Mark dumps the last of what had been a quarter bag, onto the cleaning tray and starts chopping up the lumpy shake into a finer consistency. Fine enough for all the “oneies” we need to finish it off. He separates the largest of the remaining little buds and systematically searches through them with his fingers. Looking for even one of the few precious seeds possibly logged within.
It’s been a sweet bag. One of Mark’s friends from college picked it up for him while on a trip to LA. Claimed it was from Hawaii.
“Oh yea!” Mark’s “shit-eatin’ grin” is undeniable. “There you are baby. Come join your brother.”
Mark delicately dislodges the tiny gem from it’s soft and sticky, green nest and places it next to the only other seed he’s found in the whole bag. A new, special project is in the works for sure.
“Now let’s kill this bag and get on with our day, eh Brian?”
“Oh yea!” I reply, mimicking his enthusiasm. “But you know… I don’t feel at all high anymore. We just smoked this entire half ounce and I’m feeling no different than I did when we started last night.”
“Yea, me too.” Mark’s grin widens as he finishes loading the gatling gun for it’s last round. “It’s like we smoked ourselves straight” he says like the accomplishment is somehow worth noting.
“Yea…” For a moment I think, “Well then wasn’t that just a waste of time and money?” but the thought is quickly lost as I see Mark completely abandon protocol and take the first of the six hits in our now, fully loaded multi-bowl one-hit device. A just response from the weed gods to my momentary laps into the harshness of negativity, I imagine.
“Ear.” Mark says with that unavoidably strained voice one gets by trying to speak while holding in a lung full of smoke. He rotates the “barrel” to the next bowl and hands me the bong, winking to indicate his awareness of the old joke about the favorite body part of a stoner. I accept “Geo” and stand for my turn this time. I want to get the full effect. Get a proper buzz on for the morning.
“Good thinking dude, a standing bong hit should do the trick.”
Mark takes the Bic and prepares to light me up as I make a show of it. Jumping up and down, I shake my body around and do some quick deep breathing before striking a jokingly formal pose. I bend over and place my mouth on the bong, holding my arms straight out to both sides. No need to cover any carburetor with “Geo”, Mark is there to pull the stem when I’m ready to clear it.
The freshly iced bong water bubbles ever so slightly as I start slow. Filling the bottom of the main chamber, I decide to go for maximum smoke density and continue until Geo’s entire lower chamber becomes thick with smoke. I straighten slightly and place my hand over the mouth of the bong, exhaling all air along with the small amount of smoke that had managed to make it’s way to me. There’s always a little there but the goal is to keep as much as possible in the bong at this point.
I’ve seen it as a common practice among some of my peers, to say a few words before the second pull. Mark has been known to expound profusely on his anticipation of soon being so very high… I do NOT concur. I am one who likes his biggest bong hits to be as smooth as possible.
A “poo ha!” Is not my favorite thing. At all!
Despite the fact that it does indeed increase one’s initial highness intensity quotient, I find the taste of such hacking to be not worth the temporary rush, however intense. I prefer a proper bong hit to be smooth and fresh, clearing with as little effort as possible, so without hesitation, I go for my second pull as soon as the first is completely expelled.
I inhale quickly and cue Mark to lift the stem so I can clear the chamber. The entire mass of thick pot smoke then rushes up the shaft of the bong and into my lungs. It’s very important (and often quite difficult) to be sure and get it all. Leaving smoke for yet another pull is a major faux pas. Much worse than a poo ha. One might just loose a turn over such an infraction.
I get it all alright but as I straighten, I nearly fall over. So overcome am I by the rush. Now the challenge is to hold the hit in as long as possible. The best is one where huge amounts of thick smoke goes in, but almost none is visibly exhaled.
Mark gives his approval on my performance, but then proceeds to top me by packing in extra weed for his turn. Yea, typical of Mark. He would never have let it stand for me to have taken the biggest hit of the morning.
The morning… heh, it’s nearly ten o’clock now.
Time to see what’s going on in the rest of the house. Last night’s party was epic!
