People from all walks of life have been getting stoned as hell on marijuana and screwing each other’s cotton-picking brains out since the dawn of time. It could be argued that the human race, what with all of its twisted quirks, political divisions and dipshit religious radicalism, would not have survived on this raucous planet for millions of years without the combination. It is safe to say that minus sex and weed, this thing called Earth would have been reduced to near rubble centuries ago, and the only crumb the aliens would have to remember us by would be a giant sign sticking out of a gaping hole in the center of Washington D.C. that reads “Dumbasses Were Here.”
We’ve always needed a couple of folks with opposing sex organs occasionally getting all red-eyed and ripped and then pawing and gnawing at each other’s get-me-off spots to put a steady stream of THC-infused demon seeds in the streets. It has been that way for a long time. In fact, we imagine when man took his first hit of weed thousands of years ago while off the coast of China, one of his first thoughts was “Oh, what’s this? My wee-wee feels a little bit funny.” He probably then ran off to tell his old lady that he had just smoked a plant that made him want to wok her world.
But not before raiding a nearby rice field and perhaps even chasing a really fast, nervous hound around a maidenhair tree trying to appease the ravenous nature of his appetite. It goes without saying that the pot munchies have always superseded man’s desire for sex. And, what can we tell you, dog was on the menu a lot more back then. Not only have dudes always been bad at prioritizing their most basic urges, but Taco Bell showed up in China about 10,000 years too late. So fourth meal wasn’t always as appetizing as it is today. It’s a lot more appealing now, that’s for sure.
There is little doubt that the Chinese got one hell of a head start on the stoner sex trend. The country doesn’t have the largest population in the world for nothing. They were the first to recognize that marijuana enhances the senses, gives them glass-cutting hard-ons and makes them wild animals in the sack. They tried to keep it a secret, but eventually, word got around to civilizations all over the world that weed could make even the limpest dick in the land rise to the occasion. It didn’t take long before marijuana was highly revered by kings and peasants alike as a stone-cold aphrodisiac.
Fast forward to present day and not much has changed. Everyone is looking to get their hands on this herbal hump drug for one reason or another. Some countries and U.S. states are even legalizing it, which makes it nice because it has always sucked going to jail, high, hungry and especially horny.
You never want to do that.
Most people are fully aware by now that marijuana can help improve their sex lives. All an inquisitive bastard has to do is scan the internet and they’ll discover a number of studies showing how weed can give men more staying power, all while helping women have blackout orgasms that rival the Geysers of Haukadalur. But what these tidbits of research do not tell the average reader is all the weird thoughts that go through the mind of a man when he is slinging a stoner boner. Well, fear not, you curious imbeciles, I, Mike Adams, have assembled a modest, but critical list of the top 6 weirdest notions that rattle around in our bugged out brains when we’re swapping bodily fluids with another person. Of course, it might be said later that these are all made up.
I assure you they are not.
Whoa! You’re Better Looking Than I Remember
Marijuana has a way of playing tricks on our idiot brains. It is part of its allure. This is especially true after taking a handful of edibles. These potent, little boogers have been known to throw less experienced users into fits of panic and have them begging for someone, anyone to call 911 for help. But on occasion, high doses of THC-infused treats come with unforeseen benefits in the boudoir.
It might go something like this: A girl you met on Tinder is coming over tonight to “hangout.” Although her profile says, “Not looking for hookups,” and it even suggests that she is only “trying out” the dating app to see if “real love and romance even exists anymore,” you have a sneaking suspicion that it’s all bullshit. There is always a chance for sex when two people get together, so, for obvious reasons, you’ve got some pre-date jitters. You can’t stop thinking, “Will this girl look like she does in her photos? Will she be able to carry on an intelligent conversation? Will she reek of cheese?” There is just no way of knowing until they are standing in front of you. These types of blind computer dates are always chock full of surprises. Some worse than others.
So, to help calm your nerves a little before her arrival, you pop 50mg of THC gummies (that’s a lot to start with, considering that the recommended dose for beginners is between 2 and 5 mg) that you bought off a guy from work. “Peep this, mofo,” he said. “These things right here will keep you in the game. It’s an ancient Chinese secret, B, and that shit’s for real, yo! It’s like, love you long time, motherfucker, you feel me? Man, ain’t you ever seen Full Metal Jacket?” You have no fucking clue what he is talking about, but, the way you see it, in the game is always better than out.
You must be on the right track.
Thirty minutes later, there is a knock at the door. The girl steps inside your apartment and, oh-boy, she is not quite the charming bombshell you were hoping to see. At first glance, she looks like what might happen if former Trump press secretary Sarah Sanders got pregnant after a one-night stand with Animal from the Muppets. She’s also missing a tooth, right in the front too, and she keeps spitting on you every time she takes a swig of Rumple Minze from a bottle that she brought from home.
Yep, it’s looking like the nightmare date from hell.
That is until the marijuana edibles start to caress your brain as if it were a cute, cuddly kitten, and now you couldn’t give two flying squirts about her appearance. She could have udders, a mean case of the crabs and keep spitting chewing tobacco juice on your rug and you still wouldn’t send her away. Not tonight. Still, she is rather ghastly, if we’re honest. But hey, beggars can’t be choosers, you know what I mean? I think it was the Isley Brothers who said, “If you can’t be with the one you love, love the one you’re with.” That’s sage advice, especially for those of us who try and bump uglies above their paygrade. We might lust after the tens, but we rarely get anything but twos.
Naturally, one thing leads to another, and soon the two of you are in the bedroom about to get down.
The lights are off – just the way you like it – but the glow of the dusk-to-dawns coming in through the window won’t let you forget, not even for a second, exactly who or what it is you have taken to bed. But then something bizarre happens in your favor. She starts looking good! It’s like the fuck fairy came down from the heavens to do you a solid. “Whoa, this girl is actually pretty smoking hot,” you tell yourself while wiggling her white granny panties off and tossing them on the floor.
But it’s just those ganja goggles telling you lies, lies, lies. It’s a temporary hallucination manifested to keep your pecker from recoiling in horror and seeking refuge in your stomach. Enjoy it while it last, kid. We hate to break it to you but tomorrow morning is going to be some rough business.
Yo! I Wish I Had A Plate Of Tacos, Like Right Now
The marijuana edibles are really starting to alter your state of consciousness, and it seems there is no stopping your dick-laying path of destruction. You’re slinging the old beef stick like a first rate Olympic level porn star and starting to think that perhaps you missed your calling. The thought even crosses your mind that maybe in another life your porn name could have been something like the Kansas City Muffhuncher. It certainly wouldn’t matter to the fans that you’re actually from Indiana, would it?
You’re so impressed by your performance, in fact, that, just to show off a little, you start tossing the girl around like a paraplegic in a moss pit. Never fear, she likes it. This is not one of those #Metoo moments. This is fucking love, bro! At least as much as it possibly can be for a relationship that began 45 minutes ago. But even if you never see her again after tonight, she’ll never forget the wild ride she took with Mr. Muffhuncher. If she does, well, to hell with it, at least you gave it the old college try. Maybe she’ll still be nice enough to give you a five star rating.
Wait, this isn’t Uber!
All of a sudden, just as you are drooling all over her back and quite possibly on the verge of a massive stroke – it has been awhile since you worked out -- you see what can only be described as a munchie miracle. A plate of tacos magically appears just inches from her ass crack and you almost fall off the bed trying to grab one. “Damn, I want that taco,” you cry out in desperation. Meanwhile the girl is up there screaming something into the pillow like, “Yeah, baby, you get that taco.” It seems there is a bit of a communication breakdown. She doesn’t realize that a taco mirage just appeared on her backside and you’re a little sore that it disappeared instead of her. But you keep on fucking trucking. The Kansas City Muffhuncher cannot, no sir, he will not disappoint the fans.
But you still want tacos, though. That stoned brain of yours isn’t going to let you forget that you now have a ravenous case of the munchies and, naked or not, the only thing it really wants to see you go down on is a Nachos Supreme, a couple of double deckers with extra beans, and you wouldn’t be mad if it came with an order of cinnamon twists. Maybe you can even get her to buy? Payday isn’t until Friday.
The girl eventually spins around and throws you on your back to climb on top like King Kong mounting the Empire State Building. Holy shit! But you’re fine with her taking charge for the moment. It might be the only way you can avoid ending up on life support before morning. She takes another swig of Rumple Minze, grabs you by the ears and cries out “Yeehaw!” like some sort of hillbilly banshee from hell. You are starting to suspect that you’re probably not going to make it out for tacos anytime soon.
Man, Damn, My Average Size Wiener Looks Really Big All Of A Sudden
You’ve always heard that thinking about baseball is the way to keep that little pecker of yours from reaching its “For Those About To Rock” moment too soon, but you’re finding out that thoughts of cheap pseudo-Mexican cuisine dancing around in your head has just about the same effect. There is just no shaking those high hunger pangs. You look up at the clock to see what time it is, because you are hell bent on making it to a drive thru once the old slap and tickle is over. But time is of the essence. It’s getting late and this girl isn’t acting like she is anywhere close to finished. It’s just when you’re about to holler, “Hurry it up there, princess,” when something more magnificent than a plate of tacos catches your undivided attention. Holy horse cocks Batman. No shit, from out of nowhere you’ve been blessed with a savage beaver basher that could render the entire female species extinct. It is baffling how the weed seems to have acted like a THC-infused penis pump and gave your average, millimeter peter a massive upgrade that might even bring the legendary Ron Jeremy to his knees. You keep on shouting to celebrate your recent endowment. “I’m huge, I’m hung like a mule.”
But the girl doesn’t say shit, presumably because she’s wondering what on Earth could possibly make some dude with a 4.5 inch cum gun think he ranks among the longdongers. Once again, the appearance of a baby’s arm between your legs is just the weed playing cruel tricks on your self-esteem. You are destined to return to your normal, pathetic size the moment your buzz clocks out for the night. Let’s face it, fellas, if weed made our dicks any bigger, that shit would have been legal a long time ago.
Ouch! The Old Finger Up The Ass Routine Still Hurts Like A Motherfucker
They say marijuana is supposed to be a painkiller of sorts. Perhaps this is the reason you have lost all feeling from the waist down. You’re not mad about it either, since it is part of the reason why you’re still the reigning dick slinging champion of the night. “They should have called this strain Mr. Prolong,” you think to yourself, while your guest continues to work you over from the top, still spitting in your face every goddamned time her drunk ass stops to take another swig of Rumple Minze.
But the ability of the herb to numb the nerve endings in the body must start and stop at the first or second epidermis. You think about this after the girl reaches down around your balls and, without any warning whatsoever, jams what feels like her entire fist right up your scrawny ass. Yeeoooowww! The girl, now really trying to go full-blown proctologist from the Cowgirl position, looks somewhat confused by all the yelping. “It’s just my pinky pinger, darling,” she tells you before continuing to get down with the business at hand. Nope, that’s not a typo. The hard liquor seems to have given her a speech impediment. Now, all of her F’s sounds like P’s. It’s distracting.
From your position, her finger feels more like a toilet plunger – one that has been inserted cup first. You continue howling like a dying animal – and in ways, you are just that. But you’re also high and introspective. So, it starts to occur to you that the sounds of a man being fingered to death is in a frequency that just may hold the secrets of the universe. This could be the unheard word of God. It goes without saying that the federal government, religious leaders and bitheads would be eager to snatch up this sonic sodomy in an attempt to decipher it and further their respective agendas.
But lo and behold, the reverberations of your soul being ripped apart asshole first is in a pitch that could only be translated by an alien civilization millions of light years away. If they were to dig into it, though, it would probably be misconstrued as a war cry. They might immediately send death ships to Earth to lay down a wicked ass whooping unlike any we’ve ever seen. Or perhaps they would understand the true sentiment behind the screeching. Alien or not, not too many living things enjoy having their prostates pulverized by drunk ass women with jagged fingernails.
WTF? Did She Just Fart? Or Was That Me?
It is perhaps this perplexing, yet thoughtful state that stops you from even noticing that the girl has flipped your ass over again and put you back in the driver’s seat. It is a good thing that you’re still higher than an old mountain goat, otherwise you might have suffered a massive blackout once you realized that she was spinning you around the room by the sphincter. But once you finally notice that you are in fact back on top again, you are able to seamlessly sink back into your role as Poontang the Destroyer. “Oh, that’s a great porn name too” you tell yourself. “That shit should be on my tax returns.”
Man, you are high!
Honestly, the girl has been in charge of this fuck fest the whole time, only your stoned brain has tricked you into believing that you’ve had some semblance of control. If this shit was being filmed for the sake of posterity, a sober audience would be sitting there thinking, “This putz is going to need one of those Rascal scooters to get around come tomorrow morning.” You think about this while she viciously twists your nipples, bites at your chest like a hungry racoon, and sinks her claws into the sides of your hips so deep that you just know you’re going to end up with a staph infection. “Holy hell, this girl could end up being the death of me,” you tell yourself, right before tossing her heavy ass legs up behind her ears to finish her off. If you don’t, she’ll kill you.
But before you can get serious about the task at hand, a cloud of rotten air comes wafting up from out of nowhere and smacks you right in the face. Someone fucking farted! It’s bad, dude. If there were oxygen masks and barf bags built into the bedroom ceiling, sort of like they are engineered to do in commercial airliners, those fuckers would have dropped down like a 70-year-old man’s nut sack. Who farted? It is impossible to tell. Getting blasted out of your gourd on marijuana and wrestling around naked with another person makes it difficult to pinpoint the cutter of the cheese. It’s not even that you’re afraid to claim the stinker, either. You’d be happy to. It’s just that nobody, when they’re that wrecked, can figure out without a shadow of a doubt who is responsible. And nobody wants to take credit for a gas leak if they don’t have to. Sex farts are one of those things that are either funny or they are ignored completely by both participants.
And no one is laughing.
Let’s Make A Baby Or A Pizza, Either Is Fine
Even though the date started off a little rough – and what we really mean to say is ruff-ruff – the weed, the physical activity, the fart odor, the random prostate exam, it has all accumulated in that sector of your mind that really gets the dopamine coursing through the veins. You are now ready to make this one-night stand a long-term love affair. Seriously? Hey, blame the weed, pal, we’re not making the rules here. Sometimes when men get so stoned they let their emotions get away from them and then start spewing all sorts of nonsensical pillow talk that can get them into big fucking trouble. That mixed in with the fact that you’re also still starving to death because you couldn’t get Queen Laqueefah off of you in time to make it out for tacos, and the brain just doesn’t have the sustenance it needs to digest common sense. You are officially judgment intolerant.
The fuckmones are so strong at this juncture that if there was a minister in the room you’d end up married before anyone was able to get their underwear back on. There are times when being under the influence of the Devil’s lettuce really takes the cake in terms of saying shit that you would never dare utter under a sober tongue. You might even convince yourself at some point during this skin slapping rodeo that the girl underneath you with Rumple Minze breath is baby momma material. “Listen girl,” you might say while staring deeply into her eyes, “I’m going to squirt a baby up inside of you and the three of us can live happily ever after right here in this shithole apartment.” We can name it Wilbur-Wayne if it’s a boy and Violet-Sue for a girl. It might have learning disabilities though,” you continue, “because my sperms are really fucking high right now.”
Depending on how fucked up this girl is --- and we’re assuming she is majorly fucked up considering the company she keeps – she might even take your ass up on this ridiculous offer. But then again, hopefully the weed is starting to wear off a little before you get too far out there. You don’t want to sell your eternal soul and end up paying at least 18 years of child support to some crazy lady who goes around banging every dude she meets on Tinder. We’re talking about a miserable existence there, friend. One that will inevitably make you prematurely grey and borderline suicidal.
So rather than get all stupid because you can’t handle your weed, might we recommend asking her instead if she just wants something to eat? “So, uh, should I put a frozen pizza in the oven, or what?”
She’ll be all about it, trust us!
The moral of the story, if there is one at all, is that a everyone needs to understand that marijuana, while a good fucking time, has the ability to create some fucked up illusions in life, especially during sex. Perhaps more than that, it can also inspire people to say and do things (or people) that could haunt them until the bitter end. Not that we care what you do or anything. We’ve got our own problems. What, for example? How about getting this girl out of here now that we’re finished eating. It’s not that we’re trying to be rude, but we’ve got some self-loathing to contend with.