Well... shitdamnhellpissfartpoop. I got hit with two big ones.
Biggest: My dearest lifelong friend, "the other otter" just died. We were closer than brothers. For over sixty years, we vacationed together... and as our families grew, all of us would go to places like Jamaica or Costa Rica to scuba dive. We'd go hunting hogs, deer, birds, and fishing together.
Next: My shot-up shoulder (unlike the movies, shit like that does not heal by the next scene) has done something new all of a sudden: My whole arm feels like I got whacked on the funny bone. Crippling. My hand actually stings even as I type this. I am scheduled for X-rays and MRI this morning... (No, not at the fukking VA.)
And I just noticed I have a half a pinky finger of weed left.
I have made my stash last an unbelievably long time -- over six months because I've updated my super conservative method yet again for efficiency:
I take a hit from my homemade bubbler and immediately cap the bowl with a carved cork to prevent any smoke at all from going anywhere but into the bubbler. And the cork puts to fire out.
Exhale into the Volcano bag. Remove cork plug, take two more hits from the bubbler with the fire out, exhaling into the bag.
Relight the bubbler, and take the second "hot" hit -- which uses all of the pea-sized weed. Exhale into the bag. Hit the dead bubbler two more times to clear it out, exhaling into the bag.
Inhale and exhale only into the bag. Repeat until the bag is clear. Not a wisp of smoke lost anywhere. At all.
I do not care for the smell of pot in the house (neither does the Darling Witch) -- but this system is so effective, I can get all the goodness without any smoke odor at all even when smoking inside.
Dunno why I am talking about weed. I have tears running down my face. My beloved life-friend is gone. I am too old, and too fucking hardcase Alpha to cry. Not.
And I don't even know why I am telling you all this. More tears, dammit.
Biggest: My dearest lifelong friend, "the other otter" just died. We were closer than brothers. For over sixty years, we vacationed together... and as our families grew, all of us would go to places like Jamaica or Costa Rica to scuba dive. We'd go hunting hogs, deer, birds, and fishing together.
Next: My shot-up shoulder (unlike the movies, shit like that does not heal by the next scene) has done something new all of a sudden: My whole arm feels like I got whacked on the funny bone. Crippling. My hand actually stings even as I type this. I am scheduled for X-rays and MRI this morning... (No, not at the fukking VA.)
And I just noticed I have a half a pinky finger of weed left.
I have made my stash last an unbelievably long time -- over six months because I've updated my super conservative method yet again for efficiency:
I take a hit from my homemade bubbler and immediately cap the bowl with a carved cork to prevent any smoke at all from going anywhere but into the bubbler. And the cork puts to fire out.
Exhale into the Volcano bag. Remove cork plug, take two more hits from the bubbler with the fire out, exhaling into the bag.
Relight the bubbler, and take the second "hot" hit -- which uses all of the pea-sized weed. Exhale into the bag. Hit the dead bubbler two more times to clear it out, exhaling into the bag.
Inhale and exhale only into the bag. Repeat until the bag is clear. Not a wisp of smoke lost anywhere. At all.
I do not care for the smell of pot in the house (neither does the Darling Witch) -- but this system is so effective, I can get all the goodness without any smoke odor at all even when smoking inside.
Dunno why I am talking about weed. I have tears running down my face. My beloved life-friend is gone. I am too old, and too fucking hardcase Alpha to cry. Not.
And I don't even know why I am telling you all this. More tears, dammit.
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- grieving is nothing to be ashamed of mate - it's a natural psychological process ☆ that needs to happen - after someone nearest and dearest passes on - I feel for ya man - no problems sharing your grief with us - we all understand - I'm sure -
- my brother had all the early 100 club posters and sold them quite a while ago for a tidy sum - nicked from right outside the club back in 1976 -
- you are in the right group here 
greengrower,- and welcome
thing..
club around April/May 1976 - late afternoon and they let me in for the gig - as long as I helped with schlepping the equipment into the club - what a crazy scene it was - and the band was outrageous for those times - full of power chords and teenage angst - I freaking loved it! - saw them a few times after that - and would always help the band get set up - for free entry - I was only 16 - in 1976 - so indelible memories of that era - before I went stateside in late 1977 -
- to us at that time - they were boring old farts - lol - as The Clash sang in the song 1977 - 'No Elvis - Beatles or the Rolling Stones - in 1977!'
