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The first pipe was a spent TP roll with a piece cut out and aluminum foil for the bowl, that my sister constructed. When my parents came home I was consumed by guilt, probably just for being alive, but they were none the wiser. All this quickly escalated to buying hash from Jonathan, my next door neighbor drug dealer. Ah the salad days of white suburban girlhood when my life was an episode of Freaks and Geeks!

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And it was normal pot then, not like this super charged stuff now. And you could probably be safe from joints dipped in fentanyl or something back then.

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God I know. So lucky because I was clueless as hell.....

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That was fun.

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The fuzz is here, man....

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Fun story! I stick to gummies, no smell, no smoke, no extra equipment. And I live where its legal, too.

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