By J.J. Colagrande

01_thelonious-horowitz8It’s a conversation starter—you might hear me say, yo, holmes, who blew this? And if the pipe was a Snoddie or blown by an apprentice of Snoddie, it’s like Louie the Fourteenth cognac, man—that head gets mad respect when packing a Snoddie. Dude’s probably from Eugene—the place is Zion for glassblowers—that’s where Snodgrass had his studio. People go crazy for glass—I’m tellin you. From a rookie buggin out cause the Pyrex changes color to the old school head flippin because someone threw some schwa or red rock in their glass. It’s funny—headz pack pipes like gangstas pack steel—know what I’m sayin? Even looks like headz are packin—way we’re strapped with pouches. Every head needs a pouch or their glass will break. I like chillums—that way you don’t have to suck on anyone else’s lips. The worst part of smoking an L is when headz nigga-lip that shit. I don’t want to suck on anyone’s spittle—right—who knows where they’ve been? By the way, when I use the word nigga it ain’t rascist—you should know by now—nigga is a synonym for brother in my lingo. So, that’s why lately I’ve been strapped with a chillum. I gots a fatty Snoddie at my crib back in New York—it’s RE-donkulous—big dragon bubbler. Must be worth a G. I don’t even smoke out of it—which is sort-a stoops, you know? I mean—what’s the point in saving anything? Really. What’s the point? Understand where I’m coming from on that tip?

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