So it seems that my memory has been waning somewhat over the past few—oh, let’s see—years. Both the United States Surgeon General and my mother would like me to believe this forgetfulness (a condition I fondly refer to as “memory, schmemory”) has been caused by pot-smoking. Or marijuana-vaping. Or ganja-eating. Or Cannabrexing. Whatever. The point is, they blame my incessant ingestion of THC, a half-baked theory to which I simply reply: Balderdash!

To debunk this invalid, untrue bullcrap, I have compiled all the lab and test results from all the CAT scans of all the patients—both stoned and unstoned—in every hospital in the world, right here, and have compiled the data into a comprehensive report that’s sure to shut down this unfounded, untrue linking of memory loss and grass intake once and for all. And I will now be more than glad to hash through—page by meaty page—my undeniable findings for Surgeon General Richard H. Carmona and my Mom. But first—first I just have to remember where I put my glasses down at…

Seriously, though, the beaten dead-horse debate over short-term memory loss and reefer really needs to come to an end. Mostly because I have had to come to grips with it myself, and have accepted the fact that, yes, my memories from breakfasts past are gone, I can’t fully recall whether I called my folks yesterday or the day before to ask for some money, and, most problematically, I can’t remember if it’s too soon to call again for more. Also, I’ve had to completely stop dating because I couldn’t keep my shoddy white lies straight anymore. Did I have to babysit or was I in Cairo? Did I ask him about his family or have I already met them? Also, I’m quite aware that ”blackout” and “fade in/out” are really only appropriate as stage directions, not as adjectives to describe the end of my evenings out on the town.

While I cannot pinpoint the exact day I lost my short-term memory, obviously, I can assure the scientific community that my long-term functions remain in superior, if not perfect, condition.