Why I Will Never Smoke Pot Again

I was watching one of those hokey "church is awesome" shows on TV last night (not much on at three in the morning) and it featured a well-to-do young man who was relaying his life story and the mistakes he had made while under the influence of illegal drugs. The guy was a total wank, but it made me think of the last time I smoked a joint.

It was about a year and a half ago and a bunch of my friends and I were staying over-night in Toronto after seeing a concert. (We rode the Grey Hound into the city for ease of's fucking imposible to drive a car through that city!) We were still a little buzzed from the show, and decided it was in our best interest to try and score a little weed for the hotel room after-party. Seeing as it was Toronto, we figured it would be an easy task.

We were right and wrong on all accounts.

After scouring for about twenty minutes we found a guy holding outside this little bar right across the street from the old Maple Leaf Gardens. (Mickey Finn's, for anyone familiar to the area....go home team go!) He was a little shady and a lot unwashed, but time was getting on and pot was pot. We paid a little more than what it was worth, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Feeling quite proud of ourselves, we headed back to the hotel for what was to be a fantastic night of drinking, smoking, and playing xBox until the wee hours of the morning.

Upon arrival, we immediately inspected our new purchase. I should have know something was afoot by the unholy odour that greeted me when I opened the baggie. The pot smelled like a mixture of pork and feet. It had a funny texture (waxy, and a little oily) and had these tiny flecks of red throughout. I was pissed; we clearly got screwed on the deal. "Naw! It'll be fine, you pussy!" my one pal said as he took it from me and began rolling it into a nice-sized joint. (Crap roll job, too. Who'se the pussy now, Jeff?!? That's right; I used your name!) The four of 'em then light it and begin to smoke this stank-ass weed we had just purchased.

I was a little wary of it, so I decided to decline. "It's fine! It doesn't even taste that bad!" "Don't worry; it's okay. Try some." I got a little cocky with the positive responses, and decided to join in the fun. For the record, it did taste bad and it wasn't okay. Imagine swishing old pickle brine and rotten sardines. Now imagine something that would taste worse than that.

About a half hour after consuming this shit, I began to feel a little funny. Like 'man my stomach and head hurts' funny. I chalked it up to the poor stadium food and continued with the Halo deathmatch. About ten minutes after that, things went south.

I started getting sweaty. REALLY sweaty. I looked like I had just come back from jogging in 40 degree temperature (Celcius, people. Fuck fahrenheit!) while wearing the thickest wool sweater know to man. I also began to get very pale. I went from a nice pinkish hue to white as a sheet in under three minutes. I looked and felt like I was going to die. Nobody else seemed to be suffering, so I figured it might be food related.

Another ten minutes pass and by this time I'm not the only one feeling bad. At this point my vision was going a little wonky, and I felt higher than I ever had before. It was odd; it felt awful and awesome at the same time. Three of the five of us are feeling the the worst. I stood up in a semi-panic and ended up taking a header into the TV screen. That did it from my stomach. I threw up all down the front of myself and fell backward. Whe I hit the carpet I threw up again, but this time my vomit had an unfortunate friend emerge with him. That's right folks: I shit myself.

I don't know if I crapped from the awful feeling, from the pain running through me, or from sheer terror (I thought I was dying, after all). what the fuck had that dirty dealer sold us? I made it to the washroom, and that's all I can remember clearly. Apparantly, the others had similar effects, just not as intense. They managed to keep their pants unsoiled and their food in their bellies. (Assholes.) They left me on the bathroom floor to recover fro the night, and that's where I awoke.

The next morning, groggy and stinking of feces, I felt 100% better...minus the loss of pride and useable clothing. Seeing as we were going home the next morning, none of us brought along a change of clothes to cart around. (Smart.) I wasn't riding a bus for an hour and a half stinking of shit and vomit, so we made a stop at the nearest clothing store we saw. $150 later I was in brand-new duds, freshly showered and ready to get the fuck away from the toxic pool that is downtown Toronto.

I have never smoked a joint since that awful night. I figure I'd better not press my luck. I don't know what's worse than shitting and puking all over yourself, and I'd rather not find out.

So that's my story of shame. Feel free to poke fun at me as you see fit...and thanks for reading. It's nice to vent every once and a while. If any of you have an embarasing story to share, feel free to take some of the loser-load off of me. It would make me feel a little better knowing I'm not the only douche out there.


-The Big Bad

Uploaded 06/24/2008
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