A lot of stoners walk through life in a haze, thinking that the world owes them something just because they exist. And it’s these type of stoners who benefit most from humility– the kind of humility a person receives when succumbing to the cryptic effects of a strong indica, especially a strain like AK-47. That’s because AK-47 will leave your average pothead weeping into their bong as their PS4 holds them captive.
However, I like to think of myself as a bit more emotionally stable. Maybe it’s because I’m more of the laid back variety, not prone to fits of violence but rather one of those people who will try and put a hex on your ass if you ever cross me.
So when I smoke a good, strong sativa or indica, humility usually isn’t the first emotion that slips into my cerebellum. I take those wicked highs and run with them, so thoroughly drenched in THC that by the end of a pot session I feel like I’ve been basted in bomb and sauteed in cannabutter.
But fuck me. I smoked some AK-47 the other day and was so tremendously stoned I began to have one of those Jaden Smith moments when my own high ass thoughts began to blow my own high ass mind.
And then the dying began.
I wasn’t aware of how dangerous AK-47 could be in the hands of someone who has never fired on some before, but I figured hey, once you’ve shotgunned you’ve shotgunned. So I smoked that brilliant green ganja with subtle hints of purple hues very hard.
A few minutes later my brain cells began to die off. Your mom was right, weed kills brain cells, and weed like AK-47 mows them down. I could hear them softly popping–one after another as colors around me began to mutate and blood rushed through my ears. I felt a bit light-headed and tried to lay down, but I couldn’t because Rigor Mortis was setting in. So I called the paramedics, who pronounced me dead on arrival.
And that was just an hour ago.
Best Song to Listen to While Indulging: E-40–Pussy Niggaz
Best TV Show/ Movie to Watch While Indulging: Faces of Death III
My name is Petey Wheatstraw, also known as Charles Stevens. I’m an avid marijuana smoker, writer, devoted father and non-profit minion– not necessarily in that order. A Chicago native I’ve lived off and on in the Bay Area since 1996. Seven years ago I finally settled here to capture the changing face of our communities.