That eeek was for hanging out while your parents get stoned. It's 140 on the creepiness quotient.
On the non-creepy side, back in 73 or 74 I had a friend Randy. His mother was the absolute stereotype mother. She was nice as heck, tragically un-hip, and for some darn reason curious about what the whole marijuana thing was about. Jo Ann was her name, I think. She made me do everything with Randy, as she thought I was the more responsible. Even lent me their house and Mustang while on vacations. At the time I was straight, and about twenty; didn't even drink. Quit smoking and drinking when I was seventeen; after an exemplary test career.
So she wants to "get high," but won't smoke it. Randy decides to bake brownies. None of us know how. Dash comes over (he's even more distinguished ~ several Flying Crosses), and we sit in this big house above the city waiting for the brownies, smiling at each other like idiots. Hadn't watched anybody turn on for years. Randy's Mom. Hooo-dohggies.
So out come the little pan of brownies, stuffed with at least 1/4 oz of certainteed weed, maybe 1/ oz. Dash and Jo Ann munch a square ninth apiece, amid much noisy complaining and "Mooooo"s. Randy is all excited; keeps checking Jo Ann for effects. Asking questions. Silly ones.
I didn't think it would work, and it doesn't. Jo Ann doesn't feel a thing. Nothing. What a bust; what a waste of weed. I look over at Dash, and he says, "Whaaaaaaaaaaat."
His head is tipped. It looks like it's about to slide through the neck hole of his shirt into his chest. |
