All through college I denied it, and convinced myself that it just wasn’t possible. No way could it be me. I wasn’t one of those guys I only read and hear about. . . was I?

I wasn’t a pothead; I was just a casual smoker. Yes, that’s it. That had to be it. Potheads are Hippies and people who are going nowhere in life. I mean, I had great grades, I was successful at work, I had control of my life, and I knew that I could quit at any given moment. I convinced myself that there was no way I was a pothead.

For years I had myself convinced of that. After all, as George Costanza would say, it’s not a lie if you believe it. But recently I have been doubting myself, and looking back and wondering if it’s actually the truth.

Maybe I was a pothead. Hopefully not … but maybe.

Now that my undergrad career is over with, I decided to reflect back on these times, and analyze my behavior, and see the truth for what it actually is, for better or worse. And some realizations I came to were some pathetic ones.

-For months on end, I smoked nearly five days a week, and would spend endless amounts of money on the sticky stuff.
-I would do it before everything. Before a movie, before meals, before cleaning the pipes, before going too the zoo, before going to the mall, Hell, I even did it before and while at work a few times. -If I had no weed, my roommates and I would boil our bowls to get the resin to smoke.
-My roommates and I would scavenge the house for any places weed may have been misplaced, even the floor, and smoke it.
-I would burp and smoke would come out of my mouth.
-One of our possible dealers was a sketchy black man named City. One piece of advice, never trust a person named after a metropolis.
-If we didn’t have something to smoke out of, we would make one out of whatever materials we had around us: foil, plastic bottle, cans, little league chest protector, gas masks, a Pokemon toy, or even a parking cone just to name a few things.
-We would smoke to celebrate the most ridiculous things, such as winning a basketball game against a team of prepubescent freshman, or one of us passing a drug test (seriously).

Oh my god … I was a pothead.

There. I said it. For the first time in my life I am actually admitting it. With looking back on all of that, I can see the light, and boy is that light a dim one. These aren’t actions of a casual smoker. These are stoner actions. It shames me to say it, and it’s not my proudest moment, but the fact of the matter is, at one point I was a pothead.

But as sad as it is, and by sad I mean pathetic, who the Hell am I kidding?

Here she is, the love of my life: Mary Jane.

Being a stoner was glorious. I had some of the best times ever while smoking, ate some of the best tasting food, played some great games, laughed my ass off, and experienced some crazy shit. Hell, even sitting down and doing nothing while high was riveting. At one point I even preferred smoking to drinking. Yes, smoking was better than drinking. Smoking, and the herbal bliss it would result in was AMAZING.

Anyways, lets get back on track. So yes, I was a stoner.

However, after analyzing more of my smoking habits, I realized there was a turning point in my pothead ways. Thankfully, responsibility bit me on the ass, and I was forced to quit. On August 1, 2004, I quit smoking cold turkey. That’s right, as you sit here and read this masterpiece, it has officially been 1 year since I last smoked.

I am a pothead no more.

But let me set things straight now, I didn’t quit because I wanted to, per say. Shit, like I said, I loved being high and all the fun things I would do when high. But at that date of August 1, I was a few weeks away from moving to NYC and going to graduate school at John Jay School of Criminal Justice for a Masters in Forensic Psychology. Basically, I was going to school to be a psychological marvel and arrest schmucks for breaking the law, and prevent future law breaking. Being so, I felt it would be in my best interest to quit smoking, as I did not want to be a hypocrite by going to school for something that I disregard in my real life. Furthermore, it is my goal to eventually end up in a high profile job, possibly in the FBI, which requires no drugs to be in your system. More or less, I plan on being better than all of you reading this, and the only obstacle in my way was my contaminated blood stream.

Basically, I was being responsible. Yes, Ian David Kardys, the kid who has been arrested twice, the kid who treats women like they are pieces of meat, and the kid who has collections of stolen things acted responsibly for once and took the high road and chose his future over the sweet, sweet nectar of marijuana.

It was a tougher choice than deciding what porn to watch when I jerk off, but after some serious deliberation, I chose an education over frying my brain cells. But for the record, this high road better be damn good because 10 years from now I better not regret this, for I do not want to live in regret and always wondering what bright future and glamorous lifestyle would have resulted from a life dedicated to weed, as I imagine it’s impeccable.

Anyways, my new way of life started at the end of a camping trip I was on. I smoked my face off the whole trip for one last hoorah, then finished off the rest of my weed, handed my friends my pipe, and threw in the towel on smoking the ganja.

I was about to embark on a lifestyle that only D.A.R.E representatives would give me high fives for, and would consider me to be a peer role model. Soon enough I would be giving speeches in high school auditoriums about how I turned my life around, and most likely tasting my own blood from all the ass kicking I was sure to receive for being such a pussy.

Sadly enough, I have returned to my 5th grade drug free roots.

And soon enough, and most importantly, I would be going through withdrawal.

Quitting smoking sucked. It was about as easy as getting into the pants of a Mormon chick. Going drug free really was one of the toughest things I have ever done.

The first few days are the hardest, and are down right ridonkulous. First there was the sporadic head twitching where I looked like a retard trying to eat the back of my own head. Then came some minor foaming of the mouth where it looked like Alka Seltzer was metamorphosizing in my throat and pouring out of my mouth. Then I was uncontrollably angry and irritable. I hated the world and I took every chance to let people know it. I would throw my shoe at anyone who even sneezed, and I would physically force my friends to change their shirt if it wasn’t appealing to my eyes. Hell, I even started to scream uncontrollably at Marc Summers through the TV when I was watching a repeat of Double Dare because my foot fell asleep during a physical challenge.

And then I just wasn’t hungry. My hunger had just disappeared like Osama Bin Laden.

But then the weirdest thing was when I started to hear voices. One voice named Domingo kept telling me to say my prayers and take my vitamins, and another that called himself ‘Weeping Willow’ kept telling me that the devil wanted to mutilate my soul.

Screw you and your damn Obstacle Course Marc Summers, you big jerk.

Needless to say, I think I was officially going insane. I had physical issues, and numerous mental issues. I was sure it was only a matter of time before someone realized all of this and locked me into a padded room.

And of course my social life didn’t make things any easier. Like waving a poodle in front of a pit bull, I was teased with weed everywhere I went, as time after time someone was offering me weed, or people would smoke around me. And what’s even worse is even though I would say no to the offers, when everyone was smoking around me, people would ask me to pass the bowl or blunt to the person on the other side of me.

And of course once everyone knew that I had quit smoking, every single person thought that I wouldn’t survive being drug free, and thus they wanted to be the one to get me to crack. Friends would deliberately blow the smoke in my face, intentionally pass me the bowl, ask me to hold the weed, or even sprinkle the reefer in my Applejacks. The peer pressure was mind numbing.

Basically, not only was my body and mind torturing me, but every person in existence was torturing me as well.

Dicks.

Needless to say, quitting was not going very smoothly.

But what may be the hardest thing of all was 4:20. For all you pussies trying to avoid emphysema and having good times by not being smokers, 4:20 (April 20) is the ‘international smoking day’ where seemingly every smoker in the world smokes at 4:20 in the afternoon (and 4:20 in the morning if you happen to be up, or be a pathetic loser who needs to seek rehab) and basically smokes for the duration of the day. Sound stupid? You bet it is. It’s basically just a day when all the losers in the world rejoice and celebrate a common bond, being that of the horrible drug problem in the world. But in all actuality, even though it’s just a drug dealers ‘Hallmark Holiday,’ this is a pretty big event, and it’s a damn good time, and I am sure hundreds of thousands of people smoke at the very second 4:20 hits.

It’s 4:20 homey, do you know where your bong is?

But for the first time in years, I wasn’t going to partake in the cannabis festivities of epic proportions. And damn was that a tough pill to swallow. Everyone and their brother’s cousin’s dentist asked me to smoke with them. People would ask, “Lets go smoke at Central Park,” “lets go smoke on the Promenade,” “lets make pot brownies to eat once we get the munchies from smoking blunts, inevitably sending us into a cataclysmic coma.” The options were endless.

Smoking a fatty here is quite tempting, but…no.

But I had to stand my ground. I was determined to not smoke by any means necessary.

So what did I do you ask? Even though I actually had the day off, I literally asked my work if I could work the shift that covered that timeframe. They were confused as hell as to why I would ask to work, but inevitably they let me work, and actually liked me more because they thought I was being a responsible and dependable employee. Man were they off, if they only knew.

So there I was at work, when all of a sudden 4:20 hit. I heard a big boom ring out like the Undertaker’s theme music, followed by time standing still. I looked around and no one was moving besides me. It was like when Zack Morris calls ‘timeout’ on Saved By The Bell. I panicked and all of a sudden I started to cry. I couldn’t believe it. I hadn’t cried in years, yet now I have this salty discharge running down my face? What was happening to me? Immediately I ran to the corner and crawled into the fetal position and started to shake, followed by convulsions. I thought my life was coming to an end.

It was Judgment day.

I would rather deal with Arnold as a Terminator than have to go through a sober 4:20 again.

But then all of a sudden a second boom rang out; marking 4:21, and everything went back to normal. People started moving, and I stopped crying and convulsing. Besides people looking at me awkward for being in a ball in the corner, everything was fine and I had survived my biggest marijuana obstacle.

After that point being drug free was not that much of a problem. After I got through the initial few days and 4:20, I had cleared the biggest hurdles and it was all downhill from there. It actually became almost as easy as beating the Buffalo Bills in a Super Bowl. I was no longer going insane, and my friends smoking and torturing of me wasn’t much of an annoyance anymore, and my bloodstream was as clean as a virgin. I was well on my way to the bright future I have longed for more than being nominated as one of People Magazine’s 50 most beautiful people.

But when I was clean, I started to notice some changes in me. Beyond the fact that I had drastically reduced my chances of such things as emphysema, throat cancer, yellow teeth and fingernails, and bad breath, things began to get different. As if I was just dowsed with Mutagen, I was becoming a new person. Many aspects of my life were changing right before my very eyes, yet they were changing in a good way.

You show shit gets crazy when Mutagen joins the party.

Suddenly my memory had become immaculate. For the first time in years, I could remember everything and anything. I even remembered where I lost my retainer in fourth grade, and the cheat code for infinity lives in Contra. I felt like a friggin’ elephant because I couldn’t forget anything if I tried. With the hazy smoke displaced from my brain, my mind was finally free to function clearly.

With my brain being clear now, I also became much smarter. I suddenly found myself watching the 6 o’clock news, reading things that don’t have new copies coming out on a monthly basis, and re-teaching myself such things as long division, FOILing and advanced thermonuclear biochemistry.

Little known Ian Fact: I got a 13 percent on my first long division test in third grade, and I am not kidding.

My IQ shot up like some junkie doing heroine. And with regards to my GPA in grad school, I got my highest GPA ever of 3.9. I had seemingly turned into a genius. Eat your heart out Albert Einstein, there’s a new man in town. E=mc2 is all bullshit anyways. The only thing I give you credit for is having Yahoo Serious play you in Young Einstein.

I also started to sleep on a much more normal schedule. Instead of living a nocturnal lifestyle, complete with passing out at random hours of the day, and sleeping in until noon everyday, I began to have a normal sleeping pattern of sleeping eight hours a night, and when I am up, I am not sleepy all the time, but am actually wide awake. Being so, this gives me many more hours to do things like waiting for a hangover to go away, watch sports, and write astonishing articles for Zubazpants.com.

But in between those hours of drinking and sports, I became very ambitious and goal oriented. No longer was I a lazy troll who sat around all the time. Everyday I woke up, I felt like going out and doing good things like feeding the homeless, saving the ozone layer, and finding a cure for AIDS.

Just kidding.

I used my newfound ambition to do much cooler things like steal street signs, drink 40’s that were taped to my hands, make fun of ugly, less fortunate people, and have sex in public places. And if it weren’t for this sudden ambition, none of that would have been possible. Thank you ambition, thank you.

But how do you go to the bathroom? Mwahahahahaha

Speaking of sex, once I quit smoking, my sperm count soared through the roof. My sperm count increased 42 percent from August 1 to November 13. Now that’s packing some punch. If I thought my boys were weapons of mass destruction before, now these potent bad boys are truly a sign of the apocalypse for all of womankind and their uteri. Stand back ladies, I am horny, I am fertile, and I am ready to fornicate.

I bet you never thought you’d see a sperm going after an egg on this website did you?

I also must admit that I smell much better. No longer do I smell like a mixture between a crusty ashtray and some unwashed hippie. Finally I smell clean, bathed, and even have the pleasant hint of cologne that follows me around. And let me tell you guys, chicks dig a guy who smells as good as hot cinnamon buns that are cooking in the oven. If I had a dime for every time some tramp has said “ooooh, you smell good, want to splooge on my face?”, I’d probably have enough money to buy at least two things off the dollar menu at McDonalds. Which two? The McChicken and Double Cheeseburger of course.

And last but not least, I have much more money. Considering I don’t spend obscene amounts of loochie on cheeba anymore, I have much more money lying around. My only problem is figuring out how to spend all of this money. Do I donate it to charity, or maybe help out one of those starving Ethiopian kids for only 10 cents a day?

Ummmmm … no.

Naturally, I spent it on much cooler stuff like porn, DVDs, beer, and shopping on ebay. But what’s even cooler, is that after that, I bought all kinds of useless things I may never ever need or use, but just bought because I could. I bought a rubber chicken, seven koosh balls, combat boots, a strip on highway on I-90, and a weed whacker, and I don’t even have weeds to cut. But my favorite purchase of all was buying myself self defense classes, so I’ll know not only what kind of offense to expect from a girl next time one comes at me swinging, but I’ll also know how to fight them bitches off.

Sad? Yes. Priority of Ian’s? No.

All in all, my experience with ganja has been a rollercoaster ride of both euphoric and horrific magnitudes. It gave me some of the most fun times in my life, but has also caused me some of the most traumatizing physical and mental issues of my life. But in the end, when the smoke is cleared (no pun intended), and the dust has settled, not only is it leaving me clean and filtered, but it’s leaving me with many positive traits, from a clear mind to potent gonad grease.

But was it worth it?

Eh. Yes? I guess so.

Would I recommend the drug free way of life?

Hell no. Not a day goes by that I don’t want to throw away my future and smoke. I miss it more than new episodes of Seinfeld. Since I quit, I discovered that the FBI is out of my reach, since I have already smoked too many times in my life, so more or less I quit for no reason besides not wanting to feel like a hypocrite in grad school. So I suppose I regret it. The only reason I still don’t smoke it because I have such an impressive streak going, and I kind of like being so consistently consistent.

But someday, I’ll be back. And boy is it going to be glorious.

Moral of this story? Even though there have been some positive aspects behind quitting smoking, don’t use me as a role model. Don’t go drug free. Don’t be responsible.

After all, it’s only your future anyways.

Questions? Comments? Think I smell good? Email me at ikartz11@yahoo.com