Posted by: cousinbrandon | September 15, 2009

The Angry Alphabet: Things I Hate, From A to Z (H)

High Times

Reading material for the grossly illiterate.

Seriously? A magazine devoted to weed? We need this why? And who, exactly, is reading this magazine? No, don’t tell me stoners and potheads. Stoners and potheads are too stoned to read.

So, I ask you again, who is reading High Times? I mean, what’s the point of hiring a writing staff? Can’t they just include glossy photos of “sick buds” with the occasional caption? “Frankenskunk.” “Red Death.” “Mr. Greenjeans.” Really, what else do pot “specialists” need but catchy names for their dope?

Furthermore, who is High Times trying to kid? All you need to do is check out David Cross’ HBO special, The Pride is Back, for a fine take on this highly “literate” piece of shit. Mind you, Cross is a self-proclaimed smoker of weed, and even he’ll tell you that High Times is ridiculous. Here’s a taste:

High Times magazine is a notch intellectually below Highlights for Children. I mean, they’re both great to read when you’re baked, but come on, ya know…

Look, I don’t mean to imply for even a second that all smokers of marijuana are ill-educated, illiterate, unmotivated, cliche, lazy, incoherent, moronic, ill-informed, or hopeless. Just most of them.

Most pot smokers I know are pretty bright and creative folks. They’re fun to be with, they’re well read, and they’re employed. And you know what they’re not? Readers of High Times magazine. At this point, there are two types of people who read High Times: college students who wallpaper their dorm rooms with the “Bud of the Month” and fantasize about getting high on that shit in order to make their lives complete, or this guy…

Wanna buy a grilled cheese sandwich? Wanna buy me a grilled cheese sandwich?

Here’s a suggestion, High Times: dump the copy altogether. Every month put out a portfolio of pot sans words/articles/editorials. Know your demographic, High Times. At least I’d respect the honesty.

Well, that’s all for now. Come back soon when I’ll tackle “I,” an awfully evil vowel. Until then, have at it, you vultures!



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