Live Stoner Chat epic stoned story! share yours!

[silaredur]

Ok so growing up my mom lived in Colorado and my dad in Missouri. I would have to visit every year and by doing such I would take the gray hound bus. As I got older I would see people going behind the gas stations at stops. I had asked my mom what they was doing and my mom told me they was smoking weed. I was like 13 at the time. So I thought to myself I will just follow and ask to join if they said no I would just remind them that I knew what they was doing. Wich never came up and i got so high at those stops. I met some interesting people. But that's not my stoned smoke report Noooooo. With that being said. At major bus stops like the Kansas city stops it can be scary high and holding. One of my first times being high and riding the bus. I got scared and hid my pipe and my weed from Colorado in a brick wall. About 5 years later i got kicked out of a job corps in Kansas city. No weed down and out. I remembered i hid that weed. I ran over grabbed it and went down the alley and SMOKED. I was so happy i was like fuck em. That weed straight saved my life. Amazing.

 

[epenguin]

Great story my friend......got any more ? share them in Live Stoners please......eP.

 

[stepside]

Great story my friend......got any more ? share them in Live Stoners please......eP.

Glad to see you still kicking ole boy.


I love finding weed that I hid when I was baked

 

[Oldbie]

Ok so growing up my mom lived in Colorado and my dad in Missouri. I would have to visit every year and by doing such I would take the gray hound bus. As I got older I would see people going behind the gas stations at stops. I had asked my mom what they was doing and my mom told me they was smoking weed. I was like 13 at the time. So I thought to myself I will just follow and ask to join if they said no I would just remind them that I knew what they was doing. Wich never came up and i got so high at those stops. I met some interesting people. But that's not my stoned smoke report Noooooo. With that being said. At major bus stops like the Kansas city stops it can be scary high and holding. One of my first times being high and riding the bus. I got scared and hid my pipe and my weed from Colorado in a brick wall. About 5 years later i got kicked out of a job corps in Kansas city. No weed down and out. I remembered i hid that weed. I ran over grabbed it and went down the alley and SMOKED. I was so happy i was like fuck em. That weed straight saved my life. Amazing.

great story sil.
here's a little one in return; not as epic as yours but here it is.
y,know that film from way back "the great outdoors"?
john Candy, Dan Ackryod etc. I haven't seen it since I was watching one night on the other side of the planet about 25 years at least. there's a chaotic scene in the movie where they're all freaking out in the middle of the night because there's a bat in the house flying all around them. well, there I was watching this scene, chuckling away In an off-the-planet-way (because I was); and then all of sudden I was having my very own bat freak out (and not in a "fear and loathing in Las Vegas" kinda way-this fucker was real and dive-bombing me!). this bat had obviously reacted to the bat noises on the tv and came in the sultry evening open window. just what you don't want when you're relaxed and loaded.
party-on dude.

 

[Feenix]

I had taken a job on a ranch in Central America drawing the plats and brochures for the development of the ranch into a resort. I had been warned by a mutual acquaintance that the owner was a cop of some kind for the US government so I was always cool around everybody. I would buy discretely from the nearby village and would jump on my horse and ride off when ever I wanted to smoke. I had no duties but the art and had the run of the place so if the hands were in one place I'd smoke in any other place. It was a big ranch. I was there four months and had a trip back to the states the following week.
One day I was asked to go to the airport and pick up a mechanic that the owner had hired in the states to put some broken down equipment in order. I didn't like the guy after just a few minutes of talking with him so when he asked me if I wanted to get high I said no thanks. He took out a fancy carved box the size of a cigar box and pulled out a joint. He was asked, as was I when I came down, to carry a box of .22 shells for the foreman and told not to worry about customs because putting the name of the ranch as destination got a pass on baggage inspection so he didn't even hide the box and walked it through.
The very first thing the guy did was set the box on the work bench in the barn and proceed to get the local ranch hands stoned. A big mistake They ran right to the foreman and told him that they got really stoned with the new guy and were taking the afternoon off.
The owner was due in from the States the next day and of course that night at dinner, went over all the items that the foreman had briefed him on including the mechanic who he saved for last. All he said to him as he pulled his wallet and flashed his little gold badge, was "you are out of here on tomorrows flight. I don't allow drugs on my finca."
That meant he was going to be on the same flight as me and my future wife. The owner called me aside the next morning as we got ready to go to the airport and warned me to separate ourselves from this guy as soon as we got to the airport and keep away from him on the flight and especially at Miami.
So as soon as we got to the airport my friend and I ducked into the coffee shop while the fool went to the bar and got half snockered. It was easy to avoid him after that. I waited til the last minute to check in because we were making trips walking down by where the missile pits were along the entry road. As long as we didn't cross the line, the guards just ignored us as we made like we were just looking at the ground to air array from about 100 feet, and I was getting wasted. When it came time to board, I ate the last joint I had brought as well as the last roach so I knew I'd be plenty toasted all the way to Miami and through the customs and immigration process and had weed waiting when we were picked up.
After the uneventful flight, I decided to hold back and watch the show that was in store for this guy. So I got in the same line some ways behind him. Sure enough. They started out by checking every bag. I didn't see the box appear at all. But I was so stoned, I started laughing. With each bag they checked I laughed harder. My friend didn't know why I was laughing, but when I'd try to get control she would spur me into more laughter with a funny face from her place in the immigrants line. When they finished with his bags, three officers appeared and escorted him and his bags to a private room. Seeing them escort him, I broke into hysterical laughter that only stoners know and it must have been contagious because my friend in the other line half way across the room, broke out too without knowing what we were laughing at. When it was my turn I was still laughing even though my girl was now out of sight. The official asked me what was so funny, I tried to hold it in but I just laughed harder. I couldn't stop. Then I was shocked out of it, the guy said "ok, you can pass." Without opening my bags.
I thought about it while I waited at the end of the immigrant line. I noticed that the woman at the computer didn't seem to like her job and even scowled at most of the folks she processed After about another hour of watching the scowler, it was my friends turn and as the official typed her passport info into her computer, she lit up in a smile and handed her the passport saying "Have a great stay in the US." I was dumbfounded. What the heck was going on. She later told me that she had heard the owner on the phone that morning mentioning our names to someone. We don't know to this day what he had put into the computer. But I have traveled to many different countries since and have never had a bag opened coming back. I though about taking advantage of this on occasion, then remembered the mechanic who we never saw again.

Edit: Yes, I looked for the box when I got back. But never found it.

​

 

[Oldbie]

I had taken a job on a ranch in Central America drawing the plats and brochures for the development of the ranch into a resort. I had been warned by a mutual acquaintance that the owner was a cop of some kind for the US government so I was always cool around everybody. I would buy discretely from the nearby village and would jump on my horse and ride off when ever I wanted to smoke. I had no duties but the art and had the run of the place so if the hands were in one place I'd smoke in any other place. It was a big ranch. I was there four months and had a trip back to the states the following week.
One day I was asked to go to the airport and pick up a mechanic that the owner had hired in the states to put some broken down equipment in order. I didn't like the guy after just a few minutes of talking with him so when he asked me if I wanted to get high I said no thanks. He took out a fancy carved box the size of a cigar box and pulled out a joint. He was asked, as was I when I came down, to carry a box of .22 shells for the foreman and told not to worry about customs because putting the name of the ranch as destination got a pass on baggage inspection so he didn't even hide the box and walked it through.
The very first thing the guy did was set the box on the work bench in the barn and proceed to get the local ranch hands stoned. A big mistake They ran right to the foreman and told him that they got really stoned with the new guy and were taking the afternoon off.
The owner was due in from the States the next day and of course that night at dinner, went over all the items that the foreman had briefed him on including the mechanic who he saved for last. All he said to him as he pulled his wallet and flashed his little gold badge, was "you are out of here on tomorrows flight. I don't allow drugs on my finca."
That meant he was going to be on the same flight as me and my future wife. The owner called me aside the next morning as we got ready to go to the airport and warned me to separate ourselves from this guy as soon as we got to the airport and keep away from him on the flight and especially at Miami.
So as soon as we got to the airport my friend and I ducked into the coffee shop while the fool went to the bar and got half snockered. It was easy to avoid him after that. I waited til the last minute to check in because we were making trips walking down by where the missile pits were along the entry road. As long as we didn't cross the line, the guards just ignored us as we made like we were just looking at the ground to air array from about 100 feet, and I was getting wasted. When it came time to board, I ate the last joint I had brought as well as the last roach so I knew I'd be plenty toasted all the way to Miami and through the customs and immigration process and had weed waiting when we were picked up.
After the uneventful flight, I decided to hold back and watch the show that was in store for this guy. So I got in the same line some ways behind him. Sure enough. They started out by checking every bag. I didn't see the box appear at all. But I was so stoned, I started laughing. With each bag they checked I laughed harder. My friend didn't know why I was laughing, but when I'd try to get control she would spur me into more laughter with a funny face from her place in the immigrants line. When they finished with his bags, three officers appeared and escorted him and his bags to a private room. Seeing them escort him, I broke into hysterical laughter that only stoners know and it must have been contagious because my friend in the other line half way across the room, broke out too without knowing what we were laughing at. When it was my turn I was still laughing even though my girl was now out of sight. The official asked me what was so funny, I tried to hold it in but I just laughed harder. I couldn't stop. Then I was shocked out of it, the guy said "ok, you can pass." Without opening my bags.
I thought about it while I waited at the end of the immigrant line. I noticed that the woman at the computer didn't seem to like her job and even scowled at most of the folks she processed After about another hour of watching the scowler, it was my friends turn and as the official typed her passport info into her computer, she lit up in a smile and handed her the passport saying "Have a great stay in the US." I was dumbfounded. What the heck was going on. She later told me that she had heard the owner on the phone that morning mentioning our names to someone. We don't know to this day what he had put into the computer. But I have traveled to many different countries since and have never had a bag opened coming back. I though about taking advantage of this on occasion, then remembered the mechanic who we never saw again.

Edit: Yes, I looked for the box when I got back. But never found it.

​

great story Feenix; must of been some good stuff you were on (remember what it was ? or was it just sold without any fanfare?) to be hysterical under those circs.

 

[Oldbie]

here's my biggest heart-thumper to date. I am going to title it , and tag it under "close calls" so if anyone else wants to add their own personal story we can start a collection of stoner stories.

Getting helicoptered
about 24 years ago, I was living down under, in a community largely comprised of hippies, ex-bikers, social pariahs', off-griders, general eccentrics. quite a large area; many properties were around the 100 acre size. there was a lot of weed being grown, mostly for personal (though a good dude I got to know and respect, did 5 years in a max security prison for 1 acres worth of weed). we were on the drug squads helicopter tour; it didn't happen every year, so you never knew when to expect a visit. one day I'm visiting my much scattered ladies, when I hear a distant helicopter. I had a good view of where the sound was coming from. it was about half a mile away; I could see it hovering and knew exactly was going down so I sprinted back in the direction of my cabin. a good friend of mine just happened to be approaching my place for a visit; later she told me she saw me running like a scalded cat into my cabin and reappear, what seemed like 2 seconds later, in a totally different change of clothes (it was my quickest change of clothes ever, from whatever casual hippy stuff I was wearing into a pair of green overalls for camouflage) and fly off my veranda wielding my machete. I had about 10 plants dotted around my cabin, about 4 foot high, in the bracken; they weren't at the flowering stage yet but big enough to be spotted. I flew around the place, chopping all my ladies, scooping them all up as I did, and ended up looking like a walking weed bush (make that a running weed bush) by the time I got back to my cabin, just in time; it was my turn to be on the receiving end of the eye in the sky. they hovered over my cabin for what seemed like an eternity (a chopper that close can be quite a noise!). meanwhile I was inside calmly (on the outside) stripping my plants. I told my friend to keep an eye on the road and let me know if the 4x4s were coming.
I got away with it. man I was so worked up, I had to take some codeine; that calmed me down.
Phhhhhhhhhhhheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!

 

[Feenix]

great story Feenix; must of been some good stuff you were on (remember what it was ? or was it just sold without any fanfare?) to be hysterical under those circs.

It was just some local grown green buds, almost could be called skunk. It was very stony. I would not usually laugh at a fellow stoners misfortune. But that SOB wasn't in the truck for 2 minutes when he dropped the "N" word in reference to the locals more than once. They were folks of color, but not primarily of African heritage. Not that it mattered. Had they been of African descent I would have been just as pissed at the guy. I don't like that bigot crap. Never did.
I think what set me to laughing so uncontrollably was a comment by my friend earlier when I wondered out loud if the guy was stupid enough to try to bring his stash home. She said very seriously all of a sudden " It does not matter. Tio Xxxx no get mad, he always get even." There is no telling what might have been found in his bags.

 

[Oldbie]

It was just some local grown green buds, almost could be called skunk. It was very stony. I would not usually laugh at a fellow stoners misfortune. But that SOB wasn't in the truck for 2 minutes when he dropped the "N" word in reference to the locals more than once. They were folks of color, but not primarily of African heritage. Not that it mattered. Had they been of African descent I would have been just as pissed at the guy. I don't like that bigot crap. Never did.
I think what set me to laughing so uncontrollably was a comment by my friend earlier when I wondered out loud if the guy was stupid enough to try to bring his stash home. She said very seriously all of a sudden " It does not matter. Tio Xxxx no get mad, he always get even." There is no telling what might have been found in his bags.

I Hear ya Feenix. people like that have hatred in their hearts; they blame their pain on anyone that comes into the crosshairs. best give them a wide berth.

 

[Feenix]

here's my biggest heart-thumper to date. I am going to title it , and tag it under "close calls" so if anyone else wants to add their own personal story we can start a collection of stoner stories.

Getting helicoptered
about 24 years ago, I was living down under, in a community largely comprised of hippies, ex-bikers, social pariahs', off-griders, general eccentrics. quite a large area; many properties were around the 100 acre size. there was a lot of weed being grown, mostly for personal (though a good dude I got to know and respect, did 5 years in a max security prison for 1 acres worth of weed). we were on the drug squads helicopter tour; it didn't happen every year, so you never knew when to expect a visit. one day I'm visiting my much scattered ladies, when I hear a distant helicopter. I had a good view of where the sound was coming from. it was about half a mile away; I could see it hovering and knew exactly was going down so I sprinted back in the direction of my cabin. a good friend of mine just happened to be approaching my place for a visit; later she told me she saw me running like a scalded cat into my cabin and reappear, what seemed like 2 seconds later, in a totally different change of clothes (it was my quickest change of clothes ever, from whatever casual hippy stuff I was wearing into a pair of green overalls for camouflage) and fly off my veranda wielding my machete. I had about 10 plants dotted around my cabin, about 4 foot high, in the bracken; they weren't at the flowering stage yet but big enough to be spotted. I flew around the place, chopping all my ladies, scooping them all up as I did, and ended up looking like a walking weed bush (make that a running weed bush) by the time I got back to my cabin, just in time; it was my turn to be on the receiving end of the eye in the sky. they hovered over my cabin for what seemed like an eternity (a chopper that close can be quite a noise!). meanwhile I was inside calmly (on the outside) stripping my plants. I told my friend to keep an eye on the road and let me know if the 4x4s were coming.
I got away with it. man I was so worked up, I had to take some codeine; that calmed me down.
Phhhhhhhhhhhheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!

At least the chopprs give warning that they are coming. whomp whomp whomp. I think they created Radar O' Reilly after guys like me who can usually feel them before hearing them. An inner ear thing I guess.I hope you had plenty more further out. Damn lucky it didn't have 6 troopers hanging under it. But it sounds like you were well camouflaged. At least until they would have started chopping
No joke about the troopers. Good story.

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