Four of us drove down to a local, out of the way, park, where nobody goes at night. We parked at the back end of the park and had climbed on top of a chain link backstop, and smoked ungodly amounts of pot. We saw a car drive into the parking lot, examined the headlights, and decided it wasn't a cop. The car gets closer and at maybe 100' or so it drove under a streetlight and we saw that it was a cop. You never saw four kids fly down a 20' fence backstop so fast. We hauled ass into the bushes and I didn't see the barbed wire fence until I was less than 3 feet away from it. Through the fence and kept on running. When the police car stopped we all hit the dirt, hoping they didn't see where we went. They checked out our car for a few minutes, then started looking around with their flashlights. I had my pipe in my hand, ready to throw it if they found me, but they got back in their car, then started driving down a dirt road we didn't know was there. Car drove past, about 5' from where I was laying down. They left, and we smoked another, well-needed bowl.
When I was younger, and maybe stupider, than that, I found out how easy it is to smuggle illegal weapons and explosives into the country. I only had my 8th grade school ID card to ID me as an American citizen, and I'm still amazed that the border patrol agent didn't notice a very obvious bulge under my shirt. I think they have metal detectors now.
I got really good at climbing chain link fences, barbed wire tops didn't slow me down. I'm talking up, over, on my feet on the ground on the other side and running before most people could get a leg up. Even the 15' high ones. Stabbed myself in the hip once upon landing with an illegally (and improperly) concealed "dirk or dagger" (icepick). Got so drunk one night behind a local elementary school that I couldn't even get over a 4' high fence. My friends kept trying to boost me up or whatever, but I could hardly stand. Then we saw headlights of a police car headed our way. Instinct kicked in and I, who could barely walk, suddenly remembered how to fly over a fence and do an olylmpic style sprint.
Once had to hide in the bushes so as not to be seen by a fire truck on its way to where we had just left. Ditched all the matches and lighters and took the shortest way home.
We used to get really high and go play at the Hotel Del, a very expensive and upscale hotel on Coronado Island. (for you San Diegans, go near Xmas, they've got the biggest tree I've ever seen inside) We'd go up on the balconies, piss in the ice machines, throw ice down on all the dining yuppies, sabotage decorations. Once the manager saw us and asked what room we were staying in, we told him we didn't have a room, we were just checking the place out to decide if we wanted one. He told us that the area we were in was restricted to guests. My friend said, "We got kicked out, doesn't that just suck my dick!" Was funny as hell.
Got a girl who digs knives and other stuff I'm into. A few months ago I tied her up on my bed, fully dressed, and cut all her clothes off her with a knife. Won't go into too much detail, but we didn't get to sleep until almost noon. She'll be here again this weekend, so I won't be on the forums much.
I once had to tackle and handcuff a (now ex) girlfriend to stop her from killing herself. (See, handcuffs are good for more than just fun!)
Ecstasy and mushrooms are an unbeatable combination. Smoking opium isn't all it's cracked up to be.
I know some guys can't get it up on ecstasy (and some take Viagra to counteract that side effect), but I never had that problem. Ya know, sometimes I really think I should start doing drugs again.
We used to smoke pot at Seaport Village, a seaside tourist shopping spot for people with way too much money to spend. On weekend afternoons there's lots of families picknicking on the grass by the water. We just sat down on the rocks, about eight of us, and sparked a few bowls. A small boat went by, one guy in it, flying a pirate flag. He picked up a megaphone and yelled, "I can smell the marijuanna from here!" Two dozen families looked right at us and we almost fell into the water laughing.
Used to have bonfires on Fiesta Island. We'd throw a fresh pallet on the fire and four guys would stand on it, walking in a circle. Was a contest to see who could stay on the longest. I won at least half the time. Totally melted a pair of Doc Martens that way, and I still won't buy another pair. They have these 55 gallon metal trash cans there that get red hot if you put one in the fire pit. If you put it in standing up, it'll take about 7 minutes for the garbage inside to spontaneously combust from the heat. The Island officially closes at 10 pm, and sometimes the cops will drive by shouting a megaphone warning at around 9:30, then come by a little after 10 to make people leave or write tickets. Sometimes they didn't come at all. Well, if you've got a red hot metal trash can in the fire, laying on its side, and you need to get it out of the fire before the cops see it there, and you can hear them coming (because of the megaphone), you don't have much time to kick that trash can out of the fire. Since the trash cans are heavy, and the fire is really hot, it's not that easy. I think we looked pretty funny, trying frantically to kick this trash can out of a fire, constantly backing off because it was so goddamned hot. Never got caught though. And those things sizzle real good once you finally kick them into the water.
Was another time at a private beach somewhere in La Jolla. I don't know exactly where it is, but you have to drive the wrong way down a one way street to get there, the street is called Dumenumero or something like that. Anyway, we were down there, waiting for some friends, and I was standing in our bonfire, when a voice yelled out to me, "hey dipshit, get out of the fire!" Well I was about to yell back an appropriate response, like "Fukk You," but something stopped me (no, it wasn't my shoes on fire). Anyway, the cop didn't turn on his flashlight until he was a few feet away and repeated his request. He bitched at me for a good 10 minutes or so. Asked how long I'd been jumping in fires and I didn't know whether to say "an hour or so" or "maybe 8 months." He let us go and bitched at someone else for alcohol.
Wherever we went, not a single portapotty survived. I still have a sign I stole off one of them because it says, "Pot rentals."
The first time I did mushrooms my friend and I ended up in a tree, looking for a payphone. Once we found it we were going to call up another buddy and ask him why were in a tree. We must have climbed around that tree for days looking for a goddamn payphone. Never did find it though.
In the middle of 12th grade, a friend moved out to the boonies somewhere east of BFE (Valley Center). His house backed up onto hills and bushes for as far as you could see or walk. We got to know the area, because it was a great place to get high and we were always into hiking and climbing. Once found ourselves passing a pipe in the middle of a swarm of bees. A swarm, like fukking billions of them, going somewhere. Freaked me out because I hate the damn things anyway, and they seemed to be attracted to the pot smoke. We hoped it'd calm them down. Anyway, we would sometimes take someone out there who'd never been there before. We'd hike way out into the hills, get totally wasted, and then make the new guy lead us back to the house. It'd always be something like, "I don't remember how to get back, hey Chris, why don't you lead the way?" And we'd follow him wherever he went, which was always the wrong way and nowhere near the trail we'd made, though we made it on purpose not to look too obvious.
Since his was the only house on a dead end street, no one ever drove down there, so we'd just sit down in the middle of the street and smoke out. Was once, we had just finished our last bowl and lit up cigarettes, when a car came down the street. We stumbled to get out of its way, and probably give them directions since they were obviously lost. Turns out they weren't lost, it was a cop and he wanted to know what we were doing in the middle of the street. We didn't know what to tell him. Anyway he searched us, didn't find anything, and was interrogating and yelling at us, and my friend straight passed out. He was standing one minute and fell flat backwards. I heard his head hit the asphalt and winced. The cop runs over to him, checks his eyes, pulse, etc., and then turns to me and asks me what he's on. Hard choice for my stoned mind. On one hand I didn't want to admit to any criminal activity, on the other I was kinda worried, because people, even potheads, don't usually do that. I ended up making the right choice, which was lie. I said I'd been with him since we got out of school earlier that day and he hadn't taken anything, and I would have known about it if he had. He woke up a few minutes later, kinda confused but otherwise ok, and the cop was nice enough to give us a ride the half a block it was to the house.
A buddy of mine would have parties almost every weekend. Once everyone was good and wasted he'd say, "Who wants a tattoo?" He must have given over a dozen of them with his homemade, guitar string tattoo gun. I remember one guy passed out from the pain (and the alcohol), which was good because it kept him still. He called one guy up the next day and asked, "How's the tattoo?" The guy had just woken up, all hungover and probably still stoned, and said, "Tattoo??" Fukking idiot still has a pot leaf tattooed on his arm.
I can't give any more details than this, but I seem to remember hearing a rumor about a 4' high line of fire that completely spanned a residential street.
One Halloween we were on some really good acid in the middle of a dark, empty football field. There was no one around, and we heard a saxophone playing. We tried to go over to where it was coming from, but it would stop, or move. I mean, five of us, looking ****ing everywhere, and we could not find that goddamned saxophone player. But it wasn't a hallucination, we all heard the exact same thing, and this went on for a half hour or more. Drove us crazy.
Found out why drinking and driving is dangerous - every time you tip that bottle up to take another drink, it blocks your view of the road.
And running while drunk, no matter how much fun it is, is a bad idea.
I came home one night, hoping my parents would just let me go up to my room rather than chatting with them. But they wanted to talk to me. Specifically, they were going to rewallpaper the dining room, and wanted my input as to which paper to choose. I was on mushrooms at the time, and had a hard time containing my laughter as I flipped through this book of wallpaper patterns. I picked out the first one that crawled off the page.
Another time I was with 7 friends, walking down the street, after having split over an ounce of mushrooms. We stopped to admire someone's bright purple flowers when, of all people, my mother drove by. I've never been a religious man, not even while hallucinating, but I prayed at that moment that she'd just drive keep going. The mushroom god must have been distracted by the flowers too because he did not answer my prayer. The car stopped. I didn't have a choice. I stumbled as I left the sidewalk and walked over to the now open passenger window. My mother talked to me about something, I don't remember what, in fact, I couldn't understand it at the time. I was too distracted by her face. It was moving, like it'd be 5' from me, where it should have been, then it'd move waaaaay back, like 20' away, then it'd come back to almost hitting me, then it'd move back again. I had to hold onto the windowsill so I wouldn't fall over. I'm sure she thought I was stoned or something, but she didn't give me a hard time about it. I should ask her if she remembers that day, and what she was talking about.
Way back when you could actually smoke inside in CA (anyone remember that?) I was inside a 7-11 on lunch break from high school, and I finished my cigarette while I was filling up my Slurpee. Without thinking i just tossed the lit butt into the trash can. A minute later people start yelling because the trash can's smoking. I look over and, sure enough, it's on fire. The lone employee courageously picks up the trash can and runs outside with it. In the ensuing confusion, I left with my free Slurpee.
Was at a party once where two girls, 10 and 12, were smoking pot with everyone else. I wasn't really sure if I thought that was okay, but their mother, who was also smoking with us, didn't have a problem with it.
Had one biology teacher in high school who was not the brightest guy around; couple that with the fact that he had no sense of smell and was easily intimidated, and we did whatever we wanted in his classroom. We'd sit together and talk during tests, if he even looked our way we'd stare him down and he'd go back to his desk. We stole glass piping from his supply cabinet to make bongs. We used his tubes and beakers to make double-chambered bongs in class to show less informed students how they worked. We also taught fellow students how to make pipes out of soda cans, aluminum foil, and pens. I never did, but I knew people who even smoked pot in class! Guy was clueless. He passed us all because he didn't want to have to deal with us next year.
This wasn't me, but a friend of mine. Him and two other guys were hotboxing a car on a dirt road. They were so high that when they saw the cop coming all they did was hurry to finish their joint. When he told me about it he said the words in his head were saying, "Oh sh!t, a cop, better finish this before he gets here!" The cop knocked on the window and when my buddy rolled it down he said it was like a Cheech and Chong video, smoke billowing out in clouds and clouds. The cop made them get out of the car. They had to lean against it because they couldn't really stand up. They said he kept asking them really hard questions, like, "what's your address?" and they couldn't get the right answers, "484-3606?" "No, that's a (your?) phone #, what's your address?" "um, 655-21-2321?" "No, ..... Eventually the cop must have gotten tired of trying to talk to these guys, so what did he do? He told them to get back in the car and drive home. My friend knew he was too stoned to drive, and, left to his own devices he wouldn't have until later, but when the man with the gun, who knows his address, tells you to drive, you drive, and he did. You know they say if you're too fukked up to stand, you can still drive, because you don't have to stand to drive. I can't say I'm a believer in that philosophy, but it seemed to have worked in this case.
BTW, does anyone really read all this?
Same disclaimer, if you have a problem, eat my pussy
