Oh, to be a stoner, what a whimsical quest,
With giggles and snacks, we think we’re the best.
Yet beneath all the laughter, a nuisance does creep,
For in the haze of the high, some secrets we keep.
Lost in thought like a kite, floating high in the sky,
Did I start that last movie? Wait, why does it fly?
The snacks are a beckoning, a siren's delight,
But I forget what I’ve eaten—I'm in for a fright.
The couch is my kingdom, oh how it knows me well,
But when nature calls fiercely, that’s my personal hell.
Do I brave the adventure, or just sit and enjoy?
No judgment, my friends! I'm just a crafty boy.
And don’t get me started on forgetting my keys,
Or the time I made dinner—a feast of old peas.
The clock spins like a top, but what's time anyway?
Is it morning or night? I can never relay.
Yet through all the mishaps, one truth still I hold,
Laughter and friendship are worth more than gold.
So here’s to the stoners, a foggy brigade,
Though we may be forgetful, our joy won’t ever fade.
Hazy Humor is licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0
