Blunts
for the first year of my career at shugga's, i worked with this large black woman named tiffany. she was about thirty and had two kids. not this winter, but the winter before, her car was in the shop, so i had to cross the tracks (literaly)to pick her up and give her a lift to work. i would usually smoke a few one hitters before work, you know, just to get my day going. well, i'd shown up, with plenty of time to spare. it was my intention to stop by mcdonalds and get some egg mcmuffins or some sort of shit.
well, tiffany had some other plans. "uh, brent, yeah...um, can we stop by the qt? i need to get something. by that she meant she wanted me to walk in and get it for her. she handed me a crumpled five.
"swisher whats?" i asked.
"swisher sweets, baby. they'll know what you want." i returned to the car and found her breaking up weed with my dog's frisbee, which she had found in the back seat.
she ripped open the package and began to hollow out a swisher sweet, which she informed me was a very amicable cigar. "this here is your best friend, child." when all was said and done, i looked at the biggest joint i had ever seen. except, it wasn't a joint. it was, in fact, a blunt, she corrected.
"we're not smoking that in my volvo!"
"oh, yes we is."
and, smoke we did. i was so blazed that my eyes were reduced to mear slits in the morning sun. "oh, shit...i don't have any long-lasting visene!" so, high as a kite, we went into the market to pick some up. after spraying happy cologne all over the car and ourselves, we each finished off what remained of my altoids and walked into work fifteen minutes late.
that's my blunt story. it was a lot funnier at the time, seeing that we couldn't stop laughing and fucked up about everything we did that day.
well, tiffany had some other plans. "uh, brent, yeah...um, can we stop by the qt? i need to get something. by that she meant she wanted me to walk in and get it for her. she handed me a crumpled five.
"swisher whats?" i asked.
"swisher sweets, baby. they'll know what you want." i returned to the car and found her breaking up weed with my dog's frisbee, which she had found in the back seat.
she ripped open the package and began to hollow out a swisher sweet, which she informed me was a very amicable cigar. "this here is your best friend, child." when all was said and done, i looked at the biggest joint i had ever seen. except, it wasn't a joint. it was, in fact, a blunt, she corrected.
"we're not smoking that in my volvo!"
"oh, yes we is."
and, smoke we did. i was so blazed that my eyes were reduced to mear slits in the morning sun. "oh, shit...i don't have any long-lasting visene!" so, high as a kite, we went into the market to pick some up. after spraying happy cologne all over the car and ourselves, we each finished off what remained of my altoids and walked into work fifteen minutes late.
that's my blunt story. it was a lot funnier at the time, seeing that we couldn't stop laughing and fucked up about everything we did that day.