Above are both sides of a business card I found today on my car’s windshield. (Notice the misspelling of “compassionate” on one side, and “prescription” on the other. Proof, yet again, that stoners don’t use spell check.)
I’ve lived in California all of my life—in Cupertino, San Francisco, Oakland, Berkeley, Santa Cruz, Los Angeles, San Diego. I know from stoners. But this is new. This is stoners and doctors joining forces. Before this, the only thing doctors and stoners had in common was that they both used these things:
Now finding a licensed physician in California who will write you a prescription for “medical” marijuana is like finding a homeless person who’ll take a dollar you give them. Not exactly a challenge. You write Dr. Roachclip a check ($99!); he writes you your prescription for pot.
Badda-bing, bodda-bong.
And look! Once you’ve got your pot prescription, you never have to leave your house!
The good news is that if you, dear reader, have any financial worries, you don’t anymore. Because judging from, well, this business card I found, all you have to do, right now, is invest anything you can afford in Cheetoes, ice cream, and frozen pizzas. Then just sit back, and wait to get rich.
Related posts o’ mine: Proof People Get Stoned at Work, and My Visit to a Marijuana Anonymous Meeting.
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