If you’re going to engage in the big ohhh, be sure to do it (again, pun intended) before the next stage sets in. There’s nothing worse than being paranoid during intercourse. After a round of deep thoughts (or other deep activities) in stage three, you start to feel decidedly anxious. During stage four, it’s time to peel yourself off the couch and venture outside (we know, it’s a big place, man or woman up) in search of supplies. We never have a list, but we always seem to end up with the same thing: Caramel Bugles, Funions, Blow Pops, and Mountain Dew.
You haven’t lived until you’ve downed a bowl of Bugles and Funions drenched in Mountain Dew like some sort of unholy breakfast cereal. And, two, they take your mind off the bowl of goo you just devoured like it was Lucky Charms. Okay, wait, we’re getting off track (lack of focus is a sub-stage of “what the eff just happened”). During your quest for refined sugars and salt, everyone—and we mean everyone—is suddenly out to get you. And to make things worse, everyone—and we mean everyone—is a cop. That ninety-year-old woman hobbling across the street in front of you?
That eight-year-old with the too-big backpack and the Poekmon hat turned backward? The baby being breastfed by its mother on the park bench? Oh, and that guy in the aviator sunglasses and suit coat with the cut-short hairdo, he’s probably FBI, right? As you’re driving to the store, you hear sirens and immediately you know the popo are coming for you. You’re convinced that the ninety-year-old woman, the eight-year-old kid, and the baby at its mother’s breast are going to leap into action, wrestle you to the ground, and lock you away in a dark dungeon for the rest of your life. Much to your surprise, though, the sirens are just part of the background on your rap CD. It’s then that you realize you hate rap (and for good reason). When you finally arrive at the store (after returning the car you evidently stole), you’re like a kid in a candy store (which, I guess, at this point, you literally would be). Every aisle holds new wonders and you’re soon piling tons of snacks onto the counter, all the while thinking to yourself (and sometimes out loud), “This guy knows I’m fucked up. For three bags of Funions, an extra-large bag of Caramel Bugles, ten watermelon Blow Pops, a 2-liter of Mountain Dew Code Red, and a 2-liter of regular Mountain Dew? Squirrel!” As with the trip to the store, the trip home is filled with conspiracies and officers and agents of every conceivable law-enforcement agency on the planet…and they’re all out to get you. During stage four, the world is a very scary place, and you just want to get back to your couch and your Disco Biscuits album. When you finally make it back to your house…well, let’s face it, the car. You are suddenly so insatiably famished you feel like you could eat an elephant (which would probably be healthier than the stuff you bought at the gas station). You start indiscriminately ripping open bags of Cheetos and Sour Straws, mixing them together, and stuffing your face. Your body has somehow transmogrified into a garbage disposal that refuses to hold anything inside. No amount food and drink could ever silence your stomach’s cry to be filled. So, you just keep stuffing it all in until there is nothing left to cram into your facehole. You beeline for the fridge, empty its contents into the sink, and eat it all with a large soup spoon. When the fridge is empty (Does anyone know why we always go to the fridge first? That’s one of those things to ponder in stage three.), you turn to the cupboards. You assemble a bizarre peanut butter, fluff, popcorn sandwich and eat it without care. Everything is so delicious you wonder how the whole world isn’t obese. Now that you’ve stuffed your face like a little ripened piglet, it’s obviously time to repeat the whole process over again.
One trip through the stages of being high is never enough. So, you pack a few more bowls to share amongst your friends and start the whole process all over again. Your friends promise to Venmo you (pay you back digitally) tomorrow. Once again, everything is right with the world and you are a simple vessel of happiness. After a long day of being high, continuously smoking, eating, and basically doing nothing valuable with your waking hours, you start to get extremely sleepy. Though you probably didn’t do much in the way of physical activity, that means very little where coming down off a high is concerned. Your body is so worn out you may as well have run a marathon. You had a great day with your friends and your beloved bong.
Tomorrow will be more productive…unless you decide to skip work and get high again.