A Post-Hall of Fame Induction Celebratory Joint Is A Top Five Smoking Experience

I don’t care what the event is, sitting and listening to a bunch of people talk at a podium is arduous as shit. The whole time you’re thinking about how much more fun you’re gonna have the second the talking is over. Whoever said this was counting down the seconds for this enshrinement to be over from the moment it started. I don’t care if it was Peyton, that joint was burning a hole in their pocket from the second the got to Canton.

I’m excited for the day when smokers are no longer subjected to the shadows. I don’t need to stand in a crowd and blow clouds in someone random onlooker’s face, that’s completely unnecessary. But having to sneak off to the parking lot is equally as unnecessary in my eyes. Let me ash on my own bust like Rihanna did her security guard at Coachella if I so please. I want Peyton to attempt to pass me the spliff only to have Ty Law intercept it and take it back to the house for 6. Allow me go to the tree where Larry is buried and put one in the air for my lost brethren. Don’t make me scurry off to the parking lot like I’m scoring heroin in exchange for a gap-toothed blowjob. A little dignity goes a long way, especially during such an esteemed affair. Still a great smoking experience, knowing you’ve become immortalized for as long as society exists, but it could be elevated is all I’m saying.