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The pot calling the kettle a Twinkie

Let's review. Or re-view. Or look again. Maybe go back. To the dispensary. Is this a cool job or what?

October 25, 2009|John Kenney | John Kenney is a writer in New York.

Do you have a medical condition that necessitates marijuana? Do you have a way with words? If so, Westword wants you to join the ranks as our freelance marijuana-dispensary reviewer.

Posted on Westword's "Latest Word" blog, Sept. 29


Dear Sir or Madam:

How funny is that?


Has 20 minutes passed since I started this letter?

I'd like to apply for the job, the exact title of which escapes me at this moment. Wait. You ask me if I have a medical condition that necessitates marijuana? Also, I believe you asked me (did you ask me?) if I have a car or if I've ever owned a used car or had waffles a l'orange, which I haven't, or seen the movie "Frankenstone and Flinch," which isn't a movie, it's just words that came across my mind like a neon digital billboard, brickbats, beer pong. Once, in grade school, I peed on my shoes, and they were new shoes, and to this day I think about it when I'm on my way to the dentist or a first date or imagining what it must be like to luge, which seems scary to me. You know what's awesome is a shoeshine.

Let's talk about qualifications.

I went to Harvard. But not the one you're thinking of. A different Harvard. In Marrakech. I ran cross-country. After graduation, I ran a profitable saffron farm and could often be found wearing a large hat speaking a kind of gibberish Arabic that locals found both amusing and grating.

My previous employment, as you'll see from the resume, which is literally this moment freaking me out as a word because how is that not the word resume, like we now resume our regularly scheduled broadcast?

Look over there. Is that a monkey?

Stress. That's my medical condition.

Also, does a "loser" have a Class 2 license to drive a "vehicle-in-tow" and a moped? Because I have that thing.

My previous employment, as you'll see from the resume, which is literally ... whoa. That was insane.

You ask for references. I give you a challenge. Do you dare to eat a peach? Let us go then, you and I, as the evening spreads itself against the sky, like a patient etherized on a table. I wrote that in my senior year. I'm also a writer. I've been published in many, many journals. Many times. So if part of reviewing is writing, I write. Look at the words I'm writing now, won't you?

May I share with you a comical aside? How many Freudians does it take to change a penis? What I like about that joke is it's just the one sentence and punch line together. Like a Reese's cup.

Personal experience. I've eaten in a restaurant and then talked about the food, sometimes saying it was good and sometimes saying it was bad, which to my mind is like reviewing. I'm proficient in Google, Word, Internet, e-mail and ice-fishing, I have heard of Twitter. I have used power tools, fixed a broken toilet (twice), served in the United States Senate (again, probably not the one you're thinking of), free-dived to a depth of 18 feet, walked across the Golden Gate Bridge in my sleep, and once I swam with dolphins at SeaWorld, for which I was arrested, as I was naked and SeaWorld was closed at the time (at no time did I try to copulate with a dolphin, despite the statement by the officer).

Dear Sir or Madam: I believe I am the ideal candidate because I take the inhalation of medical marijuana seriously, unlike my friend, Ben, who thinks everything's a joke. There are days when I have no concept of time whatsoever, like an Indian tribe I once read about in Brazil or possibly Norway. Am I the right candidate? Maybe this will help: Right now, I have my head bent back and am looking out the window, upside down, as the sun is setting (or rising) and there is a lovely, pollution-enhanced burnt-orange glow over the city of Los Angeles.

My Angeles. The Angeles. Angels. How's that for a review?

Except that it dawns on me that I live in Brooklyn. And it's night.

Thank you.

References available upon request.

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