The 1st time I got higher, I was 15-years-old and hanging out with a raver girl from my higher college — who allegedly took ecstasy for 365 days in a row. Soon after college 1 day, she brought more than a potato with a couple of holes carved into it, and we got stoned in her automobile even though listening to Ani DiFranco. I could inform I was stoned due to the fact I took a sip of water, and it felt like fucking Niagara falls gushing down my throat. We then went to Taco Bell and drove about for two hours laughing about the word “chode,” till she crashed into a tree going 10 miles-per-hour. 

Even though it tends to make for a warm, fuzzy memory, that expertise is fucking child’s play in a book of soft, sweet nursery rhymes compared to the subsequent 3 stoner tales I’m about to drop. So, pack a bowl, grab some water (and perhaps some toilet paper?) and get prepared for 3 wild tales of what it is to get lit as fuck.

The time I shat my pants in Paris…

Numerous years ago, I went to Paris to pay a visit to a guy I was sexting with on Myspace. It felt quite romantic on the web, except the day I arrived he told me he’d gotten some sort of wart removed from his anus and could not have sex. Also, he worked 14-hour days, and I was quite substantially alone the entire time. 

I was feeling anxious and depressed, so I began numbing. He had 3 issues in his apartment: red wine, a jar of tasty honey I couldn’t get sufficient of, and a bag of hash. Each and every morning I’d wake up and consume honey for breakfast, wash it down with a glass of wine, and stroll as far as my feet could tolerate. Then, I decided to leading off my morning routine with a couple hits of hash. 

By the time I got to the glass pyramid that is straight in front of the Louvre, I began feeling insane. I do not want to blame it all on the hash: it was the cumulative impact of living off of honey and wine, and the power of the millions of vacationers about me. The hash just occurred to be what place me more than the edge and created me drop handle of my butthole. I shat my pants, and a hot squirt of diarrhea ran down the side of my leg. I sped walked back to his apartment, and instantly booked a flight household that similar afternoon. 


The time I was catatonic through a loved ones reunion…

I was going to Argentina (my nation of birth) and had to be at a enormous loved ones reunion by 6pm. I hadn’t visited Argentina given that I was a kid, so I was about to see tons of persons I hadn’t in years. I was genuinely excited for this. Earlier that day, my “boyfriend” from elementary college, whom I’d kept in touch with, asked me to hang out. (When I say “boyfriend,” I imply that when we played residence, and I showed him my vagina, which created us a couple. Clearly.)

When he picked me up, he had 1 lengthy dreadlock in the back of his head which he’d been increasing out given that he “went to India.” We went to his residence, had terrible sex, and then he pulled out what actually looked like a fucking hay brick of weed. He rolled us a joint with it. I was applied to beautiful California flowers with purple and orange sprinkles in them. But this wasn’t that. This looked like the worst schwag on Earth — like, if a rat had died, grown moss about it, and was left to fossilize in a cave for ten years. 

My quite crucial loved ones reunion was about to start out, so we smoked the joint on our way there. And, boy — did I underestimate that Argentine schwag. When I arrived, I was so higher I couldn’t even ring the doorbell. Not only that, I forgot how lots of relatives have been going to hug me, kiss me, and ask me a million queries like, “tell us what you have been up to for the previous 10 years,” even though speaking incredibly close to my face. They ought to have identified a thing was up. And, I had the worst cottonmouth in the history of the stoned globe. I’m speaking like lips-glued-to-your-teeth stoned: my mouth was incapable of generating sufficient moisture to say words. I assume the most I stated to anybody that evening was “hi.” Or, nicely, “high.”


The time I smoked questionable Tijuana weed and ended up at a wedding in my pajamas…

As I’m writing these bits, I understand that my most intense stoned moments have all been even though on holiday. This third 1 is my favourite, but also the scariest. I was dating a Puerto Rican musician that had a beautiful, crooked penis. He was playing a show in Tijuana, and I lied to my parents and told them I was going to devote the evening at a friend’s residence. Alternatively, I stole my passport from their secure and drove to Tijuana. 

Almost everything was terrific till we have been hanging in his hotel space soon after the show, and he pulled out a tiny nug he stated a person presented him. We rolled a spliff, and I assume I only took 1 hit when my boyfriend decided to go to the lobby to get drinks for us. The moment he walked out, I fucking lost it. Like basically lost it — my memory was gone. I don’t forget sitting on the bed considering Who am I? Exactly where am I? What’s my mom’s name? I couldn’t don’t forget something. 

The subsequent point I know, I was in a banquet hall at the hotel — in my pajamas — roaming about the dancefloor of a wedding, fucking barefoot. I regained my memory at this point, and walked back to the space. My boyfriend was freaking out. He stated I’d been gone for two hours and the cops have been on their way. He believed I had been kidnapped. 

These THC tales are enjoyable now, but I want you to understand from them. Commence low and go slow, regardless of exactly where your weed comes from. And for that matter, be wary of organizing international smoke seshes with dudes you met on MySpace. Satisfied four/20, y’all!

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