My favorite blunt story was this recent 4th of july. There was me and like 7 school bros at a summer house we rented, and we smoked like 8 cones that one day. Man, we were fucked up. There was a pool and a hot-tub, and we were like doing gravity bongs in there all night. Over the time that we were there, we must have like fucking ripped through five or six ounces, man; it was intense!! One minute i'm putting one out, and, low and behold, here comes another one. My lungs still hurt like a bitch, but it was worth it. I like to hold off sometimes and not smoke for a week or so because it makes it so much better. When I got home two weeks later, I must have slept for like a good two fucking days. I came down to the breakfast table when I woke up, and my pops was like "Son, you look like a fucking space cadet! What the fuck are they teaching you at that school? Freebase 101?" But he's always had a good sense of humor about these things; him and my mother met at woodstock, so they've smoked their fare share in those days, and are really fucking "Whatever" about all of it. I actually smoked a blunt with my father a few weeks ago, and he was like, "If you tell mom, she'll kill us both." Little did he know that I smoked one with her a few days earlier. It's really a cool thing to have hippie parents, even if they've caved in and work "real" jobs. Then again, it would probably be wierd if they like sold bongs at a flea-market or something. That would be one tough conversation with my girlfriend, that's for sure!!!