Pot smokers can be smart people, and the good ones have an intimate relationship with math.
Dope in America is measured in fractions: quarters, eighths, halfs, QPs. Woe betide the budding dealer who fails to convert the twenty-eight grams (plus one for bag, stem and seeds if you’re cool) into an ounce and its subsequent divisions, and vice versa.
Mexican dirtweed will get you high for “a while” and will be cheap. Hydroponic Pluton will get you high “for hours” and will cost you a week’s pay at the video store. It’s a cost over time over quality over the kind of assholes you have to deal with to get it kind of equasion. It’s urban calculus.
You deresinated the bowl somewhere between Poughkeepsie and Pittsburgh. You’ve got $15.79 in your pocket, plus the purchase money, which was untouchable at $180 and is now $160 after the Slim Jims and Yoo-Hoo. Ten Soft Tacos cost $7.90 plus tax but you only want six, so it’s like half, but more, plus whatever your girlfirend wants–the chince. You’ve gotta drift into Kenyon before the kegs get tapped at eight tonight, and then shave off enough to make gas money to get to Buckeye Lake before the show. How’s it gonna happen, man? Urban Calculus.
Are good potsmokers just lucky? Hell no. They’re smart. They’re just not smart the way that sober people are. But then again, the two don’t interact a whole helluva lot, do they, so what’s the problem, man? Just pretend we’re Republicans who just want to be left alone and everything’s cool, right?
Oh, man! You were asking for facts. I’ll get back to you with those, like tomorrow and shit.