If you replaced the word "sailing" from Christopher Cross's 1980 easy listening tour de force with the word "Oaksterdam," it would tickle so good.
Especially now, as the smells of autumn come rolling in. Sure, it's mixed in with a little tear gas and urine and bodystank, but I can clearly detect the flavorful scent of Granny Greenleaf's Pumpkin Harvest Delight wafting in over all that mess!
The ingredients of this delightful snack get the panties wet: 1.6 grams of Sour Diesel-infused sativa cannabis butter, punpkin, raisins, craisins, pecans, walnuts, almonds, sugar, dark brown sugar, egg, vanilla, salt, and pumpkin pie spices! Don't know about y'all, but my unmentionables moisten just thinking about all these magical items coming together in such a harmonious way.
It's only 10 bucks. You can find it in the East Bay at just about every medical marijuana spot. The box tells you when the treat was baked (my little pumpkin lovin' was born on el Dia de los Muertos!), and as long as you keep it refrigerated, a nibble a day of this delicious goodie will change your whole perspective on the fall season.
Here's my moment of wow: An envelope too thick to be good news showed up, forwarded to my couch-surfing address from the place too expensive for me to call home anymore. It's from the the New York State Department of Taxation and Finance. Lord, Jesus, no... they want $480!!! From the year 2007?!? Wow, that's some bullshit.
I go for a stroll, but not so I can remain calm. I usually spend that time cursing to myself, under my breath, so people will think I'm crazy and back the fuck up. I conjure voodoo curses upon my enemies the traditional way, in my town square. In this instance, Oakland City Center will do the trick.
I doom the lady who stole my security deposit, sentencing her to cancer one day, and chuckle. How horrible is that? For the scoundrels from NY trying to jack me, I conjure much worse. Anarchy. From the Occupy movement's Tent City on Jean Quan's front yard, to Wall Street, where it all began, I conjure revolutionary plagues upon our corporate czar's that will shut this entire muthafucka down.
Times like that you need what Granny Greenleaf's baking. Also, duh: Keep this out of reach of children. Because they'll cry when you say they can't have any. Double Duh: Don't try to operate any vehicles or machinery after you've sunk your teeth into this royal yumminess, or you'll be looking like a Metalocalypse accident.
As the propellers of the Oakland police's "ghetto birds" fly overhead, and the stormy feet of the 99% beat the street harder than ever, Granny Greenleaf told me to "Taste the Love", and I listened.