A lot of stoners walk through life in a daze, thinking that the world owes them something just because they exist. And it’s these type of stoners who most benefit from humility, like the kind a person receives when succumbing to the cryptic effects of a strong indica, especially a strain like AK-47. AK-47 will leave your average pothead weeping into their bong as their PS4 holds them captive.
I like to think of myself as a bit more emotionally stable. Maybe it’s because I’m 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 thought 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