Solid troubles
Last year, a group of us were at a friend's birthday party at his house, altough we were under strict 'no funny stuff' orders, beacause his parents would be, to say the least, mightily pissed off at having a large number of drunk/alternatively mentally incapacitated teenagers romping round their house for the entire night. I wasn't hugely affected by this, as the hardest drug I do is alcohol, but one of our number had brought an enormous lump of resin (I think, although my knowledge of cannabis is sadly minimal) with him, and wasn't going to waste such a golden opportunity.

However, he had no access to whatever equipment one needs to smoke the stuff.

So he ate it, the fat shit.

So, whilst the rest of us had fun with wwe wrestling mathches on the playstation, he lay curled up in the corner, under his coat, sweating profusely, and almightily stoned out of his skull. This is how he spent the entire night. Any time one of us tried to talk to him, he just lunged at us.

For this, and a variety of other reasons, we call him Mad Dog.
(WarneMarsh My priority for frivolity begets quality jollity, Wed 21 Dec 2005, 22:50, Reply)