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MONDAY, JULY 04, 2011
420 is like Christmas for stoners.
In high school, 420 was a monumental day of the year for about 25% of my school’s populace. A hundred-plus pot heads traditionally gathered at the beach in my town and got cohesively “lifted” when the clock struck 16:20. Bob Marley could be heard flowing out of parked cars, there were numerous hacky-sack games being played, Sublime t-shirts were plentiful, and giant bongs were proudly displayed by the high-rolling (no pun intended) burn outs. Students from our two “rival” high schools mingled while old hippies strolled through the crowd. Drum circles formed. You could have made a killing selling marked-up bags of Doritos. After a period of hanging out as if in a scene from “Dazed and Confused,” the village idiot collective piled into their respective beat up rides and drove home to play video games, while some of the less fortunate began their (extremely slow) ascent up the hill.

I don’t really understand the purpose of 420, but it seemed to me that the main objective was to get as high as humanly possible, for no apparent reason. And so we did. My two friends and I got stoned out of our trees, and headed back to my parent’s house. It’s a safe haven, stoned or not -my parents were extremely casual with our personal choices. Unfortunately, when we arrived, we were confronted by an unexpected, massive group of visiting Quebecois students and teachers. My little sister’s class was involved in a French-English exchange, and we happened upon a dinner my parents had decided to throw for the occasion. Haley turned to me in a panic after seeing the onslaught of strangers and hearing the confusing buzz of Quebecois French being spoken throughout our yard. Sarah asked me, “WHAT DO WE DO IF THERE IS A BUNCH OF FRENCH PEOPLE TOURING YOUR YARD?”


And so, at around 5:03 pm on April 20th, three stoned teen girls could be seen running like tyrannosaurus rexes through the garden, avoiding any French-speaking human. We took refuge in my bedroom, and after a quick breather, I endeavored down into the kitchen for provisions. Armed with snacks, I returned to our burn-out den. We feasted on veggies and dip, and organic dried fruits. After awhile of munching out on the food, Sarah commented that the dried fruit was weird and dry. I said it was supposed to taste like that. We kept eating. Half a bag of dried fruit later, I did what no stoner should ever do, I consciously took in my surroundings and realized that the bag of organic fruit we had been consuming was covered in - YUCK! Cobwebs! And "gross dead bug things"! We had prepared oursevles for the organic experience of 420, but we weren’t expecting it to reach such levels. Our mellow was officially harshed.



April 20th is also Hitler's birthday, so, you know, uh, yeah...



that harshes my mellow too

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