Letter From A. Broad: On The Pot

My dear Myrtle:

Sometimes I have pipe dreams, but usually I have bong dreams. One bong dream had me opening up a mayonnaise and mustard shop on the moon and calling it STORE IN A COOL PLACE.  “Does anyone have an extra terrestrial I can borrow?” Everyone was eating unicorn on the cob and pancakes sold like hot cakes. If you showed your butt you didn’t “moon” anyone, you “Uranus” them.

If you believe that god put marijuana onto this earth for us all to enjoy, then surely you must believe that god also put republicrats here to take it away from us. Makes cents. Let’s bum rush Limbaugh.

Last Sunday I went to a non-denominational church. It was filled with zeroes! I was the only ‘one’ there. I thought to myself, “Man, if god wanted me to go to church, he would have made himself real.” I don’t believe in “guardian angels,” but I do believe that there are “dead midgets” who have watched me “have sex.” It’s kind of the same thing. Jesus: Friend, or Defoe?

If you want Grandma to go to Heaven so bad, then why did you put her in the ground? Now she’s closer to Hell! My grandma smokes pot. Pretty much every time she cooks. I already told you that in Issue #48 but I deemed it appropriate here. I’m going to get a tattoo of a fish with a bear in its mouth.

9 out of 10 Americans agree: There’s always that one asshole.

Yes, please throw an apple infested with bees into an Applebee’s.

Mr. Fuckin’ Aleister Broad

P.S.:  Let’s start a Weird Al cover band.


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