to get back to the OP… while I disagree with the permeating ability of pot smoke… I do agree that your neighbors are assholes… but I wouldn’t call the cops as others advise… you’ve already spoken to them about it so they will think that any heat would have come from you, whether it is true are not… and then you might have to deal with retaliation… which from assholes could lead to who knows where…
you are in a bad situation… you are not going to get them to stop… you could try and smell proof your apartment or find some incense that you like and mask the scent… I suggest Nag Champa…
I just wish they’d do something so that you could see who it was posted something before you actually read it. I mean, I don’t know how many times I’ve read one of **Vinny’**s post all the way to the wretched pun at the end and thought “Shit! If only there were some way to know!”
Anyway, at least I can bitch to you guys about it, knowing how interested you are in that. And all.
So, we’ve had the obligatory opening lines of “Oh noes, it’s the Diogenes Show.” Guinastasia’s dug into her archives (or is that stalker-chives) with links. Sigh, just let me know when my cue comes up to hear the fantasized sexual positions regarding myself and Dio. I’ll be in my trailer until then.
Why isn’t this the elucidator show in this case, anyway? He made the first bald assertion about the effects of secondhand pot smoke stink on clothes. Don’t bother answering - it was a rhetorical question.
I didn’t say it was. That’s not my sentence. Kind of moving the goal posts there, aren’t you?
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Hahahahahaha. Ahaaaaaaaaaaaahahahahaha. Bwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahahahahahahaha. Cite, you weasely retard:
If you want it to stop, maybe *you *should stop making constant assertions of “facts” that are entirely based in your own personal experience and refuse to accept the validity of any experiences or evidence that contradict your own.
I’d like to smell like money. Subtly, of course, so nobody actually notices, but everybody is a lot nicer to me. Trouble is, wouldn’t be anybody I’d like.
Like the kind of people who volunteer to introduce you to a very sharp knife in your very squishy bits in exchange for you not giving them your wallet?
Ya know, every time you start with the , ‘My anecdotes are facts - my facts trump your anecdotes’ I hear the opening credits to the Dio Show. It’s your own fault really. Why is it so fucking hard for you to accept that people can have different experiences than you and they can both be true?
Oh, I remember that one! That’s when LBJ was the peace candidate! I went door to door for Goldwater. Course, living on an Air Force base, it was pretty easy pickings…