Napalm and Silly Putty

BEER AND POT

When I was young, most kids in my neighborhood drank beer before they discovered pot. Everybody drank first. Saturday night we drank beer and puked on our shoes. It was an Irish neighborhood. Drink and puke, that was it. A great American tradition. It still goes on today.

Then in 1950, when I was thirteen, we heard about pot. We discovered that on pot you didn’t stagger, you didn’t puke on your shoes, and your breath didn’t smell. Which was important. Because, as a kid, when you came home from drinking there were two breath smells that could give you away: alcohol and puke.

So, we found that when you smoked pot, you could withstand your mother’s closest scrutiny. Because, let’s face it, you had come home drunk so often wearing someone else’s clothing that your mother was now openly asking to smell your breath.

“Come here, mister! Let me smell the breath. Ahhh! No booze or puke. That’s a good boy. What’s that under your arm?”.

“Two boxes of Oreos.”

“That’s a good boy.”

“Good night, Ma.”

Cool.