In honor of the upcoming Stoner celebration on April 20th that marks the highest of “high holy holidays” (*Author’s note: minus the holy, in this case) for some people, I’ve decided to do some extensive research, burn the midnight oil and really break down a serious and emotional challenging topic. Namely, who looks the highest in their NBA team picture.
So, wipe the Dorito residue off your hands, put the pipe down and back away slowly. Focus those bleary bloodshot eyes on the screen and let’s knock this out.
PG: Ricky Rubio
What he’s toking on: Mediterranean Mist
Mr. Rubio’s looking for a joyous, delightful high. A laid back, siesta-like inhale and a swept-away-by-the-salt-tinged-sea exhale and Ricky’s the happiest Spaniard in the room. Who needs the pain-killers for his season-ending knee injury when he’s got some herbal remedies that have been passed down from generation to generation?
The long hair? The scruffy beard? He looks more like he belongs in a Volkswagen parked on the fringes of Burning Man than running a spectacularly impressive fast break. Ricky is the guy at the party who’s so bombed that he keeps accidentally asking for more Tapas in his native tongue. While he’s watching “Thundercats” on T.V. he makes everyone around him wonder, “How do you say ‘chillest dude ever’ in Spanish?”
SG: Jarrett Jack
(*Author’s note: I know, I know. Jack’s actually a point guard.)
What he’s toking on: The Triple Voodoo Witchdoctor
Mr. Jack’s seeking to ease the pain of a season in which his team’s win percentage looks more like a decent baseball player’s season average and he’s a deep, coastal-humidity-holding breath away from turning into a one man Mardi Gras. He’s sucking in the Triple Voodoo while listening to Ashanti and Ja Rule songs while shouting out, “This is my jam!”
So blazed up, does Jack appear in this photo, that either the photographer was using Flash Bang grenades for his lighting or he had his eyes forcibly closed by the weight of stanky ganja. Why bother to open his eyes, when all he’ll see is a team that was recently sold for, in sports franchise terms, the equivalent of a flea-market bargain? Jarrett’s the guy at the party who keeps bringing up, and bonging down, his glory days puff-puff-passing to Luke Schenscher at Georgia Tech.
SF: Carmelo Anthony
What he’s toking on:Empire State Thundercreamsicle
Mr. Anthony is trying to keep it chill. With a single inhalation of the chronic-mixed-with-NYC’s-beautiful-smog, Melo gets mellow. Since Jeremy Lin got injured Melo’s been running the show which is just the way that he likes it. After a few puffs of the Thundercreamsicle, Melo likes to claim that the tattoo on his left shoulder actually stands for, “Waygood Bud.”
Melo is the guy sitting on the corduroy couch who is hogging the blunt. He doesn’t pass on the court, he sure as hell doesn’t pass off of it. He’s running an isolation play on the dooby and there’s little to no passing that will stop him. His PPG is at an elite level. And I’m actually referring to his “Puffs per Give.” (*Author’s note: this stat, started in 1973 has been started and given up by stoner-ticians so many times that — ooops, they just got bored and forgot they were keeping the stat again. Besides, Ninja Warrior is on G4 right now so they’re too busy.)
PF: Chris Kaman
What he’s toking on: Quidditch Broom Skyflare
Mr. Kaman is exclusively looking for a downer drug to ease him off the amphetamines that he’s been crunching through like they’re a giant bowl of Reese’s Puffs. With his team spinning slowly down what can only be described as a giant crapper, Kaman needs to burn one down to avoid burning out. Puffing from an authentic giant pipe used by Gandalf in The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King that he purchased off Ebay, he only needs a few hits of Quidditch to float above the gloom of a 19-42 record.
Kaman is the freaked out guy who keeps peeking out the window, looking for the undercover officers that he’s sure are following him for no reason. His beard holds in the chiba-residue like a dirty rust-colored net. After he’s done with the pipe he’s the guy that goes tearing off into the night, wearing leather chaps, leaps onto his gigantic Harley and roars off into the night shouting something about “Never catching me, you bastards. . .”
C: Joakim Noah
What he’s toking on: Discotheque Cibatta Slowjam
Mr. Noah, whose hustle belies his true stoner nature but whose hair totally gives him away, is looking for a way to justify what he sees in his platinum mirror and in his watercolor self-portraits. As he breathes in French Riviera-born, Puerto-Rican-keister-smuggled-by-way-of-Tijuana Slowjam, he immediately becomes effusively, dramatically brilliant. Or at least that’s what he thinks.
He’s the guy that swings like a spastic pendulum between telling everyone that he knows everything about Carl Jung and discussing his dirty sexploits with Ke$ha. Making sure that everyone knows just how blasted out of his mind he is, by loudly squealing like a girl getting asked to prom by Robert Pattinson and dancing. In fact, he’s the guy who dances like this:
Coach: Phil Jackson
What he’s toking on: Everyone else’s stash, he’s got 10 rings so he’ll do whatever he damn well pleases.
The only team that could un-retire Phil? The NBA All High-As-A-MoFo First Team. He’s the guy at the party who’s been smoking since the glory days of glory haze. He’s blazed with Bob Marley and shared the reefer with Willie Nelson. He’s a guru of ganja. A swami of the sticky-icky. In short, he’s the only dude that could coach a squad like this.
(*Author’s note: this list , while utterly ridiculous, is certainly not perfect. If you find a better, more-stoned-to-the-gills photo or have a recommendation for me, I’m more than willing to give itway too much thought for you.)