We live in dangerous times, you guys.  The other day I was rollerblading motorcycling down the street when I saw a group of drug-monsters sitting on their front porch smoking on a weed-pipe. In broad daylight!

I could feel their angry red eyes stabbing into me like HIV-infected, dope-needles. And if their “mary-janes” were laced with “angel’s dust” then there is no telling what they would have done to me to get money for their next fix.

Needless to say I rollerbladed popped a wheelie and rode away as fast as I could.

Now I’ve already written a firmly worded letter that I intend to leave on their doorstep when they are not home, but what am I supposed to do next time I’m out rollerblading ramping off sweet jumps on my motorcyle and run into another terrifying bacchanalian marijuana ceremony?

Don’t worry, you guys. I’m pretty sure I found my answer:

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