I was completely taken aback, and not because I was shocked that my baby brother had smoked crack. I was taken aback because I had been under the false impression that I was the only person I knew of who had accidentally smoked crack. Not only I but also my brother had unwittingly done it. This seemed too strange, so I told my story of accidental crack smoking and asked if any of the other three of us had ever accidentally ingested it. Would you believe that two of them had?
This means that four out of five of us in a small, random gathering of friends and acquaintances had smoked crack without meaning to. Four out five of us had smoked crack. That just seems ridiculous to me, even after having a few days to mull it over. All these years, I thought that my story was fairly unique, but apparently this is about as common as losing your virginity before the age of thirty-five.
You are probably asking yourself how it happens that a person ends up inhaling a bunch of burning crack fumes without knowing. It is surprising how easily this can happen and how common it seems to be. Follow along as I tell you how four people ended up accidentally smoking crack:
So, there you have it. The stories of four accidental crack smokers. Don’t judge us. We totally didn’t mean it, and none of us continued down the path to absolute subservience to the crack gods. We are good, non-crack-addicted folks to this day.
How about you? Got a crack story? ‘Cause I’d love to hear it.
I was walking outside as part of my mail duties at work this afternoon, which is one of my favourite work things. The sun was warm and the breeze light in that way where it plays with your hair, lifting up bits and pieces, but not really blowing it around. That’s how the wind always was in 1970s movies when they wanted to show that a female character was really wholesomely beautiful.
I was on my way back to the office, imagining myself to be all wholesomely beautiful with naturally shiny and flowing hair (not the accidentally purple kind I’m stuck with for the time being), when I felt something funny in my pants.
That was such a great ending to the sentence that I have to repeat myself: I felt something funny in my pants. No, this is nothing crotch related, so don’t get your hopes up, unless you’re the Fiery One, in which case do get your hopes up, because you are so far away and deserve some excitement.
The funny feeling was above my butt but below my waistband on the left side. It felt crawly, and so of course I started flashing through all kinds scenarios like it was a bee or a sudden tumour. In case it was something alive that could possibly sting me, I tried to keep my pace even and developed a heightened awareness of how much pressure there was at any given moment between my pants and skin on that side. I worried that the slightest move might send me yowling and running across lawns in a very embarrassing manner.
When I got back to the office, I went to the bathroom and gingerly peeled away my pants and then my underwear. Nothing. I could not see anything that would have given me the impression of having a living thing in my pants (stop snickering). On my second poke through the inside of my pants, though, there was something – a mid-sized black beetle.
A beetle! This was so much less frightening than my bee / wasp scenario or my hallucinating things being in my pants scenario that it actually calmed me to see it. No biting! No hallucinating! Just a little black beetle who I decided was male, and I named him Chuck, because I flushed him down the toilet. Now I feel ever-so-slightly guilty for killing something I had bothered to name.
I should have a “Today Is The Day That…” section in my posts. Today would be:
Today Is The Day That I Named A Beetle Chuck That I Found Living In My Pants.
Palestinians prisoners started an open-ended hunger strike to fight for better treatment in Israeli prisons.
There has been increased volcanic activity in Yellowstone.
Teleportation has leapt out of “Star Trek” and into reality.