So a stoner, on an afternoon when his supply has dried up and he’s a-wanting to get his head straight, goes scrounging. He thinks about some seeds he has collected in a can for 2 years, several hundred in all, with stems, and seed pods, and trash all strewn amongst the little genetic messengers. He thinks about growing a few plants from seed, and then as he ponders the contents of the can, he sees stems and leaf scraps and keef and dusty leavings. He takes but a moment to try to calculate how long it will take to separate the smokeable product from the hundreds of tiny seeds, and suddenly he is just working at it, feverishly, with great purpose. In a matter of just a few minutes, he’s completed the task, aided by the perfectly shaped art-glass plate, with a very slightly domed center, just domed enough the seeds will roll off, but not so steep or narrow as to keep the smokables from collecting there, as well as in the trough on one side of the squared plate. Sent scrounging by a sorry state of affairs, then finding a hidden treasure trove, and now with a clarified state of mind, stoner rises victorious from the keyboard to roust his wife from slumber so that they can together enjoy the rest of their day off. Don’t ever think stoners are not industrious folk, if given the`right task upon which he can focus.
Attire: oversized granny panties, white corset bra (which you can get here)
under t shirt and jeans. It doesn’t sound like much, but it feels drop-dead great. No, the pic is not me, I don’t have curves like that . . .
I hope to dress up later tonight, I have legs and a face to shave.
kisses – KM