When you've had it with this fucked up, retarded, no good world...
There is only one thing to do.
Self-immolation is the imminent decision-methods decided via heavy pot sessions.
I've saved and scraped over six hundred and sixty six pounds of the best fucking loud.
To go up in flames and funnel it into a high powered fucking gas-mask (inhale...)
I will be a legendary martyr for the cause of the marijuana majority.
Dreams of the afterlife overtake me.
The Suicide Session shall begin soon.
The flames ingesting, combusting bricks and bushels and nugs of Primo...
Apparatus engaged, mask dawned, the final moment's are before me...
Seconds before liftoff-miscalculations apparent, possible explosions denoting entire citywide THC overdose fogs.
Considering the options-this may be a blessing in disguise.
I've made my choice: we're all going down south.
GANJA GASMASK MASS SUICIDE.
UNPRECEDENTED, UNSOLICITED, UNDIMINISHED GROUND ZERO RENDERING ALL WHO ENTER STONED TO DEATH.
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