The Fear
Last time I smoked was in Amsterdam in 2001. Having been there a couple of days my mate, his mrs and I decide to participate in some coffee shop action. When in Rome and all that.

Anyway, not being too professional at the skinning up part (and because we'd been drinking Amstel all afternoon) we asked the chap behind the desk for some WEAK pre-rolled doobies.

3 tokes in and I'm starting to get a bit fidgety. My brain felt like it was melting. I proceed to tell my mate I'm whiting out, to which he responded with a rendition of 'White Out' by Killing Joke. He thought it was hilarious. I, on the other hand, decided I needed fresh air before that bloke in the corner knifed me one for being such a woos.

So out I go onto the streets of Amsterdam utterly mashed out of my skull with the intent of going back to the hotel and dying.

An hour later I end up outside the coffee shop again wondering where the fuck I am and how could I have missed a bloody great train station. I pluck up the courage to ask someone, knowing full well I'm not in control of any part of my face and knowing the person I ask will be mafia and will take exception.

'ENGLISH? TRAIN STATION.' is all I could muster to some poor bloke. He pointed toward somewhere and off I staggered, a man on a mission.

Finally arrive at the Centraal station where I attempt to read the timetables. 15 minutes I was stood there trying to fathom which platform I needed when my mate and his Mrs appear. We'd missed the last train back apparently so needed to get a taxi.

What sort of taxi driver has a really clean, shiny Merc? He must be a copper I thought to myself. Fucking filth everywhere. Waiting. Preying on pissheads sampling the delights of their infamous coffee shops.

I just sat quietly on the short journey back to the hotel, my brain melting all the way.

Next morning, I found we had one doobie left. I left it for the cleaners.

Not smoked since!
( Mr Spleen Can do better. C-, Fri 16 Dec 2005, 16:21, Reply)