Ok, so we went to a dispensary, ostensively to buy Spawn a grinder for their weed. Sure. That’s it. A grinder.
Actually it’s an activity many of us with covid protected jobs engage in. Shopping for oblivion. Crushing the anxiety of a dystopian future that much of the world is already experiencing.
Chewing, smoking, chugging (sipping if you’re bougie), bonging or snorting our way out of facing a future we’d rather not ponder just now. Some of us, well my generation, have the weirdly confusing luxury of knowing we only have a decade or so left, like we kinda have a hall pass to the fuckery that is sure to sink our progeny.
Our only fear is suffering such a catastrophic loss of privilege that we are forced to experience what Western propaganda has assured us we will never experience as long a we follow the mandated protocols of excess and binge without question.
So in aid of maintaining a 1950-esque delusion of Western security, shroom tea anyone?