Where’s the bloody hash?
I had an interesting morning today.
I got up from my extremely tolerant girlfriend’s side, and slunk into the lounge to partake in a saturday morning smoke, before grabbing a bit more sleep. Something I do a lot. It’s nice.
The previous night had been a very pleasant one with some good friends round, and I was pretty sure I’d left my lovely lump of new hash on the table.
So when I went searching today I was more than a little surprised to see no sign of the hash at all. Vanished. It would appear.
I looked high and low – but nothing. Even tried calling my mate who had no idea. Something was not right.
Panic ensued.
Then for some reason I decided to look into the bin. Why I am not sure.
And bingo! There it was, right at the top of the bin, amongst a load of ash and stuff.
It would appear that the friend we have staying may have been a little over enthusiastic with her morning cleaning. She’s blond, so I don’t blame her. I do similar things, but crikey, that was a close run thing.
In other news humans make their own marijuana.
