IT MIGHT NOT be evident, but I put a fair amount of time and effort into these columns, weighing the issues of the day for those who are taken with the jazz tobacco in its many forms. There’s room for consideration about ethics, environmental impact, gender, race, and more—it’s gotten real heavy real quick around here as of late.

So grab the smelling salts to revive yourself after I tell you that I consume copious amounts of cannabis on the daily, and to balance this column’s occasional gravitas, I’ve developed some truly, well, let’s call them “unique” ideas. I’ve written about them once before (“My Stupidest Stoner Moments of 2014,” Cannabuzz, Dec 24, 2014), where I shared my best underappreciated ideas... such as a menorah that burned hash oil, called—that’s right—the Marijuanorah™. Back off. It’s patented, and a reader wrote that they could actually make such a thing for me. We are living in a golden age, people.

And while I don’t want to feed the ever-hungry beast that propagates worn-out myths about those who indulge, I’m not going to front. This year has been packed out with Stupid Stoner moments for me. These are defined as questionable ideas and actions resulting from cannabis indulgence. Yes, weed is a wonder plant, it has 50,000 uses, it’s a sacred entheogen—but it’s also the cause of my Stupid Stoner Moments of 2016 (with nearly three months to go, Lord help us all). Here they are:

People like bongs, that’s for sure. People also like bacon—some of you to a frightening degree. So I was pretty proud to have come up with the Bacon Bong Bowl. It’s not as complex as it sounds. You peel off a strip of bacon that is die-cut in the shape of a bowl. You pack it with weed, and as you smoke it, it cooks the bacon. Once it’s reached the desired crispiness, you empty the ashes and eat the bowl. Plus, your weed is now bacon flavored. Could you potentially contract a lethal parasite if the bacon isn’t fully cooked? My doctor says yes. So it’s also like a blowfish sushi-type of challenge.

Distance walked into rooms to retrieve an item or perform an action but in the 10 seconds it took to walk there all memory of the intended purpose is forgotten: 49.7 miles. That’s just in September. Don’t you judge me.

It’s sometimes a challenge to find new buddies to session up with, and standing outside a dispensary with a fully loaded bong and yelling at exiting customers, “I COULD REALLY USE A FRIEND TO HELP ME SMOKE THIS!” doesn’t actually make you any friends, oddly enough. So what about a GPS-based app that can help you find people who want to smoke out? Say hello to my million-dollar idea, I was just going to call it Grinder, but guess what? I checked and there’s already a similarly named app, and while it initially worked super great—I got an incredible response rate to my posting “Want to share my big fattie with everyone!”—I don’t think I was able to provide what the app’s users were looking for.

When a cavalcade of celebrity strains hit the shelves this year (e.g., offerings from Bob Marley’s brood, Willie, and Snoop), it made me question why we don’t have strains that more closely mirror the actual celebrity endorsing it. Kanye Kush would start out strong, then leave the user on a rambling, self-centered ego trip, and it would only be at its best when mixed with other strains. OG Trump would taste like feet, come coated in an abundance of orange hairs, leave you filled with bile and fear, and be grown in Mexico. You wouldn’t pay any tax on it, either.

Or enjoy some OLCC Chronic. It’s way too fucking expensive, the effects change every 10 minutes, and you’re left seething with frustration, confusion, rage, and a sense of impotence and hopelessness. It also takes forever to finish, it’s very difficult to locate when you really need some, and prefers to be heavily accompanied with alcohol, something of which this strain can’t seem to get enough.