Twice over the course of the last 10 years, I’ve smoked a little bit of weed.
Both times, which occurred in social settings when I was offered a hit or two, will be left unexplained to protect the innocent. But, as much as I smoked from age 19 to 39, I’d say I’m a big proponent of the legalization of marijuana.
Thirty minutes into the new Seth Rogan movie, “Sausage Party” I can tell you I wanted nothing more than a joint parsed between my lips and unlike Hillary’s husband I would have inhaled.
If I had, I’m pretty sure “Sausage Party” would have been a laugh riot.
IMDB sums up the movie this way: “A sausage strives to discover the truth about his existence.”
Riveting, no? Well, consider it’s a sexually charged story about food finding out the truth of what lays outside of the supermarket doors, it was a movie with potential.
Especially with the hit-or-miss Rogan at the helm.
I went in with, pardon the expression, high hopes.
To the stone, cold, sober movie-goer, though, I’m afraid it was akin to seed-filled, dirt-tasting home grown. If you’re a smoker, or former smoker, you’ll know my disappointment.
Needless to say, I came away from the movie unimpressed, though perhaps I’m not sure what a 50-year-old man going to a cartoon was expecting.
It had moments, of course. Most movies do. The bath salts scene was funny. The relationship between the bagel and whatever that other piece of food was had some moments.
The movie could have done without the douche and the taco, if you ask me. (Those are words I’d never thought I’d write).
But it was definitely missing something.
Personally, I think it was the weed.