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On Fire by Penny Flame


Penny Flame Blog

Penny Flame

when a bitch eats all your pot food



I'm sitting in LAX, drunk off bloody Maria's, watching these cute little Asian women trying to get their shit together enough to board a plane to Miami. Interesting. This is the first second I've taken a breath in the past three days. Between moving and my dogs attempted suicide, I feel like I haven't had time to think, let alone breathe.

Oh I didn't tell you? My dog tried to kill herself yesterday.


 And it was a good attempt. But I am swift like bunny, I intercept, make her throw up all my pot food. Maybe I should start from the beginning.

It all started when the unpacking of shit commenced. Shit had exploded all over my house due to the moving situation, and the only job I had yesterday was to organize said shit, put or throw away all shit I can, and repack shit for Miami, my current destination. Station.

I'm halfway through the unpacking. I'm wearing pink sweat pants that are filthy disgusting dirty dirty dirty, and a smelly wife beater with the statement "Sexual Harassment is for ugly people" smack across the titties. I decide, what better way to unpack then high off my ass, on pot food. Mmmm. Pot food. Two weeks ago, I received some delish little treats, a cinnamon scrumdiddleumptious, and a chocolate peanutbutter chip yumyum. Now where did I put my pot food?

Nope, not in this box. Not in that box either. Maybe its in one of these garbage bags, which I find are best for moving things like clothes, shoes, and dildos.

Oh wait. Here is the bag. Torn....to....shreds......

Oh good. Here is my cinnamon scrumpdiddleupmtious.

Oh shit. Where the fuck is my chocolate peanutbutter yumyum?

Oh shit. Saucy has been asleep for a minute.


That fucking bitch ate my pot food. I was certain of it, still couldn't find the remnants of her marijuana oriented escapade, and so I searched high and low for the wonderful little treats that were supposed to put my ass out the whole way from LAX to MIA.

Nothing by the garbage.

Nothing by the couch.

At this point in the day I decide its time to start thinking like a dog. Not like a man dog, but like a woof dog.

If I were a dog where would I go to eat a wonderful little ganja goodie?

Under the bed. Where my freckled mom can't see me and I can enjoy it in peace.

Peace my ass.

I found the leftovers of her discovery. And when I say leftovers, I mean I found the little plastic container, completely empty, with tiny baby puppy teeth marks in it.

Holy fucking shit my dog is high. Really high.

Saucy was so high she couldn't walk. She was so high she couldn't keep her eyes open. She was so high that when I whistled and gave the "come here sauce" she jumped up to run, got a bad case of the wobbly legs and plowed right back down onto the floor, nose first.

Now under normal circumstances, if my pet were to ingest marijuana food, I would let the bitch sleep it off. I mean fuck, that's what I do when I eat too much of the shit. Unfortunately, this pot food had chocolate in it, and upon realizing the effects of chocolate on dogs, my heart started racing, my hands clammed up, and I realized that this could be another Lunchbox situation, but worse, because I couldn't blame it on the fucking Chinese for poisoning my best friend. Science diet doesn't make chocolate peanutbutter chip yumyums. Nor do they put marijuana in the dog food. I freaked out.

Me calling Brando, screaming: Holy fucking shit, I think Sauce ate my chocolate peanutbutter yumyum! I don't know what to fucking do!

Brando responding to my yelling: TAKE HER TO THE VET, SHE COULD DIE!

Me responding to Brando's death comment: HOLY FUCKING SHIT, MEET ME THERE PLEASE!

I call the animal hospital, and tell them that I'm positive that my puppy Saucy, who is sufficiently sauced by this point, has eaten my marijuana chocolate peanutbutter yumyum.

Me: Holy fucking shit, I think my dog ate my chocolate peanutbutter yumyum.

Lady on phone: um, miss, I need you to calm down. Now what did your dog eat?

Me: My fucking chocolate peanutbutter yumyum, shes fucking high homegirl, I think she's gonna die.

Lady on phone: And what is a chocolate peanutbutter yumyum?

Me: ITS FUCKING POT FOOD LADY WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK IT IS?

Lady on phone: Bring her in immediately, we need to induce vomiting.

Me: FUCK!

I mash over to the hospital, trying to keep Saucy awake the whole time. She keeps looking at me with squinty eyes, trying her best to stay awake and be a good dog, trying not to fall over even though she is laying down in the front seat of my car. Her eyes keep fluttering between wide, medium wide, squinty, slits, to closed. Back to WIDE.

I park illegally in front of the clinic, fuck everyone else, my dog is way too high, and she's gonna die if she doesn't barf soon.

I run in, and they rush her back to start the barfing process. The lady I had spoken with on the phone looks me over as she tells me that the doctor will be out in a moment to give me her diagnosis.

I realize I look as though I've just crawled out of someones dumpster. I smell like it too.

I am in house shoes, dirty sweatpants, and my sexual harassment is for ugly people beater. I also have not showered for two days, as moving tends to make you stinky, and if you are still moving, well then why wash off the filth? It just comes right back. I am fucking gross. My pants are fucking gross. My shirt is fucking gross. My house shoes are gross, mostly because I started wearing them outside of the house, at which point I suppose they just became regular shoes, although I still refer to them as my house shoes.

This lady thinks I am fucking gross. And that I've drugged my dog.

At least I look the part right?

So its to the outside to smoke a cigarette. Very self-destructive, I know, but if you had just given your best little friend one of the strongest pot cookies known to man, you would be self destructive as well. The doctor comes out, motions for me to come back in. She leads me to the secret room with two doors, one on each wall, where they have LAPD waiting on the other side of the  door you have not walked through. LAPD is waiting to take me away to doggy jail, where all the forgetful and sloppy stoners who, on accident, have let their dogs into their stash, live.

I'm getting ready to go to jail, to meet Stoney, who's dog ate an ashtray full of blunt roaches, or Bubba Ku, who's dog is a complete savage and ate his entire crop. Stoney and Bubba Ku and I will be having a terrible slow and high threesome behind bars in the near future and I am about to cry thinking about how I don't like it in my butt and I know these two recluses are going to want to put it there.

Doc: Well, she threw up a lot of brown liquid, so I think she got it all out.

Me: and?

Doc: And she is definitely feeling the effects of the...

Me: Pot?

Doc: yes. She is definitely feeling the effects of the marijuana.

Me: man, she has to be fucking lit! I can't even eat a whole one of those and I smoke pot ALL THE TIME.

Doc: yes. She is feeling it.

Me: No, doc, that bitch is fucking HIGH.

Doc: okay, we are through. You will need to bring her to the overnight clinic so we can monitor her.

Me: She's gotta be thirsty. She had really bad cotton mouth earlier and I tried to get her tongue wet but she just....

Doc: okay we are through.

I stuck around the vets until 6, at which point Saucy McKushface and I mashed to the overnight clinic. Before I left, a male nurse came out and said to me in low tones, whispers, didn't want the lady on the phone to hear our conversation.

Male Nurse: She's gonna be just fine. I had a buddy once who's dog got into a pound. She ate a good quarter of it, and spread the rest of it around the room, and rolled in it. She was just really high. For like three days. But she came down.

Me: Oh my god I would love to eat a quarter pound of weed and then roll around in the other three quarters. Where is this friend and his dog?

Male Nurse: That's not the point. I'm telling you your dog will be fine.

Me: Yes, I know but can I get your friends number?

So in the end, Saucy McKushface is fine. In fact, she is better than fine. She got higher than I've probably ever been, spent the night in a chic $400 a night pet motel, and had her first taste of godly nectars we women refer to as chocolate.

Fucking bitch ate my pot food. She is just like her mother.




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