The modern world runs rife with niche curses for each and every lifestyle—spells that tangle the clumsy, karma that bites the angry driver, hexes that crash and delete unsaved documents.
Just as there is a protective saint for every profession and mission, there are equal and foul curses attached to lifestyles and substance preferences.
The maledictions of marijuana are no different.
Stoner beware, these jinxes may one day befuddle even the most championed blazer, either by punishment, or mere whimsical happenstance.
Curse of the White Lighter
This evil object and its signifier of bad luck are widely known, stemming from a rumor that many members of the 27 Club (artists and entertainers who died tragically during their 27th year) were in possession of one prior to exiting this mortal coil.
But these days the curse is a bit more complicated than conjuring Death to your joint session. The white Bic lighter has now become more a signifier of white trash Marlboro smoking dickheads.
The true, absolutely real curse of the white Bic is that once it's used, you immediately grow a mullet. Mullets affect the way your brain works, which causes you to make increasingly careless decisions, especially in regard to drugs, drug deals, and the narc force.
Basically, white Bics lead to mullets, and mullets lead to jail. Avoid them at all costs.
Curse of the Laugh Attack
We've all been there before, or at least NEAR there.
You toke a little weed. Suddenly you're the giggle guy or gal, just unraveling at the simplest of things, spilling innocent hehe's and haha's out of your stony mouth.
But those who anger the Giggle Gods, say by uncontrollable laughing in inappropriate situations one too many times, may someday be truly cursed with a magically evil Laugh Attack, a case of the hee-haws so severe it never stops.
You'll just laugh and laugh and laugh until you are utterly alone, friendless and loveless, isolated and incommunicable, and finally, unemployable. Well, save for the circus, where you can obtain gainful employment as a clown.
And that's the only place that'll hire you.
So now you're a fucking clown, which, frankly, might be the worst thing anyone can be. Have fun with the world's most classic case of ironic depression for the rest of your sad, cackling life.
Curse of the Stone Face
The polar opposite of the Laugh Attack, the Stone Face curse strips the marijuana user of any and all comedic enjoyment of absolutely everything.
Weed often inserts joy and mirth into the most absurd commercials or magnificently awful movies, but if one is cursed by some 420 wizard with the Stone Face, no smile nor grin shall ever smirk across their face again.
Not only does this make for quiet a stoic time while consuming entertainment of almost every genre, material that was once made digestible and light by the aid of marijuana will sink back down to its heavy, maudlin depths.
Do not, I repeat, do not watch Fantasia.
Curse of the Returning Roaches
OK, I'm not exactly sure how you get this damn curse thrown on you.
Whatever it is, it must be fucking AWFUL. Basically, if you piss the wrong sorcerer off, they're gonna cast this wickedly disgusting spell that reanimates EVERY. SINGLE. ROACH. YOU'VE. EVER. SMOKED. As actual roaches!
Then, once they are alive and roachy, the bugs will come for you like your body is their homing beacon.
When they get to you, they're just gonna do all that roach shit you hate, like, crawl around all gross like and be despicable insects that don't die and look ugly as hell.
I mean, it's really gonna be foul. I'm sorry.
Curse of the Burnout
Everyone is warned of this one.
They say if you smoke too much weed, you'll never achieve anything (other than, like, smoking an impressive amount of weed over time, I guess). The stereotype indicates you'll be jobless or still live at home in your 30s, maybe work at a fast food joint or spend all of your free time playing video games, masturbating, and never having a significant other.
But check this—it's even worse than that.
If you smoke enough, you'll literally spontaneously combust, like that urban legend. You're just standing there and suddenly POOF up in flames, burning, melting, dying in immense, immeasurable pain.
After that, you have to live the rest of your life as a pile of soot. And who wants to fuck a pile of soot?
Nobody, bro. Nobody.