NEW YORK - O SNEAKY, WHERE'D YOU GO?

OK, it's been two weeks since we last heard from Sneaky Leaf. Hopefully he's fine and that--no, wait, we're not even gonna finish that sentence. But really, dude was so worried about what might happen on account of his memoirs on this blog that he started off handwriting each column and faxing it, and then got even more paranoid so he started having them delivered to the office by hand. And then one day, poof! Gone. Hopefully he'll turn up soon. In the meantime, take a click down there to enjoy some high-kickin' little colts who've formed a conceptual screamo boy band that's one guy onstage and the rest in a choreographed mosh pit. No correlation to Sneaky Leaf or weed or anything, just wanted to console ourselves with something.

SNEAKY LEAF'S DIARY OF A DEALER - ASSHOLE STRIPES

I was strictly a consumer of weed for nearly 19 years before I became a weed hustler. In all that time, almost every guy or girl that I bought weed from was more or less an asshole. Still, I have a soft spot for all those people. Every prickly asshole has their charms. I’m convinced, however, that it doesn’t have to be that way, and I very conscientiously make a huge effort to be a very warm, friendly, honest, and ultra-respectful alternative to the hundreds of impersonal large slave delivery services. It helps that I genuinely like people, and most of my clients are people that I genuinely look forward to seeing. 

SNEAKY LEAF'S DIARY OF A DEALER - GANJA PORN NOVEL

I’ve seen from some of your comments that some of you are wondering, “Why in the hell doesn’t he fuck some of these girls?” The first reason is that I see more pussy in one year than most of you will see in a lifetime, and I’m not a desperate, nutless jack-off like some of you! I get plenty! So I don’t need to lose my shit every time an opportunity presents itself.  

SNEAKY LEAF'S DIARY OF A DEALER - MARIJUANA . . . APHRODISIAC?

The first time I smoked pot right before sex was in college with my girlfriend. I didn’t know shit about herb then and didn’t know what strain my girlfriend was repeatedly loading into her one-hitter.

SNEAKY LEAF'S DIARY OF A DEALER - ZEN AND THE ART OF WEED DEALING

Every tax-paying citizen has an armed militia protecting their private property. If someone steals or threatens that property, the police will jail or blow the head off of anyone resisting or threatening them. As a weed dealer, I don’t have that protection.

SNEAKY LEAF'S DIARY OF A DEALER - PUSSY ON THE BRAIN GIVES ME RED-ZONE PAINS

Every time you smoke a joint of sensimilla, you’ve got pussy on your brain! The resin female plants excrete is their sex juice, and these lovely ladies can reproduce from almost any point on their body. I know this is super basic shit that just about everyone who’s ever taken a bong rip knows, but it leads me to an important pair of questions: Is this why the clientele of almost every weed dealer I know is predominately male? And is the copious amount of marijuana I ingest the reason why I’m willing to bend the rules and deliver my goods to women who live in extremely dangerous “red zone” areas? We’ll probably never know for sure, but what I am certain of is that New York’s high-volume drug business means that these red zones can be found in every borough of this heavily policed city.

SNEAKY LEAF'S DIARY OF A DEALER - WELCOME TO NEW YORK, FUCKFACE!

It took less than a minute for two guys and their steel-reinforced Timberland boots to kick in my friend Marvin’s door. Neighbors said they both had handguns drawn and ready for a shootout if necessary. But whoever stormed in and stole a pound of weed and about 80 grams of primo hash probably didn't expect a fight because they knew Marvin and his schedule pretty well. These guys hit his place hard, exactly at the time he left every day to meet his girlfriend who worked in Manhattan.

SNEAKY LEAF'S DIARY OF A DEALER - A NAKED GIRL AND DIESEL FATIGUE

If you live in New York (or any big city for that matter), you know how much of a bummer weed-delivery guys can be. They're always showing up late, skimping you on the weight, and are generally pretty miserable human beings. But not Sneaky Leaf, our resident "guy" with Santa Claus-sized sacks full of marijuana. He shows up on time (and has the courtesy to call you if he's going to be even five minutes late), has a multitude of varieties to choose from, offers referral discounts, and is just one hell of a nice guy. So one day when we were buying something with a name like Blueberry Pink Skullcrusher 2000X Beast Stink Marmaduke Midge Tickler, we said, "Hey, Sneaky Leaf, why don't you write a column that simultaneously expounds your weed buff tendencies while exploring your undoubtedly interesting backlog of drug-dealing stories?" And to our surprise he said, "Sure." So here it is... the first installment of Sneaky Leaf's Diary of a Dealer. Enjoy!