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Back when I was 17, in '88, I was smoking with my rasta roommate (I moved outta mom's at 16) who had a 5 foot bong, and I got so twisted that I literally slid down 3 flights of spiral steps, banging my head on each one. I got up, walked around for a bit, laughed at myself, and then ran to the bathroom and hurled.
When I got outta the county in '95 after doing an elven and a half month bid, my buddies picked me up, and gave me a 40 and a blunt, cause that's all I wanted. I was so twisted that it had me hurling.
These days though, it ain't no thing but a chicken wing, I know my limits and don't go overboard.
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