakened and had ample time to tie herself to the bed naked save for a bag of sticky green leaves on her belly.
What do you get a potfiend for his birfday? A fat fucking sack is what.
What did I get for my birfday? A weeded lawn.
I came home to find that shortie spent absolutely no time thinking of me and my Birfday. Her morning was spent with lawn maintenance. My woman probably went out there in a tight tank and Jaclyn Smith collection shorts showing off all her good stuff to the neighbors. She's always giggling about that unemployed fool across the street so I bet she was wiggling her ass for him. Might have to raise my right hand to my bitch and then that cross the street bitch. Nothing but haters and perpetrators on my Birfday. I could use a massive bong hit.
Shortie informs me that we're going to the neighbor's house for a barbecue that night. Now I know when the surprises come. Time yet to salvage this Birfday.
Barbecue was nothing but unemployed neighbor firing lines at the local ladies; married or not. Nothing special for the BirfdayMonster. I can't believe they forgot my Birfday. I think I need a joint.
Everyone had to leave when unemployed neighbor's wife caught him with his tongue in her grandmother's ear. People finally start leaving and the end of a disappointing Birfday was finally here. As the crowd dissapated I began to see a familiar face across the street. Leaning against a Red Porsche was JakeRyanFelice and in his right hand dangled and O of the green. Smiths' "How Soon is Now" was playing from the car speakers.
We went inside my house. He had also brought a cake and lit 16 joints and stuck them in the cake like candles.
"Make a wish," JakeRyanFelice said.
I leaned over the cake and inhaled all the sticky green weed fumes tinted with frosting.
"It already came true."
