They say university is the time and place for learning. That these four years are an important time in a person's life wherein they learn true life lessons that stick. And they're right, too. University is that time and that place. I just can't help but feel as though I was smarter than this and that I should've possessed some form of common sense. I was very very wrong.
I have a theory: if you look like something for long enough, you'll begin to absorb that thing's properties. Truly become what you look like. Old men who dress as Santa Clause tend to become jollier. Previously clean shaven ordinary individuals become weirdly more philosophical as they grow a beard. Guys who used to wear polo shirts and shorts ironically become douchebags, unironically. I look like a shoplifter, stoner, hobo, and pothead. I am not a stoner pothead nor will I ever be a stoner pothead, I hope to never be homeless and I do not outwardly exhibit any kleptomaniac symptoms. That being said, as of taking up my manbunn'd and goatee'd stoner appearance my living quarters have become smaller, I have grown a strange and indescribable malicious intent towards supermarkets and have experimented (past tense) with Marijuana.
Upon joining the university, I decided to join the resident stoner club. My university has a "cannabis enthusiast [sic]" club. Marijuana is not legal for recreational use in the location of my university, but I must admit, people over here are very chill. As soon as I entered the room which housed the weed club on clubs day I made eye contact with the representative as a sort of "you look like our kind of human" and naturally I gravitated towards that table. I then noticed the bong on the table (at a formal university event) which happened to be approximately the size of my torso. Apparently the bong was the centerpiece of this year's "Bongfire", an event with a name so perfect that missing it would be entirely unforgivable. The fun times started at 5PM on Friday. After spending about two hours smoking we descended to the location of the Bongfire: a nude beach.
Before I continue relating to you the events of what transpired during and after the Bongfire, I must describe to you the most fascinating individual I have ever met: Jorgen. I call him Jorgen because of his imitation-Viking beard. The reason that Jorgen had an imitation-Viking beard was because Jorgen was by far the most unnervingly alien person I have ever met. I don't mean alien as in different, I mean alien as in my drug-addled mind managed to totally convince itself that Jorgen must have been some sort of alien masquerading as a human being. The guy was an anthropology student with a permanently extremely interested probing expression on his face and a beard that ended in two distinct strands on either side of his chin. He would periodically ask me questions about my culture and about humanity which, coupled with his probing expression and the fact that I may as well have been swimming on Jupiter for how high I was, made me feel... examined. To put it in short, Jorgen was a bit of a weirdo. For the club, he was the norm.
It was at this point that the fact that I am undeniably an idiot came to light, as it often does. The man selling the edibles was highlights guy.
He offered me 5$ for the low dose brownies (75mg of pure THC) and 10$ for the high dose ones (200mg). To high me it was simple economics. One is double the price of the other with more than double the stuff, it's better value for money. Thinking back on it it's more like saying "an XL shirt is the same price as an S shirt but it's more fabric so I should buy it." I learned some very useful lessons that day; firstly, if the guy selling you brownies on a nude beach around midnight looks like Karl Marx with sunset dyed ass-length hair and tell you a brownie is high dose, he fucking means it. Secondly I learned that it's always a good idea to do your research. The recommended maximum dosage of pure THC within edibles to completely knock out a grown man is 10mg. It is recommended that people who'd like to retain use of their motor functions use smaller amounts such as 5 or 7mg. It is also heavily recommended to never eat an entire brownie on your own. The brownie contained 200 mgs of pure THC.
I bought four.
My graduating class in highschool was 88 people. If you were to include the faculty of the IB College which I attended you could round it up to almost 120 people. I purchased enough pure weed juice to get them all higher than fucking Burj Khalifa. Instead of 120 people, I decided to get 6 people high/er (myself included). The other five in question were Grump, Possible, Vanilla, Jazz and Diego. They were all in Grump's room, totally unsuspecting when I knocked on the door, eyes so red if they were a sea Moses would've parted them, and bust in yelling "LET'S EAT SOME WEED."
I still feel guilty
I was at this point I learned my next lesson: if food smells like weed and is literally dripping with THC oil, don't eat it. The brownies were crusty, grimy, and tasted vaguely of dirt. They contained so much condensed weed that if left alone for an extended period of time a marijuana plant would've grown out of them. I ate one, Diego ate one, Grump ate one (sans one bite which Jazz had), and Possible and Vanilla shared one. To, again, emphasize exactly how potent those tiny fucking cakes were: Jazz, who had one bite, consumed around the maximum dose for five people. The one bite Jazz had would've been, by far, enough to get us all on the floor and drooling. Then the shit started.
Edibles are known for their shocking effect: it's supposed to be that you eat part of one and hours later you're suddenly high as your body's digestive system finally gets to it. These brownies had an instant effect. Within ten minutes of having them we had become disoriented enough that it took us a solid hour to order pizza. Over the internet. This was despite the fact that we were accompanied by two sober people: Vicky and Swift. This was due to Possible having chosen that specific moment to become financially conscious. Every time the order button was nearly pressed Possible would suddenly yell "BUT MY COUPONS" (which I theorize never actually existed), maul the sober people, kidnap the computer, and reset the order. Eventually we physically restrained her. Possible, If you're reading this: fuck you.
By the time the ordering of pizzas was done, the real fun started. If you've never been "too high", allow me to enlighten you. Most too high experiences are slow. You keep smoking until you wind up possessing the agility and mental capacity of a hat. It starts off as an unreal, subconsciously stimulating experience but devolves as a result of hubris. This was not what happened with the brownies. With the brownies I started off with an already high so as soon as my body began to digest the brownies, my mind became glass and the brownie became a hammer. My entire being was suddenly a Linkin Park song. Everything became, for want of a better word, fuzzy and slippery. I became completely aware of everything around me and as a result lost the ability to do anything but take up a starfish position on the floor and observe. The fact that everything seemed to be moving did not help, either (later observations confirm that things were not, in fact, moving). Soon after my fall everybody suddenly had to lie down, with the exception of Diego who punched the air and proclaimed "I've just saved the universe. Six times." As soon as everybody had laid down on the floor or the bed Possible began to utter the worst mantra of all time "I'm having a bad trip." Eventually this sentiment spread to all of us causing Diego to bestow upon us the following gem "If I die, tell my kids they were never born." This depression temporarily abated when the pizza arrived.
By 1 AM I was functionally a beached sea turtle; completely unable to do anything but moan and flail helplessly (both of which I did to the fullest of my power). Suddenly, I felt it crucial to no longer be on the floor and definitely be in the bathroom. Apparently miscellaneous munchies, a brownie composed of 85% THC and 15% brownie, and pizza do not mix well and my gastronomic system had finally had enough. After vomiting I looked into the toilet to see the remnants of pizza, but having forgotten that I had eaten pizza, I came to the natural conclusion that I had just vomited my internal organs. I was oddly fine with that. We all slept in Grump's room that night, Grump and I slept of the floor and the rest slept on the bed.
This led to a less than ideal situation when, the next morning I woke up with the ordinary disorientation of "whut, fuck? do I live here?" coupled with being still high and not actually living there. That very morning Diego had to row a boat at 7AM in the drizzling rain. I'm told it was one of the worst experiences of his life.
Everyone left Grump's room eventually; in my case, eventually meant the next day as I spent the entirety of Saturday very high and on the floor, not saying a word. I apparently terrified Grump; not by refusing to leave, but by being unable to talk.
Grump, again, I'm sorry. It was not in my power. The goblins were listening.
We all sobered up sometime in the region of Sunday. To put that in context I spent probably around 70 hours higher than Felix Baumgartner. Although I've developed a mysterious aversion to brownies and my friends have developed a mysterious aversion to me, I'm glad I had the experience after all.
That is a lie. If you're gonna start doing drugs, don't start off by joining a weed club, buying 40$ worth of pot brownies from some random hippy lookin fuck on a nude beach, consuming 20 times the maximum dosage of THC, lying comatose on a dorm room floor for two days, and royally fucking up your ability to enjoy baked goods. \
I took a shit that Sunday that was green and smelled like weed.
Don't do drugs kids.
I have a theory: if you look like something for long enough, you'll begin to absorb that thing's properties. Truly become what you look like. Old men who dress as Santa Clause tend to become jollier. Previously clean shaven ordinary individuals become weirdly more philosophical as they grow a beard. Guys who used to wear polo shirts and shorts ironically become douchebags, unironically. I look like a shoplifter, stoner, hobo, and pothead. I am not a stoner pothead nor will I ever be a stoner pothead, I hope to never be homeless and I do not outwardly exhibit any kleptomaniac symptoms. That being said, as of taking up my manbunn'd and goatee'd stoner appearance my living quarters have become smaller, I have grown a strange and indescribable malicious intent towards supermarkets and have experimented (past tense) with Marijuana.
Upon joining the university, I decided to join the resident stoner club. My university has a "cannabis enthusiast [sic]" club. Marijuana is not legal for recreational use in the location of my university, but I must admit, people over here are very chill. As soon as I entered the room which housed the weed club on clubs day I made eye contact with the representative as a sort of "you look like our kind of human" and naturally I gravitated towards that table. I then noticed the bong on the table (at a formal university event) which happened to be approximately the size of my torso. Apparently the bong was the centerpiece of this year's "Bongfire", an event with a name so perfect that missing it would be entirely unforgivable. The fun times started at 5PM on Friday. After spending about two hours smoking we descended to the location of the Bongfire: a nude beach.
Before I continue relating to you the events of what transpired during and after the Bongfire, I must describe to you the most fascinating individual I have ever met: Jorgen. I call him Jorgen because of his imitation-Viking beard. The reason that Jorgen had an imitation-Viking beard was because Jorgen was by far the most unnervingly alien person I have ever met. I don't mean alien as in different, I mean alien as in my drug-addled mind managed to totally convince itself that Jorgen must have been some sort of alien masquerading as a human being. The guy was an anthropology student with a permanently extremely interested probing expression on his face and a beard that ended in two distinct strands on either side of his chin. He would periodically ask me questions about my culture and about humanity which, coupled with his probing expression and the fact that I may as well have been swimming on Jupiter for how high I was, made me feel... examined. To put it in short, Jorgen was a bit of a weirdo. For the club, he was the norm.
My university happens to be on the beach. One of the student residences is literally a beachfront property with a staircase of some 400 steps leading from the university to the beach. I arrived with the scouting group and being in the company of stoners it naturally took forever until anything got done. Eventually we built a fire. It was by no means a bonfire, but it was absolutely a Bongfire. Notable individuals at the Bongfire were flashing-light-gloves-guy (who had some very interesting gloves), music-and-biology-guy (who spent about an hour ranting about the beauty of biology and chemistry then played some really freaky music on the speakers), various hippy-like individuals, and highlights guy (who was a 6 foot something veritable giant with luscious long brown hair straight out of a fucking Herbal Essences commercial tipped with orange to provide the effect of a sunset). By 11 PM I'd been smoking for six hours and firmly believed that my insides were made of jelly. That was when I decided to buy edibles.
It was at this point that the fact that I am undeniably an idiot came to light, as it often does. The man selling the edibles was highlights guy.
 |
| Wanna buy some edibles? |
I bought four.
My graduating class in highschool was 88 people. If you were to include the faculty of the IB College which I attended you could round it up to almost 120 people. I purchased enough pure weed juice to get them all higher than fucking Burj Khalifa. Instead of 120 people, I decided to get 6 people high/er (myself included). The other five in question were Grump, Possible, Vanilla, Jazz and Diego. They were all in Grump's room, totally unsuspecting when I knocked on the door, eyes so red if they were a sea Moses would've parted them, and bust in yelling "LET'S EAT SOME WEED."
 |
| LET'S EAT SOME WEED |
I still feel guilty
I was at this point I learned my next lesson: if food smells like weed and is literally dripping with THC oil, don't eat it. The brownies were crusty, grimy, and tasted vaguely of dirt. They contained so much condensed weed that if left alone for an extended period of time a marijuana plant would've grown out of them. I ate one, Diego ate one, Grump ate one (sans one bite which Jazz had), and Possible and Vanilla shared one. To, again, emphasize exactly how potent those tiny fucking cakes were: Jazz, who had one bite, consumed around the maximum dose for five people. The one bite Jazz had would've been, by far, enough to get us all on the floor and drooling. Then the shit started.
Edibles are known for their shocking effect: it's supposed to be that you eat part of one and hours later you're suddenly high as your body's digestive system finally gets to it. These brownies had an instant effect. Within ten minutes of having them we had become disoriented enough that it took us a solid hour to order pizza. Over the internet. This was despite the fact that we were accompanied by two sober people: Vicky and Swift. This was due to Possible having chosen that specific moment to become financially conscious. Every time the order button was nearly pressed Possible would suddenly yell "BUT MY COUPONS" (which I theorize never actually existed), maul the sober people, kidnap the computer, and reset the order. Eventually we physically restrained her. Possible, If you're reading this: fuck you.
 |
| BUT MY COUPON |
By the time the ordering of pizzas was done, the real fun started. If you've never been "too high", allow me to enlighten you. Most too high experiences are slow. You keep smoking until you wind up possessing the agility and mental capacity of a hat. It starts off as an unreal, subconsciously stimulating experience but devolves as a result of hubris. This was not what happened with the brownies. With the brownies I started off with an already high so as soon as my body began to digest the brownies, my mind became glass and the brownie became a hammer. My entire being was suddenly a Linkin Park song. Everything became, for want of a better word, fuzzy and slippery. I became completely aware of everything around me and as a result lost the ability to do anything but take up a starfish position on the floor and observe. The fact that everything seemed to be moving did not help, either (later observations confirm that things were not, in fact, moving). Soon after my fall everybody suddenly had to lie down, with the exception of Diego who punched the air and proclaimed "I've just saved the universe. Six times." As soon as everybody had laid down on the floor or the bed Possible began to utter the worst mantra of all time "I'm having a bad trip." Eventually this sentiment spread to all of us causing Diego to bestow upon us the following gem "If I die, tell my kids they were never born." This depression temporarily abated when the pizza arrived.
By 1 AM I was functionally a beached sea turtle; completely unable to do anything but moan and flail helplessly (both of which I did to the fullest of my power). Suddenly, I felt it crucial to no longer be on the floor and definitely be in the bathroom. Apparently miscellaneous munchies, a brownie composed of 85% THC and 15% brownie, and pizza do not mix well and my gastronomic system had finally had enough. After vomiting I looked into the toilet to see the remnants of pizza, but having forgotten that I had eaten pizza, I came to the natural conclusion that I had just vomited my internal organs. I was oddly fine with that. We all slept in Grump's room that night, Grump and I slept of the floor and the rest slept on the bed.
This led to a less than ideal situation when, the next morning I woke up with the ordinary disorientation of "whut, fuck? do I live here?" coupled with being still high and not actually living there. That very morning Diego had to row a boat at 7AM in the drizzling rain. I'm told it was one of the worst experiences of his life.
 |
Grump, again, I'm sorry. It was not in my power. The goblins were listening.
We all sobered up sometime in the region of Sunday. To put that in context I spent probably around 70 hours higher than Felix Baumgartner. Although I've developed a mysterious aversion to brownies and my friends have developed a mysterious aversion to me, I'm glad I had the experience after all.
That is a lie. If you're gonna start doing drugs, don't start off by joining a weed club, buying 40$ worth of pot brownies from some random hippy lookin fuck on a nude beach, consuming 20 times the maximum dosage of THC, lying comatose on a dorm room floor for two days, and royally fucking up your ability to enjoy baked goods. \
I took a shit that Sunday that was green and smelled like weed.
Don't do drugs kids.
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