Sex for Six Year Olds

Truthfully? I think everyone should ingest marijuana at least once in their lifetime, if for no other reason than the root beer float. Have you ever had a root beer float while high on marijuana? Soda and ice cream, together, at the same time? It’s almost too much. Your sensory receptors aren’t built to withstand such an experience. Your neocortex starts flashing red lights as sirens blare and alarms sound off. That’s some shit evolution never intended to let exist. We made that, and it’s gotten to the point where I won’t even eat ice cream sober. Now, this might be the worst shit I’ve ever said (probably not), but it makes me wish I could get my six year old son high, just to show him how much better ice cream and candy can taste. Because in his world, that’s the ultimate. The top of the mountain. The 72 virgins. What’s better than ice cream and candy when you’re six years old? You don’t know about blowjobs and orgasms and all the fun stuff church-going folk pretend not to enjoy. You’ve never been to a strip club or a pool hall or done cocaine in a dirty restroom with even dirtier women. You’ve never cut class or skinny-dipped or driven a car too fast or ding-dong ditched or made out with a girl at the movies. All you have is ice cream. Toys break. Interests change. You outgrow games and tire of the same movie. Best friends move away and pets get flushed or buried outback. But ice cream is faithful. Ice cream is good every time, and every time is as good as the first time. Even the most religiously indoctrinated child will give God the middle finger in exchange for ice cream. Ice cream is sex for a six year old, and candy is money. It’s as good as it gets. That is, until you’ve eaten it after having taken a giant bong rip. That’s when you know there’s more. More to anything, more to everything. That would fuck up a six year old. That would shake up the natural order of life. You never could’ve dreamed it actually got better, but it did. What else can get better? And why shouldn’t you be able to have it the best way every time? It’s like your first time seeing through glasses after a lifetime of terrible vision, and just when you see a naked woman, some asshole in a suit kicks you in the dick and makes off with your glasses. It’s like playing Call of Duty on a 70″ HDTV while staying the weekend at your well-to-do relatives’ house, then going back home and playing it on your old beat up cube of regret that flickers in the top left corner. You’ve begun to wonder whether it’s really flickering or actually firing off short, sporadic flashbacks of your poor life decisions, aimed straight at your sub-conscience. Sometimes it does that distorted rainbow thing too, when colorful streaks and waves start dancing around. It goes away if you slap the side of the TV, but if it’s a boring show and you’re stoned, you usually just try to zone out and pretend it’s an acid trip. It’s similar to how basic-cable porn used to look if you managed to hunt it down late at night in the higher channels your parents didn’t subscribe to. Have you ever played Call of Duty on a fucking 70″ HDTV, with surround-sound, in the dark, while high? There’s no coming back from it. You’re locked in. You’re in the matrix. And you actually start believing you’re really capable of doing those things to people who fuck with you. I walk around like I was there. I wake up in cold sweats trying to knife German shepherds. That’s ice cream for a kid. And marijuana would ruin ice cream forever by making it better once. It’s like really meeting Santa Clause, and then being molested by him.

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