El Senor takes a huge chop of his cookie, at least it looks that way to me. The two sandwiches in my stomach haven't done a dent in my hunger. Of course I did eat them hours apart and that was hours before the Hastings trip and about thirty minutes before Adam's house. Fuck, I think. Will El share this fucking cookie or what? And if I'm this hungry, I can only imagine El's twice as much with THC floating around in his system.
"I told you they were good," I say, fingering my new issues of Cannabis Culture and High Times, with Miss High Times 2008, Aum, on the cover. She's cute, wearing a very sexy two piece, but I still think Emily's hotter. Since when did I become that guy, by the way?
"You understand," he says. "The weed makes it taste ten times better."
And we're off to Ol Biker's because that's where the BBQ is and that's where this night will finally commences. I'm tired, by the way. The contact high or the second hand high is coming off and I'm beginning to wonder how this night will turn out. Ol Biker's cool and all, but when it comes to the ganja, he hold certain beliefs to heart; namely, he hates it. I'm beginning to wonder if it was a mistake not to take my only chance of taking cannabis. I feel stupid, though now I'm wondering how long would it take before Ol Biker figures that El Senor's high. This has to be good.
On the way to Ol Biker's, we stop and pick up a 2 liter Mountain Dew and a bag of tortilla chips that El lusts after. It's apparent that his high has built up his munchies. Fucking awesome, I think. This night's gonna be good. I notice one of the attendant's nails though. Longer than hell. "What the fuck?" I say. El looks at me and wonders what I'm talking about as the second attendant at the drive through convenience store hands El the chips and the change.
"Did you see those nails?"
"What nails?"
"The one on the other woman."
"Too busy looking at the big tits on ours," he says and laughs.
"Yeah, well, I was thinking about my fellow man. No one ever go hurt over large tits. But her nails, man. They make the penis cringe."
We arrive at Ol Biker's shortly. I'm carrying the tortilla chips, soda and my magazines to be able to fuck with him well. However, the night doesn't go as I had planned: It actually gets better. As we tear open the bag of ships, Ol brings out his homemade salsa, the spice of which slowly climbs up your throat after swallowing. It's apparent that it's too spice for El Senor as he begins to sweat. Jokingly, I want to ask, so does it make the salsa ten times spicier?
"I told you they were good," I say, fingering my new issues of Cannabis Culture and High Times, with Miss High Times 2008, Aum, on the cover. She's cute, wearing a very sexy two piece, but I still think Emily's hotter. Since when did I become that guy, by the way?
"You understand," he says. "The weed makes it taste ten times better."
And we're off to Ol Biker's because that's where the BBQ is and that's where this night will finally commences. I'm tired, by the way. The contact high or the second hand high is coming off and I'm beginning to wonder how this night will turn out. Ol Biker's cool and all, but when it comes to the ganja, he hold certain beliefs to heart; namely, he hates it. I'm beginning to wonder if it was a mistake not to take my only chance of taking cannabis. I feel stupid, though now I'm wondering how long would it take before Ol Biker figures that El Senor's high. This has to be good.
On the way to Ol Biker's, we stop and pick up a 2 liter Mountain Dew and a bag of tortilla chips that El lusts after. It's apparent that his high has built up his munchies. Fucking awesome, I think. This night's gonna be good. I notice one of the attendant's nails though. Longer than hell. "What the fuck?" I say. El looks at me and wonders what I'm talking about as the second attendant at the drive through convenience store hands El the chips and the change.
"Did you see those nails?"
"What nails?"
"The one on the other woman."
"Too busy looking at the big tits on ours," he says and laughs.
"Yeah, well, I was thinking about my fellow man. No one ever go hurt over large tits. But her nails, man. They make the penis cringe."
We arrive at Ol Biker's shortly. I'm carrying the tortilla chips, soda and my magazines to be able to fuck with him well. However, the night doesn't go as I had planned: It actually gets better. As we tear open the bag of ships, Ol brings out his homemade salsa, the spice of which slowly climbs up your throat after swallowing. It's apparent that it's too spice for El Senor as he begins to sweat. Jokingly, I want to ask, so does it make the salsa ten times spicier?
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