Now, I want none of you to worry about quality, Crazy informed us it was prescription hashish. (Easy to get evidently.) And he said I would probably not feel anything until this morning. Well, he was wrong. I feel nothing this morning. Every sense is dulled. I am as active as a wad of gum. The kids can eat Valentine's candy all day long, they can torment the dogs and flush Wall-E down the toilet, they can set the house on fire, I just don't care.
This reminds me of that time in Amsterdam... I ate one of their famous space cakes and the next morning I woke up in a blur. I forced myself to go out and be a tourist. I trudged through the Van Gogh Museum and the Anne Frank house, even though my head was a helium balloon and my eyes were slathered with Vaseline.
Etymology Lesson. We get the word assassin from hashish. A extremist Persian sect, called hashshashin, would get high and kill the elite for political reasons. Some things will never change. My question? Where did they get the energy? I could never take a couple hits and then ride a horse to the nearby village, wield a scimitar and marauder. Because this stuff makes me want to roll over and....zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz