The anchor sinking to the sea below, like

The anchor sinking to the sea below, like my life. The water waiting quietly to swallow me whole. What becomes of the anchor? What will become of me? I lean over the edge and watch

ed the anchor start to sink, then I felt a sharp tug on at my ankle. "Ah," I thought as I was pulled overboard behind the anchor, "so THIS is what is to become of me. Fish food."

I felt my body sink into the deep, deep blue. For some reason, I didn't have the desire to fight the waters that engulfed me. Not... sure what got... ankle, but it stung .. mind.

Oh my gawd. This is the best weed I have...ev..er..sm...oke..duh.

3-1/2 years later, I wondered what the hell I was smoking when I wrote that line! I never smoked weed since then. The odour pollice must have been tracking me since that day.

When the police showed up they demanded to know why I wrote the line high. "I smoke dope when I fold stories." I told them. Thankfully weed was now legal in California. Puff Puff G

-oose is a little game I play with the police. I blow my reefer smoke out the window just to taint them. They can't tell it's me because everyone else and their dog does it, too.

"What kind of reefer is that dog smoking?" Somehow I just knew he was going to say it was mostly Labrador. "It is mostly Labrador." "No, not the dog, the reefer." "Who's on 1st?"

“Don’t try to change the subject with an Abbott & Costello routine! The subject is reefer. Stay on topic. I'm asking what’s the reefer the dog is smoking?” “No, What’s on second."

At last, the penny dropped. "What" was the name of the very popular strain of weed amongst the youths of Baltimore. I felt sickened to see my dog waste his potential like this.