its a stoney job but someones gotta do it
To smoke, or not to smoke: that is the question:
Whether 'tis stonier in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous sobriety,
Or to take stoning against a sea of troubles,
And by toking end them? To toke: to sleep;
No more; and by a stoning to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a strain
Devoutly to be toke'd. To smoke, to vaporize;
To stone: perchance to dream: ay, there's the clog;
For in that high of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this stoney coil,
Must give us pause: there's the resin
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of temperance,
The dealer's wrong, the weed conniseur's contumely,
The pangs of schwag marijuana, the edible's delay,
. . .
I have partaken far too much of the Old Toby and now must make haste to the kicthen

Also, I ran out of ideas.