Several of you, our 420 friendly readers, have written asking about generation joints.  As luck would have it, I got laid off from my job of 7+ years last month and found myself eyeing up the stash with a serious budgetary eye.  It’s bad enough to have to ration the bud stash, but without money coming in I was headed for panic mode.  It wouldn’t be so bad if I chose cannabis for my recreational fun, but it’s also my choice for medication which makes it a necessary expense.

Lately I’ve been smoking cones, (saving up for a new vape) which are bigger than the average joint and therefore require more to fill them (a little over a gram per).  But I usually split them with another person, or if not it takes me two sessions to get through one.  Still, I have a bad habit of not smoking all the way down to the filter, mainly because the draw is so hot and it’s uncomfortable to inhale.  So I grabbed a little tupperware container and would toss in the roaches “for a rainy day”.  And now it was raining.  I turned to the roach bin the other day to see what I had….. (more…)


I live in Vegas now and one thing Vegas has a lot of is nudity.  I was reminded of this (as if one could forget) last night as I was sitting about 10 feet from the stage at a middle-of-the-pole strip joint.  The girls were alright looking, all had put some effort into hair and make-up and kept their skin looking fairly smooth (red lighting is your friend, girl) although I would say the ratio of Buttahfaces to Hotties was about 4 to 1.  There seemed to be a lot of the Tiger Woods Selection of strippers on deck last night, and the ones who didn’t make you want to put on your beer goggles all looked hella aggravated.  Lookit, it’s not easy to be up there all night, night after night, trying to look ‘exotic’ or ‘ravishing’, especially when you consider what working conditions the average stripper has to put up with.  So this is what I was thinking about as I waited; the ugly expressions so commonly found in strip clubs and the usual causes of them.  I reached back to my days in a thong and came up with Top 5 Complaints of a Stripper:

–  Losers that camp out in the front row and grease up the rail with their skeevy, sweaty hands while carefully parsing out 17 dollars in singles.  Wow.  Hey.  Careful.  Don’t hurt yourself putting that one dollar bill out there for the girl who’s been dancing 3 song sets all night.

– This one used to annoy me purely out of principal – strippers that hit the stage looking fine as hell until you get down to her feet and her toes are hanging on for dear life to those Bakers platform heels, looking like swollen shrimp cocktail.  Get those bear claws outta here, girl!

– So you get a lapdance from a stripper and sit back to enjoy the show.  You know you can’t touch her but you’re so convinced that what she secretly wants is for you to palm your grimy, ragged hands all over her ass so instead you think you’re slick and you slide your finger under the band of her thong and tug on it.  Then when she whips her head around to see what the fuck your retarded ass thinks you’re doing, you smile all stupid like and ask her, “You like that, huh?”  No, fucker.  She didn’t enjoy a band of elastic cutting her in half while you eyeballed her asshole – surprised?

– You know what’s creepy?  You calling a girl over to your table of 4 with no extra seating available and expecting her to perch on your knee while you bounce her up and down against your balls and try to play patty-cake on her tits with your face.  Either pay her for a dance or follow her back to VIP – she’s not a fucking accessory.

– Oh, you REALLY think you’re being crafty, don’t you?  You think you’re a fucking genius when you roll up to the club in commando mode, or wearing some silky shorts, figuring that when she grinds on you it’ll be just like her rubbing on you naked.  First of all, you ain’t slick, she knows exactly what your game is and secondly, you putting your tiny dick front and center sans padding only confirms what she already knew – you’re hung like Jon Gosselin and too cheap to pay for a booth.  Fuck off.

This concludes the community service portion of my probation (I’m lying).


Man, what a year.  From the stoned out, boozed up madness of a group chat came the idea to start ButtercupPunch, and despite the challenges of full time working/living/blogging, I wouldn’t change any of it.  I have learned so much from my co-bloggers and had so much fun along the way.  We collaborate on ideas, we edit for each other and not a day goes by that we don’t talk to each other, despite all being located hundreds of miles apart.  So before I get to my reader picks, I would like to take a moment to celebrate my bitches – holla.

My commie love, after the jump. (more…)