| Posted on Tue, December, 9th 2014 by THCFinder
It was a dark and snowy Christmas Eve. The roads were covered in a sheet of fluffy precipitation and the trees sagged under the weight of the flakes that just kept falling. No one was out driving, no one was outside shoveling, not even the plows were going by. On a night like this, one would definitely require the help of cannabis. But the jars were all empty, keif catchers were scraped clean, and the only thing left in the house containing THC was a small bit of resin that no one really wanted to smoke.
So the four friends sat, watching cartoons sober, wishing that someone would respond to their desperate texts to find weed. They waited and waited but no messages came. At least the power was still on for the time being. They still had their TV and music to listen to, as well as power to charge their phones that they were constantly checking in the hopes that a weed man was coming. But alas, nothing.
Minutes turned in to hours and the friends were starting to fret that their Christmas eve would be spent trapped in the house with nothing to smoke. But suddenly, a jingle chimed out over the sound of American Dad and one of the stoner friends jumped up, shouting, “He responded, he responded!” The friends crowded around the phone, grappling to see what the weed man had said. “He said he can make it!” the holder of the phone said. The friends all cheered and asked when he would arrive.
Meanwhile, the weed man was suiting up. He donned his boots, a heavy jacket, and two pairs of mittens. He placed the bag of weed inside of his jacket and made sure that it was safe. It was a big bag, so at least the trip would be worth it in the long run. If he could even make it there! The snow wasn’t showing signs of slowing and he hadn’t seen a car in hours. The weed man opened the door to the outside, looking at the blanketed world. He sighed and shut the door behind him, dragging his heavy feet through the snow around his buried car to the bike that he had posted up against the side of the house. He brushed off the bike quickly and got on, pushing the pedals extra hard as they dipped in to the snow.
The trip was only a mile but now, it seemed much longer. He couldn’t see the road and the streetlights weren’t helping much, as they were blotted out by the driving snow. He pedaled hard, wishing that it wasn’t snowing but at the same time, enjoying the quiet of the night. It had only been snowing for three hours but at 6pm, it felt like 3 in the morning. Pedal, breathe, pedal, breathe. He kept on pushing, hiding behind the brim of his hood.
Suddenly, the front wheel of the bike slid out from under him. He tumbled off the bike, landing in a small snowy ditch on the side of the road. For a second, he didn’t get up. Was this really worth it? The trip never seemed so bad in the car. Sure, these people were his friends but really? He got up and brushed the snow off of his jacket. The bike was buried in the snow and he tried to just grab it, falling over again. He frustratedly kicked at the snow, cursing it for falling so heavily. Digging at the snow, he located the handlebars of the bike and pulled with all his might, freeing the bike. Slowly, arduously, he climbed up the side of the ditch back to the road and got back on the bike. Before pedaling away, he made sure the bag of weed was still safe inside of his jacket. Once he knew it was still there, he started pedaling again.
He pedaled for what seemed like hours. That is, until he looked up to see that he had made it to the house. He threw up his hands in silent relief and pulled the bike in to the driveway, leaning it against the side of the house. He removed his mittens and knocked on the door. After waiting for a minute, he started to get angry. Did they just stand him up? Just when he was about to walk away and begin the journey back, the door flew open. Four smiling faces were staring back at him and what was this? A cup full of cocoa, topped with whipped cream.
The weed man smiled and kicked off his boots, making his way in to the warm house. His friends crowded around him, congratulating his perilous journey. He took a sip of cocoa and pulled the big bag of weed out of his pocket. The friends cheered and one of them pulled out a bong and a grinder, offering it to the weed man. He plucked a bud from the bag and ground it up, letting the smell of weed fill the house. He packed the bong and took the first hit, letting the smoke trail out of his mouth while he handed the glass piece over.
“Thanks, dude,” one of his friends said, slapping him on the back. “You really saved this Christmas."