The HIGH TIMES Medical Cannabis Cup Returns to the Bay Area
HIGH TIMES is heading back to the Bay Area for the third year in a row! The HT Medical Cannabis Cup …
Fri May 18, 2012 1
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Sat Apr 26, 2008
The Calm Before the Storm
It’s eight days, seven finalists, three wild cards, 80°F and SPF 30 scheduled for Negril, Jamaica, and here we are on Day 1. Or, as Bobby Black would like to describe it, “Staff Arrives at Hotel.” Bobby’s printed up an itinerary for staff, filmmakers, girls and hotel desk clerks in order to avoid any possible repeat of last year’s free-for-all. While 2007’s pageant was fun, and all the photo shoots, booze cruises, and bikini changes were ultimately accomplished, things were always at least an hour behind schedule.In preparation for our next day greeting 2008’s contestant arrivals, Bobby, Pot Star, our filmmakers and myself decide to shed our winter coats and hit the warm sands of the Negril beach, hoping to whisk ourselves to sleep by overdosing on sweet Jamaican rum and spicy Jamaican ganja in hammocks by the sea.
“I might be the first hippie …READ MOREtags: 4 « add a comment
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VAPORELLA - GRAVITATIONAL PULL
Thu Mar 16, 2006
Ever since I started writing this column a bit over a year ago, I’ve been getting asked the same two questions by guys. No. 1: What’s your favorite smoking method? To which I always immediately reply, “Gravity bong.” Followed by No. 2: Wanna go out? To which I always immediately reply, “Maybe.”
My love for good ol’ gravity starts with the MacGyver-like ingenuity with which these bongs are crafted from spare parts. I would give my left arm (and that’s my smoking arm!) to have witnessed the original conception of the gravity bong. I bet the creative genius’ friends bowed down to her—or him— like something out of Wayne’s World. Hell, we’re all not worthy of that accomplishment—an impromptu invention that unleashes a hell of a fucking high that lasts all day long. Pretty similar to eating pot (remember, I’m mostly a ganjatarian)—in fact, I’ve seen …READ MOREtags: 164 « add a comment
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VAPORELLA - GRASS REUNION, PART III
Thu Jan 19, 2006
Rainy Day Woman
It took every last ounce of my patience and every QP of my fear of jail not to slap that bitch’s hand away from my brownies the instant her fire-engine-red Lee Press-On Nails clicked against the tray’s tinfoil covering. The effort of restraint made all the blood rush to my head, ruining my high—which made me even more pissed off. A lone bead of sweat zigzagged its salty way down from my hairline to my eyebrow and then through my eyelashes before finally blinding me. But even with one eye closed, I still noticed that the left hand the Blond Megaphone was using to lift up the foil was bare. Holy shit. There is a God.
“Hey, Beverly.” (Of course her name was Beverly.) “Did you lose your wedding ring or did you just get divorced?”
A quick jerk of her hand back into her Liz Claiborne–perfumed dome of a jacket and on came the shakes, then the shimmys, and finally Mount …READ MOREtags: 26 « add a comment
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Thu Jun 16, 2005
It’s always the same story, every time I fly: Car to the airport—price goes up a dollar. Check-in at the e-ticket kiosk—a 25-minute wait in the security line, followed by a big, fat “random” check. Apparently, they’ve got me picked out from the parking lot. Sorry to kill the suspense, fellas, but I already know you’re going to thoroughly search every inch of not only my stuff, but every inch of me as well. You haven’t failed once in the last 15 times I’ve flown. And yes, I’m well, well aware that the last two stamps on my passport are from Jamaica and Holland, and that I’m currently wearing a “Pot is good for children and other living things” shirt. Yes, I dressed myself.
Don’t bother waving me over: I’m already waiting in your “other” line. Smiling and whistling, ’cause I’m already stoned. So go ahead and look through my shit. Please! If you zip open the …READ MOREtags: 35 « add a comment
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Thu May 19, 2005
By Vaporella
I have been lying to everyone I’ve ever loved or cared about, including you. I admit that what I have done is wrong and that I have slim to no chance that any of you will forgive me, let alone smoke with me ever again. But I can live the lie no longer. Please, amidst your disgust and feelings of betrayal, try—for my sake—to make it to the end of this apology.
I stopped smoking weed. I’m not sure of the exact date, but it’s been for some time now. At first, I just started slowly minimizing my daily inhale intake—from six joints to four, four joints to two, two to a few hits and, eventually, nothing. But please note that as I was cutting back my puff intake, I was simultaneously crossing over to the other side of stonerdom—racking up major THC via my pot-food diet.
It all started with a HIGH TIMES tradition called Space Cake Fridays. I got off on the high, sure. But I also really …READ MOREtags: 24 « add a comment
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Mon Jan 10, 2005
I am just not the kind of girl who mooches. I hate moochers. Hate. I can spot them coming from a mile away, like a slow stoner zombie truckin’ over from behind some stray pole or dead tree just to feed off my hard-earned stash. I find it incredibly eerie, the way they just seem to morph into the joint-passing circle like something out of Terminator 2. Big-eyed and silent—standing there like a deaf/mute mummy, knowing that by all stoner-etiquette laws I have to light up my doob and immediately pass it to the left. So they creep up like the pot-smokin’ boogeyman—ever the moocher. I hate you, Mooch. This one’s for you:
Sit back and watch closely for the quiet arrival of the Mooch. I can call them out from hiding by simply removing all pot-preparation paraphernalia (say that three times fast) from my pockets with as little noise as possible. Notice the sharp hearing of the Mooch. There does not have to be any spoken announcement or smell …READ MOREtags: 17 « add a comment
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