Anyone Celebrating 420 is an Embarrassment

For those of you who simply celebrate it as Hitler’s birthday, it may come as a shock that 4/20 also has a reputation as a marijuana-based counterculture holiday, where potheads engage in a startlingly eclectic variety of activities ranging from smoking weed alone to smoking weed with their friends. My Twitter and Facebook pages have been an unbearable pastiche of “Happy 420!” messages and links to countless Cypress Hill and 311 videos. Given the company I keep, I probably shouldn’t be shocked that I’m not being referred to articles about what the euro’s strength versus the dollar means for my investment portfolio, but still, grow the fuck up, already.


I don’t mean to come off as anti-pot, because the fact it is illegal in this country is laughable and simply due to the fact that the police needed something to justify their bloated to budgets after the repeal of Prohibition. Alcohol leads to far more car accidents, acts of violence and sexual assaults than weed ever will (not to mention that phenomenon where, after 10 or so drinks, I start to believe I’m some sort of fart ventriloquist who can audibly bust ass in front of people and make them believe someone else was responsible). There’s just something so sophomoric about the cult of smoking weed, though, especially with potheads who claim that marijuana is some tool for opening the doors of perception and not just another chemical fix, no better or worse than a beer after work.

I used to smoke a lot of weed…back when I was a teenager. My friends and I would have sleepovers at each others’ houses, sneak out back once the parents were asleep, smoke from makeshift bongs we had MacGyver’d out of Gatorade bottles and excess pieces of screen, then return home to listen to Black Sabbath and watch The Conan O’Brien Show, convinced that both Andy and Coco were baked out of their gourds just like us. It was all in good fun, and, as soon as I was old enough to do things in life like drive a car and not wear a wardrobe entirely of Metallica t-shirts, I rapidly grew bored with pot and quit smoking it.


I guess that’s my problem with weed: To me, it’s a relic from my youth, no different than if you were cleaning out your closet and found a 98 Degrees CD. You’d think to yourself, “Oh, that was a fun time. I wonder what the Hell ever happened to them?” and move on. You’d probably be a little disturbed if you learned there were a bunch of people out there who still listened to 98 Degrees non-stop and defined themselves by that fact. If you smoke weed and you’re a functional adult who doesn’t talk about it non-stop, then you’re good in my book. And to those of you who can’t shut the fuck up about the ounce of Northern Lights you are going to pummel with your gravity bong as you watch Pineapple Express for the 300th time this weekend, go choke on your bong water.

Tagged as: 420.