First time I smoked with Mary Jane I was about 11 or 12. A friend of mine had gotten a blunt of dro from his cousin, and offered to smoke with me. I said sure, and shortly after finishing, I drooled for about an hour on the couch. That was the highest I had ever been. My brother, however....
My brother and I had gone to a dealer's house with a friend of our's to smoke out and party a lil' bit. He promptly pulled out a small wooden "treasure chest" full of different kinds of dro, at which point he began naming. For all of you "Grandma's Boy" fans, I replied immediately, "How many times do we have to go through this? I just want a fuckin' bag of weed." We all laughed. He decided it would be best that we pack a 4 ft. bong with a mixture of all of them. I took one hit.
He warned us at first to take baby hits with his bong, but, being the smartasses that my brother and I are, we ripped the hell out of it. I stayed in the room long enough to witness my brother take a hit, exhale, and excuse himself to the bathroom before I walked outside to settle my lungs. About 5 - 10 minutes later, our friend comes out to check on me (I was laying across the porch by this time). He stated that he had taken about 3 hits, and didn't know where exactly he was at the moment, so I took him back inside and found that my brother was still in the bathroom. We all laughed and joked about what he was doing in there (Jerking off or died like Elvis), and apparently, he heard us. I knocked on the bathroom door about 45 minutes after our hits, and all he would say was "Go away. Leave me the fuck alone. I'm chillin'."
It was at this time that he sat down against the door inside the bathroom. He tried to lock the door, but from our side it sounded as if he couldn't figure out how to open it. So, I fell to the floor in laughter. By the time I realized that he wasn't coming out of the bathroom, I was in tears. Another hour or so went by and he was still in the bathroom. The owners of the house were ready for bed, so I tried to get him to come out once again. After about 10 minutes of him and I arguing through the door, I finally got it through his head who I was and he opened the door, but only enough so that I could squeeze in. By the time I got into the bathroom, he had already sprung across to the other side of the room with a pair of scissors in his hand, which made me a bit more sober instantly. The following conversation happened:
Me: So..uh..Wanna give me the scissors?
Him: Fuck that. You stay away from me. You ain't killing me.
Me: Wtfh....
Him: I heard you fuckers talking. You can't kill me! I ain't going out like that!
Me: Uh....wtf are you talking about?
Him: I heard you guys out there talking about killing me. "He's gonna be dead." (Remember us talking about he died like Elvis?)
After half an hour of convincing him that I wasn't there to kill him, he set the scissors, within reach, on the toliet beside him. We FINALLY got him out of the bathroom, and he stares everyone down as if they're all going to attack him at once before getting him into the truck and heading back home. To this day, no one knows why he tripped that badly, but still, it entertained us for a good.....ever.