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Mudrooms and Bong Hits

Mudroom Bong Hits

On Super Bowl Sunday, with the game in full swing,  I nestled into the comfort of my living room.

The urge for a break led me to the familiar territory of my mudroom, where my trusty bong patiently awaited. Weed is my reliable ally, granting me a surge of energy and focus that defied expectation. As I indulged in the ritual, my senses sharpened, and I returned to the game with newfound enthusiasm.

Taking my place on my comfy couch, I heard the familiar chime of my Ring doorbell sending me an alert.  I live on 10 acres, in a country setting that one would not intrude upon without an invitation or a package to deliver.   Glancing at my phone in confusion, I discovered an unexpected visitor had trespassed into my private domain.  With trembling fingers, I reached for my phone, poised to dial 911, my heart hammering in my chest.

Peering through the windows of the door, I strained to catch a glimpse of the intruder. But she was nowhere to be seen, vanished like a ghost in the night. Bewilderment gripped me as I grappled with the surreal turn of events. Then, a sudden realization dawned upon me with startling clarity—I was the intruder, and had set off my own alert moments earlier when I indulged in the aforementioned bong hit.. In a haze of disbelief and amusement, I chuckled at the absurdity of my stoner-induced confusion. Truly, a tale worthy of a chuckle and another toke.

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