Thom Acee hippie dances down memory lane...

420-IA long time ago i figured out that the main tool of the establishment in helping to keep pot illegal was the oh so popular caricature of the typical stoner... 

That's right... the lovable stoner- flaky, curious yet delightfully dull-so wonderfully brought to life by Cheech and Chong (later revitalized by Harold and Kumar) was not just a brilliant comedic characterization but also a key cog in the demonetization of marijuana.

Icc_upinsmoke_ms_5t screams out "only losers smoke pot", showing that while very amiable and perfectly nice because of their debilitating addiction to the Devil's lettuce these characters always end up on the losing end with nothing but their cherished sweet leaf.

It is for this very reason i have always strived to be the brightest and most productive stoner anyone has ever met.

But that don’t mean i don’t have my stoner moments...

So, in honor of 4/20, here are a few of my finest marijuana memories...

 

The great Tom Petty smoker

tom petty 5 I want to say it was in 2005... Tom Petty was touring with the Black Crowes.  While the Crowes were a very smoky show (with some very generous fans i might add), it was during Tom Petty’s set where then greatest proof for a God happened as Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers stretched their legs in a nice jam.  A tightly packed cone i had begun passing between myself and my friends around me suddenly became a cone and a couple of blunts...

Then a few joints...

And a few more...

For (no shit) twenty minutes (including an amazing version of running down a dream) these various smoking devices exchanged hands from stranger to stranger. There were easily twenty smokers in this tight circle, each one passing along a joint...

That evening would remain as a) the highest I ever smoked myself to and b) the highest i ever got on just weed at a concert until...

 

Warped Tour brownies from Hell

brownie My friends and I were supposed to go to the Warped Tour (I believe it was also in 2005 but don’t quote me) over the weekend so I decided to make some pot brownies for the drive/show.  Having never tried my hand at making such confection, I found a recipe on the Internet.  It called for a ¼ ounce of Kush, finely ground, per box of brownie mix.

I was making two boxes, so I would need a half ounce of finely ground ganja.

Well, as I was grinding the pot with my hand grinder that I had at the time, it occurred to me that what would make the labor much more enjoyable was perhaps some tunes to set the mood and maybe rolling up some of this freshly ground wonderfulness and get this party off on the right foot.

And indeed it did...

I soon found myself skanking across my kitchen to the delightful sounds of Less than Jake.

But perhaps I should have spent more time paying attention to the recipe and less time dancing around like some jackass because somewhere along the way I kind of forgot to add the second box of mix to my mixture...

But not the pot.

FG420aThe next day, at the Fairgrounds, my friends and I consumed the brownies (some of us- namely myself and Skippy- helping ourselves to four and five pieces because, while they smelled like a dime bag, they tasted like brownie and what fat guy doesn’t like a fucking brownie).  While the rest of our friends went on to have an amazing day, tripping out to the sonic pleasures of Coheeb & Cambria, NOFX, and Less than Jake, Skippy and I spent the day in a world of hurt.

Nearly incapacitated due to the ingestion of too much marijuana, Skippy and I spent the entire day commando crawling from Polar Cup stand to Polar Cup stand, fending off dehydration by sipping lemon flavored sugar water. 

When not crawling around like some pathetic mess, we found ourselves under whatever stationary object would provide the most shade, driven to sleep by the effects of a heavy drug. I’m not sure if it is possible to OD on marijuana but I feel I might have come as close as a person could if they tried to. How I didn’t get arrested is simply beyond me.

This is the highest I have ever been.

 

Dueling assholes at the Sam’s Club

 stallsOne of my favorite activities during my college days was to go to Sam’s Club on Saturday mornings after a good hard smoke and just munch out on all the microwaved samples the old ladies capping the aisles were handing out.

But this trip I was going to face off with destiny as a huge, morbidly obese monster of a man walked into the public restroom I happened to be using, going into one of the stalls.

I was about to walk away when a strange feeling overtook me... a feeling... nay, a desire to have to shit.

Not because I had to in particular but because, well, who doesn’t want to jam with a master...

I entered my stall and eagerly pulled my shorts off, hoping to be in position before my rotund friend in the stall next door began his performance.

And he didn’t disappoint...

His opening salvo was a wretched noise, a rapid fire chorus of wet squeals and gurgles coming out of his enormous ass. Desperate to make sure I opened well, I strained slightly- more for control than for restriction- forcing out a pitchy yet acceptable “quack” from my ass.

Not as strong an opening as I would have wanted it, but it would have to do.

My rival went again, firing off an even more putrid combination of cracks and splats; his rhythms thrown off slightly (thank god) by courtesy flushes.

It was my turn again, my ass going off like a disgusting popcorn machine.  With each pop from my as, my smile grew bigger knowing I had just done something special.

But only for a moment...

For just as my final popcorn fart exited my anus, Tubsie McFattikins gave out a grunt like he was about to try and lift a television.  Then, what sounded like a bucket of oatmeal being dropped onto a wet floor filled the air, followed immediately by a sigh of relief.

Knowing this man had beaten me, I began to finish up and clean myself off.

As I stood before the mirror again, washing my hands for the second time in ten minutes, the obese man stepped out of his stall.  Beads of sweat had gathered on his forehead and upper lip; his reddish purple skin glistening like the bicep of an oiled pro wrestler.  I looked at him; my eyes staring deep into his tired, bloodshot eyes.

I extended my hand to him.

“It was an honor playing with you sir...” I said to him, expecting the fat man to offer me a similar respect.

He stared at me blankly, his dry mouth gasping for air.

“What the fuck...” was his only reply.

 

The Top of Charlotte (My most perfect smoke)

 charlotteMy FIC brothers and I were on a road trip to see the USF Bulls play in their first ever Bowl Game (The Meinekie Car Care Bowl I believe). Being the only one in the car who smoked pot (and understanding that asking for already legendarily overeager Georgia and South Carolina State Troopers reason to search the vehicle would be less than wise), I refrained from smoking for the entire car ride (quite a feat considering that due to some unforeseen issues that had gone on, I had not been able to smoke at all for a few days prior.)

But I did have a couple of joints on me, so it was really nothing more than a matter of time.

And the time did eventually come...

At 6:45 in the morning...

My friend Stone and I hiked to the top of a nearby parking garage and looked down upon the stunning Southern metropolis.

The sun rose off in the east, it’s orange and purple fingers breathing fresh new day into the dark sky. 

If there was ever going to be a coffee commercial for marijuana, this would have been it.

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