The Time I Got Really, Really High and ...

Apr 18 at 2pm

This Sunday is 4/20 and you know what that means... Wait, what was I saying...? 

While I blaze up some tree and try to remember, read through these anonymous stories that some of our readers sent in about that time they got really, really high.

Pea Soup Andersens

A group of friends and I were driving back from a Fourth of July weekend in Santa Barbara. Everyone decided Pea Soup Andersens would be a great place to stop and eat (because pea soup is naturally what you want after partying for three days in Isla Vista). After eating, the four of us got in the car and decided to light a quick bowl topped with kief. Soon after we are driving on an overpass to get back on the 101 North. I was in the back seat with another friend (we'll call him G). G started to lift the bottom of his shirt to his face and proceeded to throw up an entire bowl of split pea soup into it. Everyone in the car started screaming and yelling and going crazy. We pulled over and got out. G took off his soup-covered shorts and shirt and left them on the side of the road. We covered him in a blanket and got back in the car. Before leaving we asked, "G, do you have your keys, wallet, phone?" He said yes and we took off. We stopped two more times for G to puke on the six-hour drive home. The rest of the time, he slept in the back. As we neared our hometown in the East Bay, G woke up and asked, "Hey...where is my wallet?" Yup, he left everything in his puke-covered shorts in Buellton on the side of an overpass. Being asshole friends we all laughed. Then we realized he was only in boat shoes and boxers; we probably should have noticed he didn't have his stuff. The next day, G drove six hours down and six hours back. Phone, keys, wallet, all still there in a barf-covered mass on the side of the overpass.

Good Aim, Kid

It was in high school (of course). A few of us were hanging out at a friend's house, some drinking, all smoking. I was DDing that night so I rounded up three friends that lived near my parents and drove them home. My friend Danielle, who didn't smoke too often, was in the backseat drinking a beer. As we were pulling up to her house she was bitching about how her next door neighbors were dickheads, etc., etc. After a few seconds of getting herself riled up about them, she states, "I'm going to throw this beer bottle at their house." And of course, we're all stoned and are like, "Duuude, like, don't do thaaat." She proceeds to ignore us, rolls down my back left window and pulls herself through it to throw the bottle. Next thing I know, I have glass shattered all over me. The dumbass forgot to let go of the beer bottle and shattered it through my sun roof. The best part about this story is that she pulled herself back into the car and celebrated how good she got them.

The Actual Snoop Dogg

Submitting on behalf of a 6-month-old pitbull, named Lou: The moms were gone, so like I always do, I broke into Mom #1's bedroom to chew up some stuff. I ate three and half shoes, nommed on a rug, and got back at a couch cushion. THEN, holy of all holies, I found some HUMAN FOOD in there: a whole bag of popcorn! It smelled kinda skunky but the stinkier the better I always say, so I ate every last piece, plus a lot of the plastic bag for good measure. A little later Mom #2 came home. I acted real innocent but she still blamed me for all those eaten-up shoes. I thought they looked better that way. She got mad and went out for a run. Then all of a sudden I started to feel reeeeeeeal sleepy. When Mom #2 came back, I couldn't even run to say hi and jump on her like I usually do. I tried to stand up but I just felt whoozy and stared at my mom and rocked back and forth a lot. My eyes felt real dry and red. I tried to walk but it was like I had eight feet. And it seemed like there were four moms. Mostly I just wanted to go back to sleep. "WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME?" I thought at my mom. "I HAVE TWO PAWS. IS THIS REAL LIFE?" Next thing I know my mom's making me wake up and go in the car car. And WHOA, that was a weird car car ride. Everything was moving real slow and real fast at the same time. Then we were in this big white room with a lot of other dogs and cats. A man picked me up and he did all kinds of weird stuff to me. He tried to make me throw up – I whined, "Nope," 'cause I wanted to hang on to all that good stuff I just ate. Then he made me poop, and he LOOKED at my poop, a lot. He told my mom that so far I pooped some kibble, some tennis ball, and something that looked like confetti - but no popcorn. He poked me and bugged me a lot more, and finally he sent me back with my mom. I wobbled out of there and thought at my mom, "That is the last time I ever try popcorn." When we got to the door, the lady at the front desk who asked us a lot of questions said to my mom, "Don't worry. We get at least one of these cases a week." 

Lucha Libre

My best friend and I had recently come up with a name and a theme for our new creative company and were celebrating in L.A. Having just bought luchador masks on Olvera Street, we proceeded to a pupuseria where we smoked, ate, and had the staff take pictures of us wrestling in said masks. I then had the brilliant idea to drive around downtown L.A. in our luchador personas. For a few blocks we waved at staring pedestrians who were no doubt puzzled at the sight of El Santo and Blue Demon cruising in a '97 Camry. Finally we passed a cop car on a perpendicular street. It turned right before doing a u-turn and following us. Blue Demon furiously unlaced his mask, whereas I panicked and left mine up. The cops pulled us over and I nervously put my hands on the wheel. "Take off the mask, GENIUS!" I heard over the megaphone. I scrambled to take it off as thoughts of getting shot flood my head. I tossed it out the window and slowly exited the vehicle. I was immediately turned about with my hands behind my back, in some kind of pinky hold death grip. The short cop with the abrasive attitude did a quick search of my car. Seeing the car seat in back he said, "Oh God, don't tell me you reproduced." He continued his search and his insults. "How stupid do you have to be to drive around this city in MASKS?! You know who wear masks? Robbers! You're lucky you're not laying on the ground with my shotgun at your back with a helicopter circling above! You're also getting ready to drive straight into gang territory." His much nicer partner came up to us on the curb and looked at the bumper stickers. "We saw your SEGA bumper sticker and figured you were a couple college kids." His partner asked if there was anything in the car he should know about. "Uhhhh, some medical marijuana in the glove box and a small steak knife." "Have you been smoking it?" "Not recently," I lied. His partner said, "Let me guess, you're between the ages of 18 and 24?" "Actually I'm 35," I replied. "Oh. Well it's usually young white dudes with the medical permits." The short mean partner lectured us a bit longer, but let us go since I was honest about the herb. We hopped in the car and did a u-turn out of L.A.

Shot Through the Heart and Weed's to Blame

One weekend in college, my boyfriend and roommate decided to make a bunch of pot butter and use it to make cookies and brownies. The whole time we were baking, we were eating the brownie and cookie batter and then enjoyed eating the final product. Personally, I always thought baking with pot never really got anyone high, so imagine my surprise when about an hour later, I was trying to convince them to drive me to
the hospital because I thought I had been shot in the chest. My boyfriend and roommate (clearly just as stoned as I was) threw me in the car and drove me to the hospital. When we got there, I ran up to the front desk, slammed my hands on the counter and told the receptionist, "I need help, Ive been shot in the chest!" The next thing I remember, I woke up in a hospital bed. I kindly asked the attending nurse what I was doing there, to which she replied, "Oh honey, you've had a marijuana experience." I haven't been able to look at pot the same ever since.

Father Knows Best... Sometimes

I'm not much of a smoker but my Dad is. He's a 72-year-old retired firefighter, so the way I see it, he can do what he wants. He tells of a story where he and his buddies got particularly blazed and decided to go out to dinner. They all ate a huge meal and the busboy quickly cleared their plates as they all continued to joke and carry on with their conversation. Eventually they begin to get impatient with the waitress who has still not returned to deliver their bill. As they are looking around and getting progressively more irritated, my Dad's best friend turns to him and says, "You know what, I'm not even hungry. Why'd we even come here?" They had entirely forgotten that they had already completed their meal. Fortunately for the waitress, my Dad did recall the meal and ensured she was properly paid. 

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