It’s Jack’s birthday today. My brother. My co-conspirator in curiosity. The one who dares to dive deep, question hard, laugh louder than the world would prefer. And somewhere between thinking about his soul and this sacred spin around the sun, it hit me like a wake-and-bake sativa lightning bolt: smoking weed on someone’s birthday isn’t just a vibe—it’s a f*cking rite of passage. A ritual. A necessary cosmic obligation.
Let me explain before the uptight start clutching their pearls and whining about “excess” and “Pour Decisions.” This isn’t about getting wrecked. This is about celebration as ceremony. This is about presence. This is about honoring the miracle that someone you love survived another year in this mad, beautiful dumpster fire of a world—and what better way to mark that than with a slow-burning joint and a deep exhale of gratitude?
Because birthdays are weird. They’re loaded. They’re equal parts confetti and existential dread. You start off the day hyped as hell to get free pancakes and maybe a hug or two—and then by 4PM, you’re wondering what you’ve done with your life and whether you’re aging gracefully or just decaying efficiently.
Enter weed. The green equalizer. The mood softener. The laughter sparkplug. The memory maker. It doesn’t just ease the nerves—it amplifies the joy. It makes cake taste like food of the gods. It makes hugs feel like soul contact. It turns a birthday from a calendar alert into a psychedelic little pause where time slows down and all you feel is love.
So yeah, I lit one today. For Jack. Not with him (not yet), but for him. I puffed with intention. I smoked with reverence. I got high not just to celebrate his life, but to honor the shared moments, the fights we survived, the weird ideas we hatched at 2AM, and the knowledge that birthdays aren’t about getting older—they’re about remembering who the hell you are.
To Jack:
Happy Birthday, brother. May your lungs be clear, your mind be wild, and your stash jar never empty. May this year bring you clarity, laughter, and strange conversations with even stranger people. May your joints burn smooth and your thoughts burn brighter.
And to the rest of you: if you’ve got someone you love and they’re alive today, light up. Not out of habit. Not out of boredom. But as a symbol. A little puff of rebellion against the grind. A holy exhale in honor of a soul that matters.
Birthdays are sacred. Weed is sacred. Together? That’s f*cking alchemy.
Happy Jack Day, y’all. Blaze accordingly. 
Keep it weird,
~-JohnsJoints
Happy Birthday Jack.
Luv yah dude…
