Once upon a dime bag ago, I was a simpler man. I’d roll a joint like it was a love letter to the universe, light it like a ritual, and burn it slow while my fingers tap-danced across a keyboard fueled by THC and rebellion. Writing was sacred back then—a spiritual act. I didn’t need much. Just a lighter, some zig-zags, and whatever chronic I could barter from the neighborhood shaman. A bong would sometimes make a guest appearance, gurgling like a loyal swamp creature while I exhaled sentences into the ether.
Now? I need to charge my bong.
Seriously. My bong has firmware updates.
I used to smoke out of things that looked like smoking devices. Things made of glass, flame, and a little recklessness. Now I’m sitting here trying to pair my Puffco Peak Pro with Bluetooth like I’m launching a vape rocket to Saturn. You ever try doing a dab these days? It’s not a ritual anymore—it’s a technical procedure. I feel like I need a certification from MIT just to take a hit.
“Please wait… heating to 500°F… loading terps… verifying battery…”
Gone are the days of just sparking it up. Now I’ve got apps with flavor profiles, temperature presets, and a user interface that looks like a spaceship dashboard. And don’t get me started on these vape pens. Sleek little bastards, they’re too easy. Too stealthy. I take a hit and I’m high before I even realize it, like getting snuck up on by a ninja made of fog.
But something’s missing.
I miss the crunch of dry bud between my fingers. I miss the little dance of the lighter’s flame. I miss being part of the process—rolling, packing, coughing, laughing. Now it’s “Did you bring the USB-C charger?” “Is your Puffco synced to the app?” “Why does mine taste like burnt plastic?” “Is that a software glitch or am I just too high to figure this out?”
I used to write with a joint in one hand and a laptop in the other. Now I need tech support just to get a buzz.
Maybe I’m old school. Maybe I’m a stoned dinosaur stuck in a digital forest. But I swear, these new toys killed the vibe. Weed used to make me feel, now it just makes me update firmware.
Still—I puff, I persevere. I adapt. But if you ever catch me trying to hotbox a Tesla, please roll me a joint and slap some sense into me.
High-tech highs ain’t always higher. Sometimes, you just need fire. 
Keep it weird,
~-JohnsJoints
