Hydroponic BBQ

A neighbor commented on my hydroponic stash today during an impromptu BBQ I hosted at Chez McDad.

Alas, I’m not that cool, if you find such things cool. A 41-year-old father of 2 living in the Colorado burbs really has no business growing his own pot. This “grass” is merely a school project that Lilly brought home.

With regard to this subject, here’s a little word association that seems apropos for both me and pretty much anyone stopping by MMW.

Weed: The things I pulled for an hour today.

Blow: What we do with snotty noses.

Crack: What the girls flashed me when they bent over with full diapers.

Ecstasy: An hour without one of the girls having a meltdown about something absurd.

Dope: The image MRS has of me more often than not.

Heroin: The star of most of the tedious Disney movies.

Speed: Antonym of the rate with which my girls do anything when I’m in a hurry.

Roofie: The final resting place for “Emma the doll” when the neighbor’s kid threw her in the air.

Junk: The place Lilly’s foot ended up when she jumped on me in bed this morning.

Cronic: The rate with which nagging phrases emit from wives’ mouths (just kidding girls, and I’m not just saying that because I’m afraid of you).

8-Ball: My magic investment adviser and relationship coach.

Gram: Our favorite crackers.

Joint: The things on me that ache every morning.

Greenie: The thing Lulu sneezed on me.

Juice: What I have none of when I try to get a reservation these days.

Lines: The reason I will never visit Orlando.

Nose Candy: Candy that Lulu sticks in her nose––along with her finger, rocks, dirt, food, money, and crayons.

Uppers: Explosive shits that blow through the diaper and reach the shoulders.

The Clear and The Cream (to answer a few emails, this is a steroid thing ala Barry Bonds): When the diaper rash is all clear you don’t need the cream.