I typically don’t smoke during the dead of winter. Smoking etiquette of the current day and age mandates going outside prior to lighting up. Or simply opening a window, if it’s not a public place and one can get away with it. I’m reluctant to do such a thing during that time of year when it’s forty below outside and the high winds sting at least as painfully as spider’s venom. It is then when I switch to edibles. Her Majesty spends that time in her winter palace (i.e. in storage), wrapped in her royal bubblewrap for the annual three-month recess of her official duties.
Don’t get me wrong, edibles are great. There’s just no ceremony and ritual in their use. Digestion is one of the most mundane biological functions there is. That piece of wacky granola I would typically have on a January morning for my wake n’ bake is merely part of a complete breakfast. But no winter ever lasts forever (remember that, kids) and nothing says “spring has sprung” to me quite like that moment I bring Her Majesty out of storage to spark her up for the first time in three months. The wake n’ bake instantly becomes an occasion again. An occasion I almost forgot it was. One that sees songs of migratory birds returning from down south easily mistaken for chattering monkeys once I completely forget what continent I’m on.
hear, hear. after liz becomes worm chow, i nominate my bong to become the new queen of canada. it's a concept that would totally work under our present system pic.twitter.com/8ncvoPkV13
I am pleased to announce that Her Majesty (my bong) has delivered her throne speech at the official state opening of patio season. Her Lords were most impressed. Especially when the Speaker of the House recited the Heart Sutra mantra 108 times and then belted out some old blues tune at the top of his lungs.
While we’re waiting for the abomination to hatch out of its cocoon (it’ll start raining dead birds at that point so I hope y’all have your umbrellas ready), let me treat you to a guided tour of my glassware. The use of a bong is my preferred method of smoking these days. I used to be strictly a joint man a few lifetimes ago, but that began to change sometime in the second half of 2013. It had something to do with the shattered remnants of dashed hopes and broken dreams. I shan’t elaborate on the hairy details, but it was in the midst of it all that I gained a newfound appreciation for the more powerful punch that a bong packs, and it’s been my go-to smoking implement ever since.
The first bong I ever owned was this guy. In Toronto, there’s practically a head shop on every street corner. Hell, even the convenience stores sell glassware. They’ve been doing so for years, since long before the herb became legal in Canada. I picked this one up at one of the city’s most well-known head shops. They were having a sale on all their glassware at the time, so this piece was a real bargain…
Do forgive the surrounding bubble wrap and the unsightly filth and whatnot. At the time this picture was taken, the corrupt Wahhabist dictatorship of a company I worked for had forced me to live in squalor just so they could save themselves a few bucks (and with all that money they saved, they did stuff like this). There’s a compelling story about that somewhere on this site, if you know where to look.
Anyway, in the bad old days when our country was ruled by the Pissed-Off Westerners, having a bong like this was the shit. You could sit on your front porch with this thing in your hand, never having to worry about any police cruisers coming down the street. The cops would just go on their merry way, fully under the impression that you were engaging in the perfectly legal activity of enjoying a cold one on a hot summer’s day.
I would get five years of loyal service out of the Highagain bottle before it unfortunately met its end in September of this year. A guy I was living with at the time destroyed it in a moment of gross negligence. He had moved my bong to the edge of the table so he could make room to set up his Xbox gear, and somewhere in the middle of a game he fell asleep and kicked the table. I would come to the garage the next morning to find him fast asleep with the Xbox on, my bong reduced to a pile of green shards strewn all over the floor. He said he would pay for a replacement, but almost predictably, he never did.
I actually went a whole month without a bong, relying entirely on the silver bullet for all my smoking needs…
…and once it became clear that the guy who destroyed my first bong would buy me a new one sometime around never, I had to take it upon myself to arrange for a replacement. But oh, what a replacement she was! I picked her up at a head shop just off campus. A little on the pricey side, but worth every dime. The first time I took her for a test drive, she revealed to me her name. She is called Her Majesty. This is Her Majesty’s first official royal portrait…