Living in New York City is hard! There are too many people, too much noise, and far, far too many existential crises lurking in front of every Pinkberry. What do you need to make it through the day? A doobie!

Last night on HBO's Horatio Alger tale for hipsters, Ben learned not to ask mom and dad for cash, Cam discovered that rich people are suckers, and Rene found out that you can't trust people in suits to do the marketing for you—especially when it comes to his fruit punch-flavored energy drink Rasta Monster (which is almost as much fun to say as She by Sheree). But the real teachable moment comes from resident hottie Rachel who tried to quit her job after discovering that her college roommate was sailing on the Good Ship Lollipop and saving lives in Africa. Her interior designer boss Edie (Martha Plimpton, who is so awesome it makes me cry) gives her the only thing that can cure her. Weed!

That's right. No one here in bright shiny Gotham is doing the Lord's work. We're all financial whizzes, fashion designers, vaguely influential artists, lawyers, hair stylists, models, nightlife impresarios, and internet shit talkers. We are not saving any lives, we are just keeping everyone rich, comfortable, and entertained until they shuffle off this world into the great dark nothingness that will encompass them when they finally die. It's like living in Paris Hilton's brain, but with less pink. Depressing, no? How do we make it through? We medicate and rationalize. We tell ourselves that we are really really important and that we live in the best city in the world, even though we sold our soul for a crappy job and a small apartment in order to do it. What makes this all better? Spliffs, yo!

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So next time you feel like all you do is stuff the internet full of more blips and blurps and 10011110011100111s that amount to letters that might make an office drone somewhere laugh, just have your sassy boss take you out on the lanai and have her smoke you up. That's what I do! Then you will remember that you are fierce and fabulous, the world is laid out in front of you, you are just like everyone else that you know, and remember—as the woozy tingles run up your heavy feat and throb against your skin like ivy on the converted carriage house of some yuppy's West Village manse—Kim Kardashian is hosting a party for some new passion fruit-flavored vodka tonight and you are on the guest list plus one and it is going to be so much fun that you don't need to do charity work, you just need to party, man. Fuck those destitute orphans, we're going to rub elbows with some reality stars! Smoke it up, bitches, it's the only way you're going to make it through your day—no, your life!