Baked Life

Dear Stoners of Dawson,

Sorry I’ve missed the last two issues. These fucking midterms and papers have been making me their bitch for the last three weeks.

Last Friday, I took a night off and went to my cottage with my main crew and we got to talking and the following truly is one of the best trips I’ve ever had.

Two weeks before we started school, I went to the owner of Aldo shoes daughter’s birthday. Their house is huge, superbly decorated and motherfuckin’ cool all around, but that’s beside the point. We got to the party, said hello to the birthday girl and then proceeded to molest the bar. The rest of the party is a blur but it consisted of us drinking way too much, smoking jays in the courtyard, pre-rolling in the living room and hot-boxing a bathroom in the Aldo mansion, bragging rights forever.

At this point in the night, I’m with my friend “Crab Hands” (CH). CH and I walked from upper Westmount to Moe’s near Dawson, where we had breakfast at 3:17 a.m. We were pretty fucked up to say the least. After eating way too much processed food, we got onto the night bus that would bring us the East end. Once seated, CH and I proceeded to roll more jays in transit.

As we rolled and made small, drunk/blazed talk this Indian guy sitting behind us said, “Hey guys, couldn’t help but smell what you got back there. I’ll trade you some hash for a bit?”

The Indian guy said he only wanted two grams, so we told him when we got off the bus we’d do our exchange. Now, I’m no hash expert but when he took out his stash, I was expecting a couple brown rocks in a Ziploc, NO. This guy takes out what appeared to be a soap bar of hash and goes on to explain:
“My uncle was back home in the Middle East and he brought this back for me and I’ll never use all of it.”
Needless to say, CH and I shat our pants.

Finally, it was time to get off the bus and wait 45 minutes for the next one to bring us home. The three of us went to a nearby bench to divide the weed and the hash. Now, what you need to realize is that this hash soap bar is hard as a rock, so the Indian guy said the following: “Dammit, I need a knife to cut through this thing.”

Now, in retrospect, the decision I made after he said that was not smart. As a keychain I have a Swiss army knife. So I gave it to him, to cut off a piece. At the time it never occurred to me that he could have used that to mug me.

Anyways, the guy takes the knife and does the dumbest shit I’ve ever seen anyone do ever. Everyone knows that Swiss army knives fold open one way and close the opposite way. Well, what this guy did was he opened the knife and instead using the blade to cut through the hash he put it on the other side, which caused the blade to come crashing down on his right index finger, cutting through it almost all the way.

Immediately, screams of agony ensue. CH and I were tripping serious fucking balls. The three of us run to a nearby McDonald’s and he goes to rinse his hand. I catch a glimpse of his wounded finger and I almost puked. It looked liked Niagara Falls just with blood and no Asian tourists.

None of us are sober enough to deal with this efficiently, but I knew I needed to get this bleeding idiot a first aid kit. So, I very confidently went to the cashier at McDo’s and asked her for a “McFirst Aid kit” (I was drunk and high, I thought it was funny) and I swear on my fucking life, she didn’t even laugh at my joke, she bends over and pulls out a little McDonald’s Inc First Aid Kit.

I ended up wrapping this guy’s finger up and he gave us some hash and I gave him some swag weed.

Stay lifted,
Lapin Chaud

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