Bank Robber presents: "The Night of the Racoon and the Fetus"
Going into Saturday, I had gone one month and 3 days without smoking marijuana (prior to this ironman-like streak I had been smoking twice a day). Then I went up to the sticks with my friend Ashley on what I assumed was going to be a short 2 hour or so trip to get some ganja. On the way there, I said to her "well I had always wanted to visit the middle of nowhere" and she said "you haven't seen anything yet." Well, we met up with Ashleys cousin and then went to her brothers place where I met her brother and a kid they refered to as "fetus". Apparently one of his kids had been thrown up on from the floor above on Friday night by a chick who couldn't hold her liqour, so that was mainly the discussion in the car.
After smoking several bowls in the car, we went to the dealer and dropped off her brother and Fetus to go in and get the stuff. After awhile of waiting, one of them comes out and says "hey guys, come on in, we've got a joint going" so we go into the guys basement. I sit down on the coach, already blitzed out of my mind and starting to get a headache. The dealer was a man who was probably in his mid-20s with a whole basement of cool antique bong, not to mention atleast a few pounds of home-grown high-quality ganja :thumb:
So after smoking out of a few different bongs, the rest of the people who lived in the house came home. An overweight woman, a man who I assume is her husband, and a girl who looked like a tall 10 year old who I guess is actually a high schooler. Now all that was going through my mind is "there's no way these people smoke weed, so this is odd". They came downstairs with a little kenell with a racoon inside of it. Yes, that's right, these people had just gotten out and (illegally) baught a baby pet racoon with rabies shots and everything. Now, keep in mind these people live in the middle of nowhere, so the odds they can get away with having this thing as a pet are pretty damn good. Time will tell I guess. so anyways, one of the bongs the dealer had was basically a mustard bottle type of object. You squeeze it, and smoke comes out, and you shotgun that into the persons mouth/nose. So there Bank Robber was, 6 bowls deep with a slight headache, watching these fucking crazy rednecks taking shotguns to the fucking nose and/or playing with their pet racoon. Talk about having a family night. While I'm sitting there on the couch zoning out and sipping on kool-aid, the mom was saying "these people are probably saying DAMN they smoke alot of weed". Indeed thats what I was thinking.
Afterwards, we went back to my friend's cousins house and took some bong rips in his bedroom before me and Ash drove back to the city. I was pretty disapointed in myself for being outsmoked by so many people, but considering I had gone so long without green, I knew my lungs limit and once I got that headache I knew it was time to stop. I had never really considered Bangor a big "city" before yesterday, but after being totally culture-shocked, Bangor might as well be New York City compared to northern Maine.
So I met a pet racoon and a kid named Fetus.
I challenge anyone to tell their Saturday night and top my story.
Going into Saturday, I had gone one month and 3 days without smoking marijuana (prior to this ironman-like streak I had been smoking twice a day). Then I went up to the sticks with my friend Ashley on what I assumed was going to be a short 2 hour or so trip to get some ganja. On the way there, I said to her "well I had always wanted to visit the middle of nowhere" and she said "you haven't seen anything yet." Well, we met up with Ashleys cousin and then went to her brothers place where I met her brother and a kid they refered to as "fetus". Apparently one of his kids had been thrown up on from the floor above on Friday night by a chick who couldn't hold her liqour, so that was mainly the discussion in the car.
After smoking several bowls in the car, we went to the dealer and dropped off her brother and Fetus to go in and get the stuff. After awhile of waiting, one of them comes out and says "hey guys, come on in, we've got a joint going" so we go into the guys basement. I sit down on the coach, already blitzed out of my mind and starting to get a headache. The dealer was a man who was probably in his mid-20s with a whole basement of cool antique bong, not to mention atleast a few pounds of home-grown high-quality ganja :thumb:
So after smoking out of a few different bongs, the rest of the people who lived in the house came home. An overweight woman, a man who I assume is her husband, and a girl who looked like a tall 10 year old who I guess is actually a high schooler. Now all that was going through my mind is "there's no way these people smoke weed, so this is odd". They came downstairs with a little kenell with a racoon inside of it. Yes, that's right, these people had just gotten out and (illegally) baught a baby pet racoon with rabies shots and everything. Now, keep in mind these people live in the middle of nowhere, so the odds they can get away with having this thing as a pet are pretty damn good. Time will tell I guess. so anyways, one of the bongs the dealer had was basically a mustard bottle type of object. You squeeze it, and smoke comes out, and you shotgun that into the persons mouth/nose. So there Bank Robber was, 6 bowls deep with a slight headache, watching these fucking crazy rednecks taking shotguns to the fucking nose and/or playing with their pet racoon. Talk about having a family night. While I'm sitting there on the couch zoning out and sipping on kool-aid, the mom was saying "these people are probably saying DAMN they smoke alot of weed". Indeed thats what I was thinking.
Afterwards, we went back to my friend's cousins house and took some bong rips in his bedroom before me and Ash drove back to the city. I was pretty disapointed in myself for being outsmoked by so many people, but considering I had gone so long without green, I knew my lungs limit and once I got that headache I knew it was time to stop. I had never really considered Bangor a big "city" before yesterday, but after being totally culture-shocked, Bangor might as well be New York City compared to northern Maine.
So I met a pet racoon and a kid named Fetus.
I challenge anyone to tell their Saturday night and top my story.
