One of my best friends was also a neighbor of mine. I was on my porch smoking a morning cig and he yells over to me, “Hey, you want some hot chocolate?” I’m not the kind of person to turn down hot chocolate, so I say, “Sure.” He brings it over, and we both drink our hot coco and smoke cigs while the sun rises over Tampa Bay. This is some real bro shit, and one of my fondest memories. However, it took a turn when I noticed the flavor of the hot chocolate. It was earthy. I really liked it, though, it was such a unique flavor, and I thought that it may have been some high quality chocolate or something, so I asked him. He said, “No, it’s POT chocolate.”

Now, I smoked some weed back in high school. You know, that brown basement weed that had been harvested from the roaches of that one friend’s parent’s ashtray. That weed. This wasn’t that weed. This was high quality. This was potent. Still, I thought to myself, “I used to smoke weed all the time, this can’t be that bad.” I was wrong. That shit wiped me out. I was too stoned to move. I was fully ready to die in that chair. I watched the sun rise and set like the OG Time Machine film.

I hold no ill will towards my friend for the mix up. He legitimately thought I understood what he asked, and I know he would never do anything like that on purpose, but damn, that shit was wild.