McDonald's again. I was jonesing for a Shamrock Shake. (Because just making one is such a chore.) Three people came in behind me, bellied up to the register next to me, and - well, it's hard to say what reached my perception centers first: the ringleader demanding FIFTEEN McDoubles, or the persistent and pungent miasma of recreational narcotics.
You know, the last time I indulged, I just stayed home and watched the walls melt; I didn't actively go out in public endeavoring to perpetuate a stereotype. One of them actually got the giggles to go with his munchies - those high-pitched, resin-soaked giggles that only seem to come out of people on precarious amounts of pot. I sincerely hoped none of them had been driving.
Maybe there were wacky misadventures on their way to the McDonald's, and somebody will make a stoner comedy out of them. Or maybe they were hoping there'd be wacky misadventures. It did seem a bit early in the day for either weed or wacky hijinks.
You know, the last time I indulged, I just stayed home and watched the walls melt; I didn't actively go out in public endeavoring to perpetuate a stereotype. One of them actually got the giggles to go with his munchies - those high-pitched, resin-soaked giggles that only seem to come out of people on precarious amounts of pot. I sincerely hoped none of them had been driving.
Maybe there were wacky misadventures on their way to the McDonald's, and somebody will make a stoner comedy out of them. Or maybe they were hoping there'd be wacky misadventures. It did seem a bit early in the day for either weed or wacky hijinks.
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