When I was in high school I had a handful of worthless buddies and a GMC Jimmy. My worthless buddies were worthless partially because they were total stoners and partially because they needed ME to cart them around so they could do their bong-smoking in places like:
a) a walnut orchard
b) Caesar’s house because his uncle didn’t care c) an almond orchard
d) the park that time (and cops) forgot
e) an orange orchard
But on this particular Wednesday they (and I. ain’t gonna lie) did their bong-smoking at — let’s call him Brian Porter — Brian Porter’s parents’ house. Someone set the bong down on the answering machine’s tape record button* and recorded the whole exchange, which became the Porter house outgoing message, went something like this:
“How much does Caesar’s uncle charge for this shit? Gurgle. Hey! Pass right, fucker. Cough. No you pass left. Remember the song? Gurgle. Sarah, show us your tits. No. Cough. Clear that shit.”
And Brian Porter’s mom called the school, and because it was lunchtime we all got suspended.
No one from my home was mad. Yeah. What? Yeah. Why? Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth etcetera.
Later I found out that a certain head of my household… how did Nate Dogg put it? “Smoke weed ery daay.” I got off Scott Free. And after I got him off I hung out at my house for three days without school. Booyah. Story done.
* Back in the olden times, a “land line” telephone often was attached to a small box with a tape in it that would record a message. It was called an “answering machine.” archaic.