Craigslist Asheville: Found your stash. Smoked it. Last year. Just remembered.


Here’s the beginning of a classic Craigslist Asheville post. Click over to read the whole thing:

Found your stash (Montreat)
Found your stash by the baseball field in Montreat. Smoked it – thanks.

But really, you need to learn to hide it better. I mean, it was just sitting there, very slightly behind a tree, right next to the baseball field. I was walking my kid to the religious day camp Montreat offers every summer, and there it was, in all its glory. Chillin’.

The bowl was gorgeous. Had to be worth at least $60, am I right? I gave it to my sister. She smokes way more than I do and she really appreciated it.

Nice container BTW. Kept it really fresh.

But isn’t it a little hypocritical to be smoking at Montreat? Isn’t Montreat a quaint little Scottish Presbyterian religious mountain retreat? I mean, I didn’t think Presbyterians were really down with that shit. I thought they were more preoccupied with predestination and the like.

Then again, maybe that’s how you deal with being a Presbyterian. I’m sure it’s hard – predestination is really depressing.

Thanks to loyal reader Mike for pointing me to this.

Image link for weed stash.


Asheville Artist March 27, 2013 - 8:31 am

A new Mountain Xpress article is a good rejoinder to all those local artists who were griping on Craig’s List recently:

Mike March 26, 2013 - 10:16 pm

^^ Classic Asheville non sequitur.

Chuck Brodsky March 25, 2013 - 10:15 pm

Here are the lyrics to a song I wrote called “The Bellyache Heard ‘Round the World” on my cd Subtotal Eclipse:

He showed up for Spring Training
With 40 pounds to lose
He’d spent the winter partying
But that was never news
He wasn’t feeling all that good
Throughout the training camp
The Babe would run a fever
And he often had the cramps

After leaving Florida
On the way back to New York
The Yankees played the Brooklyn Robins
On an exhibition tour
They stopped in Chattanooga
The Babe hit 2 home runs
The next game was in Knoxville
Where he hit another one

The train left the next morning
For Asheville, North Carolina
Going across the mountains
The tracks twisting and winding
The Babe joined in a card game
His cheeks and forehead burned
He really didn’t look so good
His teammates were concerned

At the Asheville station
When the train came to a stop
The Babe stepped onto the platform
Then suddenly he just dropped
They took him to the hotel
And put him into bed
A newspaper in London proclaimed
“The Mighty Babe is Dead!”

**“The Mighty Babe is Dead!”
“The Mighty Babe is Dead!”
And before you even knew it
That’s what all the papers said

The team phoned a physician
Who could really only guess
It was his professional opinion
That the Babe just needed rest
He cautioned against travel
Anytime too soon
The Babe departed Asheville
On the following afternoon

Thousands filled Penn Station
To try to catch a glimpse
As they carried him by stretcher
To the waiting ambulance
“Helen, I feel rotten,”
The Babe said to his wife
Before they took him to the hospital
And he went under the knife


The Yankees tried to manage
All the rumors that would spread
He ate too many hot dogs
Supposedly they said
Some thought it was exhaustion
Some thought it was the flu
Some thought it could be syphillus
But no one really knew

The Babe he would recover
And hit lots more home runs
More than any other
By the time his playing days were done
It’s said he loved his women
And he often stayed out late
And that he liked the taste of liquor
And he did not watch his weight


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