Lending A Helping High

Now I know that I complain a lot about the city where I currently live, Boulder, Colorado. But I still hold out hope that this town is actually filled with good-natured, law-abiding citizens who are simply ecologically friendly and have an undeserved bad reputation. Then a story comes along and reminds me that most of the people in this town are dirty hippies who worked hard to earn that reputation. This is one of those stories.

But believe it or not, this story has several signs of hope for the city of Boulder. For one thing, if the average Boulderite found a two-pound bag of weed, the last thing they would do is call the cops. This is a scientific fact, as the numbers from a very comprehensive survey I did of the three people around me when I read this article prove. When I asked them if they would have reported the find, the consensus was “F**k no!” Most likely, the lucky Boulderite would seclude themselves in their room with nothing but a Pink Floyd CD, the Wizard of Oz, and fifteen pepperoni pizzas and emerge a week later claiming he knows how to solve health care and who killed JFK. Also, it is very possible that this person simply thought that they were making a charitable donation. I mean, the street value of that pot was $8000, which is a lot more money than most charities get from people. In this person’s defense, they probably assumed (possibly correctly) that pot keeps people warmer than coats.

The part of this story that I can’t believe is that the police are actually trying to find the owner so they can return it to them if they have a legal right to have it. Now, I’m not a doctor, but for a person to have two pounds of medical marijuana, they better have a tumor the size of a large beagle on their forehead. I bet this is awkward for police, who are used to taking people’s drugs away, not giving them back. I wonder if they will do one of those things that they do in supermarkets for stupid kids that get lost.

PA: “Will the owner of the two-pound bag of Maui Wowie please report to the lost and found.”

Pot use in Boulder is sort of like polygamy in Utah and inbreeding in the south; sure it’s illegal, but law enforcement just let it slide. I mean, I picked up an issue of a local paper (I won’t say which but I will say that it is in Boulder and it comes out Weekly). I then realized that the entire back page was ads for either medical marijuana or marijuana paraphernalia. Now, I’m willing to bet the odds of a person with a painful terminal illness that would qualify for medical marijuana being enrolled in a four-year university are about as good as me winning America’s Next Top Model. (Not that I don’t have the looks, but I can’t walk in high heels. Don’t ask why I know that).

I’m sure that you have already assumed that the entire population of Boulder is a bunch of stoners. This is unfairly pigeon-holing us. We are much more than a bunch of pot-heads. For instance, we also drink way too much. And we’re perverts. And we beat people up late at night. The sad thing is that when I read that the assailant was described as a “Pacific Islander,” who was fat and ugly, the first thought that came to my mind was “What was I doing last night?” At that moment, my roommate Chris simply appeared in the doorway with a disapproving frown and simply said “Why did you do it?” Now before you bust down my door and make a citizen’s arrest, I took a look at the sketch and of course it wasn’t me. My sketch looks a little more like this (okay fine, more like this). Then again, you could be this guy. That is what we call hiding in plain sight.

As for the girl on the roof, the real mystery is how someone wasted enough to fall off a roof got on a roof in the first place. I also like how the “detectives” concluded that the girl had probably drank “large quantities of alcohol.” Now if that isn’t fine detective work I don’t know what is, because I would have never guessed this girl was drinking; I figured all women were just clumsy retards (that was sarcasm by the way ladies, but don’t worry the sexist comments are coming). This is just further proof that we should never let a woman do a man’s work. And yes, doing stupid stunts drunk is a man thing. When men do it, they don’t go to the hospital. They dust themselves off, shrug off the pain, continue drinking to the applause of his fellow drunken male admirers, and then die the next morning of massive internal bleeding and alcohol poisoning. The good thing is that in the off chance that he survives the fall, he will probably be prescribed medical marijuana.