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  Amy Blair    

In the early part of the last century, my great-grandparents emigrated from Ireland and died shortly thereafter. My grandfather grew up in an orphanage in New York City, until one of his crazy Irish Aunts adopted him and moved him to New Jersey, where he subsequently fell in love, got married, and had kids, who had kids. And thus, your favorite Jersey Girl (that's me!) came to be…

I grew up in a suburb of New York, just a short ways over the George Washington Bridge, right across the street from a gigantic, hideous hotel. My grandparents lived next door, and "the city" (as all suburbanites called it) loomed over my family like a giant evil tyrant of doom. The City was responsible every time our house was robbed (three times, in fact). The City was responsible for the impossibly ridiculous property values in our town. And most importantly, The City was responsible for all of the drugs that trickled over the bridge and into my family's backyard. Literally. Which never ceased to amuse me.

You see, one of the more entertaining things about growing up across the street from this gigantic, hideous hotel was that they employed a lot of workers from The City, due to the fact that there was an express NJ Transit bus that went straight from 175th Street straight to the front door of the hotel. And during the 80s (and even the 90s), a lot of those hotel workers happened to be, well, to be blunt -- crackheads. Despite my mother's ever-failing determination to maintain the appearance of typical suburban good-living, my driveway to my house was forever littered with crack vials growing up. And this was neatly blamed on the hotel workers who, to tell the truth, always were smoking crack at the end of my street on their 15-minute breaks. I never minded the crackheads, honestly. And it always cracked up my friends (pun intended) when they came to my house and one of the dish washers offered to get them high.

But it drove my mother and my grandmother crazy.

One of my favorite memories of my grandmother was when I was seventeen years old. I used to park my car in her driveway, and one day after school I pulled in and saw her at the window waving at me furiously to come inside. As I walked up to her front door, she greeted me excitedly with something in her hand.

"Amy, I found this in my garden this morning. What is this thing?"

To my dismay, my seventy-five year old grandma was holding what appeared to be a crack pipe in her hands.

"Uh, Grandma, I think that's, um, a crack pipe."

"A what?"

"A pipe. Um, you know. For smoking crack."

"Well, give it to your mother, she'll know what to do with it."

"Give it to my mother? You want me to give mom this crackpipe?"

Two minutes later, I walked in my house where my mother was making meatloaf in the kitchen.

"Hey ma, Grandma wanted me to give you this crackpipe."

It was one of the happiest moments of my life.

This week, craigslisters, we're delving into Drugs in "the city." But remember, crack is wack. Totally.


Heroin, crack, cocaine and marijuana
Mike Weiss Gallery wants your drug bags & crack vials
Used, found, full or empty, nickel & dime bags
We will generously compensate you for your collections

So, yeah. This, like "gallery" wants you to turn in your used heroin, crack, cocaine, and marijuana bags and vials. They'll even take them full! (How kind of them!). They're, like, obviously going to use them for "art" purposes in their "gallery." They'll even generously compensate you for the "art." And they're definitely NOT going to throw a giant fucking party and snort up all the drugs that are turned in.

Brilliant. Totally brilliant.

I wanna give a shot out to all my pot suppliers

I love you guys

Aww, that's so sweet. I'm sure all the pot suppliers are really touched. Let this be a reminder to everyone to tell your local delivery guy that you love him the next time you see him. Even if he does hit on your girlfriend and throws up in your bathroom every time he makes a drop-off.

Help My Car Smells Like Pot

Please hElp me out...I smoke pot alot in my car..I got pulled over last week and searched too because my car has the smell embedded in it. I have tried air freshners..but it doesnt seem to go away fully...Can anyone tell me a good way to air out my car?

Help would be really appreciated! Thanks

Dude, you're fucked. Here's a tip: sell your car to a senior citizen. Their senses are too dulled to realize that the car reeks of weed, and if they get pulled over, no cop is going to think that they've got an eighth in the glove compartment if he smells it on them. Get yourself a mini-van instead and stick one of those "my kid is an honor student" bumper stickers on the back. In case of emergency, those pine-scented trees work nicely.

What's with the plethora of women trying to score some free pot?

I don't care if you smoke pot or want to but c'mon... pot costs money and just because you have boobies doesn't mean you're welcome to whatever. I hope guys don't get suckered in by these women who seem like they want to meet you and be friends when all they want is a free high.

Pardon me? The last time I checked, my boobies TOTALLY meant that I was welcome to whatever.

Honey, I don't know you, but if I were you, I'd take it where I could get it. If some hot chick wants to use you for your weed, I wouldn't complain if I were you. I mean, I know it's sad when a bunch of large-breasted girls act like they just want to be friends, and then it turns out that they want to come back to your apartment and get high … but them's the breaks, kid…

And straight out of Craigslist Amsterdam…

Marijuana!!! Weed!!! ganja!!!!

Hello, You heard it....I have a prescription to posses marijuana. I need someones help getting some?????
This is not a joke, I am i'll--------Thanks and have a postiive day!


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Amy Blair, winner of The Village Voice's "best website's summary of another website" award, is eager to be called horrible names on Craig's List. Bring it.