It’s time to stereotype! But seriously: for those who have had a number of encounters with token tokers (or for those who happen to fit the bill) you know that not all potheads are deflated bodies melting on their parents’ couch or dreadlock-donning college dropouts. Stoners come in all different forms — they’re just like us. However, there are a few characteristics a true stoner possesses.
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So what if it’s pseudo-Mexican grub? The craving for the chain “restaurant” will forever linger on your taste buds. Even if you commonly spout praises for eating local, organic, or meat-free, you make exceptions for this special genre of fast food. You’ve consciously made the decision to block out the memory of your roommate discovering a cockroach in his Taco Bell takeout sack — it’s just that deliciously satisfying. And he was kind of a bastard anyway. (Oh yeah, you also believe in karma.)
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Assuming you’re not already a resident, you know the relocation out west will eventually be in your cards. It’s not just the dispensaries. No, no. That was just a consequence of the awesomeness you know these states already inherently possess. Surfing, skiing, amazing dope that comes cutely packaged in translucent green prescription bottles — these places have been calling your name since you walked across the stage at college graduation, genuinely confused as to how you received honors’ status when you knew you went to every lecture high.
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Fuck fussy zippers and buttons. Comfort is your prime objective when you have to get dressed (though you may or may not have weighed the benefits of living in a nude colony). You’ve figured out ways to class-up sheepskin-lined moccasins and drawstring sweatpants. You swear you started the beard/scruffy face trend.
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Like groceries or Taco Bell, weed is just a necessary expense. You’re also saving up for a volcano.
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When others are carelessly swiping their credit cards at clothing stores, you’re diligently probing the head shop clerk on potential new supplies. Your last girlfriend scoffed when she found out you spent more on your three-foot-bong than you did on her Christmas present. You knew your trusty new toy would never screw you over and try to give your best friend a blowjob though. If you’re lucky, you’ve also befriended a glass blower along your quest of stoner-dom.
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He (or she) may have initially been some mysterious person you felt shady or uneasy around. Now the extended periods of time you’ve spent doing financial transactions or testing products together has resulted in a bond like no other — you know each other’s birthdays; he talks shit about other clients to you; you’re sort of secretly in love with his girlfriend. (She must have it made, huh?) You’ve volunteered to watch his dog while he jaunts around Amsterdam, a trip surely supported by his work.
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When your friend in Philly decided to unveil their grow closet to you heavenly music is cued. You felt a deep pang of jealousy in your gut. You sense that tingling sensation commonly associated with pure love and affection when you see large amounts your smart, budgeting ass can probably never afford.
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(Previously published on January 21, 2011.)