Memorial Day. The sun’s smashing down like a golden hammer, backyard grills roar, flags flap stiff in a patriotic breeze. And here I am—rolling a fat joint with the reverence of a monk lighting incense. Because while everyone’s saluting heroes with burgers and beer, I’m honoring the ghosts of war with a little green peace in my lungs.
Smoke swirls around me, carrying memories thicker than the haze. War veterans, fallen brothers and sisters, the chaos and the calm—wrapped in every puff of this sacred herb. It’s not disrespect; it’s reflection. The way the buzz breaks through the noise, the politics, the commercials, the backyard small talk. Weed makes you see the shadows behind the parade, the faces behind the medals.
I’m not just high; I’m dialed into something deeper—a smoky tribute. The crackle of the lighter syncs with the distant roll of a fighter jet overhead, a reminder that freedom’s complicated, messy, and sometimes painfully real. Each exhale is a whispered thanks, a moment to remember that liberty was paid for in full, often in blood and sweat.
So yeah, pass the blunt and the barbecue sauce. Celebrate with a clear mind, a soft heart, and a blazing joint. Memorial Day deserves that kind of honest, smoky reverence—a gonzo toast to those who gave us the right to light up, laugh, and live free.
Because freedom tastes better with a little weed.
Keep it weird,
~-JohnsJoints
