I read or heard or saw something, somewhere—I don't remember, because I was stoned. That I do remember! Anyway, it boils down to this... They say there could be, or might be, or something like that... a multiverse... so infinite amounts of me, doing every conceivable thing. If it's true, I'm going here... no questions asked... GOODBYE...

"The Eternal Chill: A Thirteen Million-Year Serious Odessey to Sirius"

Steve had always been a man who lived life at his own pace, but when he set out on the “Cosmic Puff 420” with Mary Jane, his non-binary dog, he didn’t realize just how slow that pace would become. Equipped with a staggering 232 billion joints, one for every half hour of the journey to Sirius (seriously, the math checks out), a spaceship the size of a small moon, and a spirit for adventure, Steve blasted off toward Sirius, a journey that would redefine the meaning of time and chill.

When asked why he needed so many joints, Steve replied, “Listen, it’s a long trip—like, REALLY long—and I refuse to be sober for even one half-hour of it. Call me a visionary, call me lazy, but I’m taking no chances!” And thus, the 232-billion-joint stash became an integral part of the mission plan.

What Steve had anticipated was that his ship, had a quirky malfunction in the HyperChill Life Preservation System, which would keep him in a state of perpetual stasis. Not frozen, but simply... unchanged. As the years turned to centuries, then millennia, Steve remained the same spry Unknown-year-old man with salt-and-pepper hair and a love for a good smoke.

The First Century:

Cosmic Bliss

In the first few decades, life aboard the Cosmic Puff was a stoner’s dream. With the infinite expanse of the universe as his view, Steve smoked his way through his stash, watching galaxies drift by like smoke rings in a gentle breeze

He did this from one of the half-gravity stoner lounges, one on every deck, just in case of an emergency, the only places where even the couches are too chill to stay put.

With gravity on half, you don’t sit on the furniture—you hover above it like a lazy astronaut.

The walls are decked out in glowing nebula art that looks way cooler when you’re high, and the stars outside the windows seem to wink at you in slow motion. Cushions float by like little UFOs, gently bumping into people as if they’re saying, “Yo, you wanna hang?”

The joint bar? Oh, it’s a masterpiece. Joints drift through the air like they’ve got their own orbit, coming right to you without you even having to reach. The air is thick with the smell of space weed, and the whole lounge feels like a gravity-free dream where the laws of physics are on vacation. It wasn’t until he checked his stash counter at the end of Year 100 that he realized he’d barely put a dent in it.

“I’m gonna need a bigger appetite,” he joked to Mary Jane, who wagged their tail in zero gravity.

He Built Routines:

Mornings spent experimenting with zero-gravity joint rolls (dubbed “Galactic Blunts”), afternoons chilling in the ship’s observation dome, and evenings jamming to his playlist of classic Earth tunes. As the decades rolled on, Steve noticed something sweet—he wasn’t aging. His joints burned out, but he didn’t.

“This must be what they meant by timeless vibes,” he mused, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

First Contact: The Glorptonians

It was 420 years into the voyage(because of course it was), and Steve was chilling in one of his stoner lounges, stretched out on a recliner under the night sky. His telescope was parked nearby, aimed lazily at a random star cluster, but Steve wasn’t in much of a hurry to use it. He exhaled a slow puff of smoke, letting the herbal aroma mix with the cool recycled air. Mary Jane lay sprawled at his feet, their ears twitching at the faint sounds of crickets.

Everything was perfect. Until it wasn’t.

A blaring alarm split the serenity like a hammer on glass. Mary Jane shot to their feet, barking furiously as the screens lit up in shimmering green. A colossal spaceship descended from above, its hull gleaming with intricate alien carvings and pulsating lights.

A booming voice roared from the heavens. "HUMANOID DETECTED. PREPARE TO BE VAPORIZED."

Steve squinted up at the ship, unimpressed. "Vaporized? Man, I’ve already done that tonight." He took another drag from his joint.

Ignoring him, a beam of light shot down, scanning him and Mary Jane with an electric hum. The barking intensified, but Mary Jane didn’t flinch from the light. Steve, still seated, waved lazily at the ship. "Hey, chill out up there. What’s this all about?"

The booming voice grew louder. "THIS IS NO TIME FOR CHILLING, HUMANOID. YOU ARE A THREAT TO THE GALACTIC ORDER. PREPARE FOR—"

Before the sentence could finish, the ship's engines sputtered and died down, as though reconsidering. A pause followed, long enough for Steve to think they’d finally taken the hint. But then, a group of strange, gangly creatures descended from the ship, their elongated toes flexing as they touched the ships deck.

The Glorptonians, as they would later introduce themselves—had translucent skin that shimmered in rainbow colors. Their glowing green eyes darted nervously around, and their toes wiggled with agitation.

One of them stepped forward, speaking in a deep, echoing tone. "Apologies, Humanoid. We may have made a mistake. Your energy signature matches a dangerous lifeform… but there is an anomaly in the data."

Steve raised an eyebrow. "Anomaly? You mean me? Or the weed?"

The Glorptonians exchanged confused glances. "We do not understand your reference to 'weed.' Explain this… herb you are consuming."

Steve held up the joint, smirking. "This? It’s weed. Want to try?"

The leader hesitated, but before long, curiosity overcame their caution. One of the Glorptonians reached out with their toes,long spindly things that curled delicately around the joint. Taking an experimental puff, they exhaled a plume of cosmic smoke through their feet. The effect was immediate. Their skin glowed brighter, their toes wiggled joyfully, and their entire body seemed to hum with newfound relaxation.

"Astonishing!" the leader declared. "The sacred herb of relaxation. Could this be…?"

The Glorptonians soon forgot all about their mission of destruction. Within moments, they were sprawled in Steve’s lounging garden, on the screens Steve could see their ship’s lights flickering in sync with the tunes he had queued up on his speakers. Mary Jane was happily wagging their tail, receiving belly rubs from a particularly friendly alien.

Hours passed in this blissful haze. It wasn’t until the Glorptonians began to discuss their sacred texts that the truth emerged.

"Species 420," one of them said dreamily, "was the name given to our ancestral dealers. They were peaceful beings who introduced us to the concept of cosmic chill. Could this Humanoid… Steve… be a descendant of that sacred lineage?"

The leader stared at Steve, their glowing eyes wide. "It is you," they whispered. "You are Species 420."

Steve froze mid-drag, then burst into laughter. "Wait. Hold on. You’re telling me I’m some kind of intergalactic weed prophet?"

"It is no laughing matter," the leader said gravely. "We owe you an apology for nearly destroying you and your vessel. Please accept this gift as a token of our gratitude."

They handed Steve a glowing orb, its surface swirling with colors like a miniature galaxy. "This Cosmic Chill Sphere will summon us whenever you are in need. Use it wisely… or just invite us for another session."

As the Glorptonians departed, their ship leaving trails of glittering smoke, Steve sat back in his chair, the orb glowing softly in his hand. He turned to Mary Jane, who nuzzled against his leg.

"Well," he said, grinning, "guess we’re officially galactic legends now. Not bad for a Wednesday night."

The Thousand-Year Milestone:

Intergalactic Besties

By the first millennium, Steve’s ship had attracted attention from curious travelers. He hosted aliens from across the universe who stopped by to “sample” Earth’s finest herb. Each species brought their own quirks:

• The Gelatians, who resembled living jellyfish, glowed brighter with each puff, transforming Steve’s lounge into a trippy light show.

• The Klorgons, notorious space pirates, raided Steve’s stash but ended up too stoned to leave, becoming regular guests instead.

Steve turned the ship into a galactic party hub, earning a reputation as the “Eternal Chiller of the Cosmos.”

Million-Year Smoke Breaks:

As the years stretched into millions, the Cosmic Puff became a living legend. Planets wrote songs about the Cosmic Puff 420, and comets carried the story across the stars. The Cosmic Puff 420 become the universe’s favorite myth: with the ageless traveler who smoked his way through infinity, hosting parties that defied time.

Steve, meanwhile, took it all in stride. With infinite time, he tried everything:

Spaceweed Cultivation:

Steve developed hybrid strains with names like “Nebula Nirvana” and “Sirius Chronic,” famous for their ability to induce visions of entire galaxies.

Joint Art:

Using the ship’s supplies, he crafted massive sculptures out of rolled joints, including a replica of Earth that orbited the ship.

Epic Adventures:

Every now and then, Steve would land on a new planet for laughs and to try the local weed, if any. Once, he convinced a planet of sentient mushrooms to throw a planet-wide rave.

Somewhere around 35.064 Billion Joints in...or 2 million years...

Steve was recling lazily in his spaceship’s captain’s chair, a joint lazily burning between his fingers. “MJ,” he mumbled, “you ever think space is just... a really big fire pit?”

Mary Jane barked and wagged their tail, clearly more concerned with the empty snack stash. They hadn’t seen a cosmic 7-Eleven in half a million years.

Suddenly, alarms blared. A shimmering blob of light phased into the ship, wobbling like a lava lamp. “Greetings, carbon-based beings!” it boomed. “I am Glorpax, emissary of the Intergalactic matter matters mates.”

Steve staring, offered the blob his joint. “You smoke?”

Glorpax jiggled with delight. “I consume... in a matter of speaking.”

Steve told GlorPlex to go ahead and clean the ship if he wanted. It felt like it hadn't been cleaned in over a million years, so there was quite a bit of waste around. Rubbish, crap, shit nobody wanted. Lots and lots of butts. So Steve was watching GlorPlex clean for about three seconds before he was bored, and went off to get stoned. He was just chilling, when all of a sudden...

After Mary Jane came back from Deck 7 soaking wet, she dashed straight into one of the half-gravity lounges. Moments later she came running back out, barking furiously at Steve.

“What’s wrong, Mary Jane? Need a towel?” Steve asked, following her inside.

The lounge was overflowing with food: snacks, dog treats, bowls piled high with every munchie imaginable. The two of them dove in without hesitation. They’d had the munchies for so long they couldn’t believe their luck. Chips, candy, sandwiches, glowing biscuits — everything. They ate and ate until they were nearly sick. Steve was stuffed. Mary Jane was stuffed.

That’s when GlorPlex floated in.

“GlorPlex, did you make all this for us?” Steve asked, clutching his belly.

“In a matter of speaking,” GlorPlex replied.

Steve frowned. “What do you mean, in a matter of speaking?”

“I turn negative matter into positive matter,” GlorPlex said smoothly.

Steve froze, staring at the half-chewed chip in his hand. He looked at Mary Jane. He looked back at GlorPlex. “Are you telling me all this food is made of… recycled waste?”

GlorPlex pulsed smugly. “Well… it doesn’t matter where the matter came from. What matters is the matter became the matter that matters — which is the matter you just ate.”

Steve blinked, still chewing slowly. Then he groaned. “This brings a whole new meaning to the question… what’s the matter?”

Mary Jane barked thrice, as if in agreement.

“The journey is the destination. Puff, pass, repeat.”