Last week, the Internet repeatedly discovered or continually regurgitated a press release about High There! Weed and sex are a hot combination. Both topics lend themselves to hacky one-liners: I had higher hopes for High There! I indicated no preference between methods of cannabis consumption: I was going to have to do what no stoner is equipped to do: Then I sat back, sparked a bowl, and waited for the flirtatious openers from foxy dope fiends to pour in. I watched a couple episodes of Transparent.
I washed the mountain of dishes piled in the sink, and returned to my phone to find, once again, that no one cared to contact me, even to see if I might sell them a gram. Was my profile picture of a blunted cartoon owl a little too on the nose? At first I was stingy with my requests and stuck to women. When nobody followed up with me, I opened the field to men. I eventually fell into the Tinder-hack celebrated among undiscerning dudes: Reader, it was for naught.
My wife set up a profile and within an hour had 40 chat requests, all from men. Noticing my growing frustration, my wife, Cecilia, posited a theory. Nevertheless, she set up a profile and within an hour had 40 chat requests, all from men. Soon she was so inundated that the app, rather glitchy at its best, had crashed several times. Many messages originated in places as remote as Michigan and New Mexico.
They often matched the template of a generic OkCupid introduction, though one bro simply copy-pasted all his details: On a dating app for stoners. So there you have it: The so-called Tinder for stoners is really nothing more than a female pothead locator.
He's the author of two odd books of fiction, 'Ivyland' and 'True False.