Ever experienced one of those mornings where you awaken feeling like the cosmos has bestowed upon you the keys to a splendid day?

The sunlight beams brightly, your beloved tune plays on repeat, and even your breakfast seems crafted by the brunch deities themselves. Ah, yes, I savoured one of those gilded mornings.

However, little did I anticipate that I was on the brink of encountering the most chilling, bewildering high of my existence.

The scenario

It was a sun-drenched Saturday afternoon, the type of day that calls for carefree antics with friends or a laid-back Netflix marathon. After luxuriating in a lie-in until 1 PM, I opted for the former.

The morning routine flowed seamlessly—shower, check; Clash of Clans, no raids, check; scrambled eggs and toast, utterly scrumptious. Every detail pointed towards an extraordinary day ahead.

The default choice

With no other plans in sight, I messaged the lads: “What’s the plan?” Bob responded with a definitive, “I dunno, let’s check.”

The dreaded no-plan Saturday had arrived, signifying one thing—time for the default choice: let’s just smoke.

Bob’s basement served as our designated chill spot for reasons too enticing to resist:

• Plush couches adorned with an abundance of cushions
• A snack cupboard that could rival a 7-Eleven
• Bob’s dog, Walter, an absolute legend

You know the drill. We rolled up, sparked up, and passed it around. And that’s when the night transitioned from chill to spine-chilling.

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The ascent to mount zonked

I don’t know what got into me that night. Maybe it was the alignment of the stars or just my inner daredevil peaking, but I was hitting that joint like my life depended on it. “How high can I really get?” Famous last words, right? Turns out, pretty damn high.

The munchie phenomenon

As we delved deeper into our high, the munchies hit—hard. I was so invested in my pizza pops that I became one with them.

It was a culinary soul merge, an epic snacking experience. Just when I thought I was the king of the snack world, reality—or rather, my overzealous high—decided to slap me right in the face.

The haunting forest jaunt

Opting for a breath of fresh air, we decided to step outside. What began as a sunny day had transformed into a dark, chilly, and enigmatic night. Our destination? The eerie forest near Bob’s house.

“Don’t worry, I’ve been here a million times,” Bob reassured us as we entered what resembled a scene from a horror film. Leaves rustled ominously, shadows danced amidst the trees, and my intoxicated mind was convinced that every sound posed a potential threat.

The paranoid trek

Rain began to pour just five minutes into our walk, transforming our leisurely stroll into a survival ordeal. I was too high to function, and every raindrop felt like a conspiracy against me. My steps were unsteady, my thoughts raced, and then… the bushes rustled.

“What was that?!” I whispered, half expecting a ghostly figure to emerge. “It’s just rain, mate, you’re stoned,” Bob replied.

But I remained unconvinced. As we made our way back, the reality of my paranoia sank in—I was amidst the most terrifying high of my life.

Assurances & Vouches

The coyote encounter

As if the universe hadn’t messed with me enough, we encountered what looked like a demon coyote pack eyeing us like late-night snacks.

At that moment, I saw my life flash before my eyes—I was a headline, “Local Stoner Eaten by Coyotes.”

But then, out of nowhere, Bob, fuelled by the sheer power of our earlier Zaza session, drop-kicked a coyote, sending them scattering into the night. It was both terrifying and hilarious—definitely not your typical Saturday night.

 

Disclaimer: The information provided on this page is for educational purposes only and should not be considered medical advice. Always consult with a healthcare professional before using any THC product.