Inebriated Tales: Marijuana

The three amigos were out in Scar's dad's shop with a propane torch and a pair of butter knives for the usual weekend ritual: Getting the three of us high off of $10 of weed. This time, however, we had invited a forth friend to make our trio a quartet. The fourth friend had never smoked anything before, but we were apt to show him our ways.

For those of you unfamiliar with knife hits, the idea is to heat the ends of two butter knives in the flame of a propane torch or similar heat source until the ends are red hot. You then pinch a small amount of weed with the hot ends, while your friend uses a soda bottle that has been cut in half to trap and inhale the smoke. It's a good way to get the most out of your weed if money is tight, like it was for us at 16.

Back to the story: So Tuck, the newest addition to our smoking group has watched the rest of us take a knife hit and it's his turn to try for the first time. He readies himself with the soda bottle while Scar heats up the knifes. As soon as the knives hit the weed, he bends over and takes a deep hit through the bottle. He raises back up and a streak of hair on the top of his head has been singed. While bending over, his head had fallen in the path of the propane torch, and by some miracle, it had only grazed his hair. His hair was not long by any means, and judging by the burned hairs, he came within a quarter of an inch to taking a blowtorch flame to the scalp.

Woh... that was close.

Of course in our inebriated state, after the realization that something disastrous almost happened, we had a good laugh about it. Tuck had too good of a laugh about it, and it was clear that he was very high off of his first hit.

After a few more times around the circle, we had exhausted all the weed and had one serious case of the munchies. We decided to go to walk to the nearest convenience store, at which point Tuck begins to have a mild freak out.
"I'm so high, I can't go. I'm too high!"
Fret not, I know how to fix this. I grab Tuck by the shoulders, square up with him, and look him straight in the eyes.
"You're not high." I say to him in my most convincing tone. Suddenly his eyes light up as though I've just relieved him of this huge burden. He grins from ear to ear and repeats back to me, "I'm not high."
But before I could pat myself on the back for a job well done, he begins skipping through Scar's back yard shouting "I'M NOT HIGH! I'M NOT HIIIIGH!"

We had to tackle him before he woke everyone in the house up, but afterward we made the munchy run without any further incident.