Creepy Uncle Rick, my scientific colleague with whom I am co-authoring this research study, next produced a bag of fresh, locally-grown organic basil.
CUR: It's important to support local growers.
SS: We're also supporting Italians. It smells like a fucking lasagna in here.
We had minced the basil and packed it into the Volcano, then vaporized the herb just enough to release the sweet scent of pesto into the apartment. Creepy Uncle Rick kept inflating the bag with vaporized basil, well past the point of common sense.
SS: OK. That's enough. We've got a sweet, juicy basil bag there.
CUR: Hang on. I don't know if it's full enough.
SS: Are you kidding? You've got the Hindenburg of basil there. It's the Hindenbasil.
CUR: We need more.
SS: We're smoking the gross national product of Naples!
It was at this point that I began to wonder about the wisdom of equipping stoners with an electrical appliance.
CUR: It's actually not that bad. A little bit harsh on the lungs.
SS: Acrid, but also pleasingly fruity and floral.
CUR: I think it's giving me a slight head rush. Hard to say, since I'm already high as a kite.
Most college students smoke herb, we had just smoked an herb garden. And there was only one place to go from here: down.
