Faintly on topic
My friend's little brother is, not to put too fine a point on it, something of a pillock. He goes to school with my brother, and it was amongst my proudest moments when my friend informed me that my brother had told his brother that 'you look like a collapsed lung'. It's true, he does.

Anyway, the story I'm about to relate to you was told to me by my friend one raucous lunchtime. Essentially, his brother had come running into his room, shouting his name frantically and clutching a small plastic packet containing something brown.

It's worth noting at this point that my friend's stance on marijuana, whilst not belligerent, is faintly disapproving, a fact of which his brother was no doubt aware.

'[Friend]! [Friend]!' He cried, in a voice not unlike a bullfrog playing the electric saw, 'I bought some weed to try, but it's not doing anything! Am I doing it wrong?' It takes my friend but a few seconds of scrutiny to discover the problem. He tells his fourteen-year-old brother, through barely stifled laughs:


'That, [friend's brother], is because you've just bought a bag of mud.'

He'd paid £15 for it, and everything. And smoked a whole mudarette, although I'm to this day not sure how he managed it.
(WarneMarsh My priority for frivolity begets quality jollity, Mon 24 Mar 2008, 13:25, Reply)