BEAVER'S CANNABIS BANTER.

Welcome back all you cool beavs and beavetts. Light your spliffs because I think I heard someone say REFFFFFARENDUM. Goddamnit, I love me a good reffy. And honestly, is there anything better to divide a nation than the devil’s lettuce?! I thinketh not.

I know I don’t just speak for myself here when I say that watching the clash of Karen’s and stoners is going to be the peak of my 2020. I will put my cock on a block (the fowl type you dirty-minded mother fuckers) that there are going to be some outraged angle-bobbed-betties coming out the woodworks, or Ballentine’s, and I am here for it. With popcorn.

Now I am quite neutral in my stance on the legalization of weed. Like, pretty chilled and unbothered if you’re picking up what I am putting down. Just kidding, Susan. For ‘legal and I don’t want my mum knowing’ reasons, I have changed the name of other people who do this sort of thing to “I”. Ahem. I have only frolicked in the good grass a hand full of times. Ok, twice. Which is why I remain neutral in my stance. Not enough first-hand experience I rate.

What I do have however, are the times I tried a bit of the beloved bud. The first time I gave it a go, let’s say I was of a precious age and thought I was fuck cool. I was not. I felt nothing and I am almost 734.221 % sure it was grass. Actual grass…like lawn clippings. Back then though, you bet your sweet ass that little ole me convinced themselves that they needed eye drops and sunglasses because people would see my “red eyes”. What they saw was a moron.

I was actually cool when I tried it the second time. We were heading to the Phat Moon festival and flexing our kiwi ingenuity by hiding alcohol in the door panels of the car. Honestly, it is the kind of genius you hope your kids inherit from you. We nearly passed through security too if a door wasn’t slammed so hard and made the bottles clink. I was not willing to spend my life savings on two festival priced ciders so when a doobie was passed my way, I leaned into the festival ways and took a puff. But all it made me was hella hungry (and fat) because I ate the entire two-day food supply for the group. This is what they mean when they say drugs will make you lose friends.

It is clear that I am not well versed in the reefer bible; my education is anchored deep in the sea of Diesel’s. Regardless of what is your choice of sin I think deep down we are all hoping this reffy is going to bring the heat. I am anticipating Brexit 2.0 kinda friction. Hotter than the carpet burns on Patricia’s knees after a night out. And I am ready.

So, buckle up kids, grab a spliff, or a diesel…or both for those who don’t fear death, let’s share some popcorn and enjoy the show.

And remember, if you want to light that slow-boat, don’t forget to vote.

Beaver.