The Stealthy Stoner strikes again

When I get really, really high (like tonight), my inner Stealthy Stoner comes out.

He's the one that takes care of the snack attack food runs (like tonight), which lead me to my friendly neighborhood 7-11.

I saw two young-ish Asian dudes that were very clearly having a severe case of the munchies as well. The one just stood there staring into the ice cream case. Yeah, I know the feeling, dude.

I grabbed a couple of beers (Newcastle Ale, obvs), a big bag of mixed nuts and a box of Nag Champa incense. Gotta keep the place smelling fresh, OK?

And I was able to make it there and back without losing my parking spot. Yesssssss.

The beers are flowing and the weed is strong. Monday night live, bitches. You know how we do.

“Me and Romeo ain’t never been friends.”

America. Land of the free, home of Sonic fast foot restaurants with wry TV commercials and slushies for a reasonable price.

Let no one get between a good American and his nearest Sonic. Not even an officer of the law. Because the REAL law of the country that God and white long-haired Jesus loves the most says that no one can stop us from our right to eat deep fried foods drenched in salt and sugar and high fructose corn syrup 24 hours a goddamned day. Impede our right to assault ourselves with outer space food for dummies at your own peril, copper. Before you know it an irate Asian will drag your sorry ass down the street with his automobile while the assembled hordes applaud his patriotism.

Fuck, I wish there was a Sonic in Los Angeles. Then I could mow down a cop with my car too. And get a side of tater tots to go, bitch.