22 November 2005

Reefer. Explosions.

In the old house's garage I had a cache of pot. It was winter time, and the old over-inbred spaniel was let out of the house (a recurrent dog in my dreams). I decided, hey, why not smoke the reefer to get high this time? I thought of inviting my brother to join me. I smoked a lot, but it didn't do anything.

At work, I was looking through various locations on different servers. My manager told me about one location on a server I was absolutely not allowed to look through. I asked him why I would even care.

Back in school. Different class this time. The teacher was teaching Chemistry. We all got our lab kits, which included about 20 different types of explosives (in each student's kit). It was like a giant fireworks kit, but with enough explosives to demolish an office building. One of the types of explosive she quizzed us on was made by a mad fanatical bomber, long-haired, who mixed the chemicals in his stomach and vomited up the finished explosive substance. It looked grainy and gross, not particularly effective - an interesting oddity to be quizzed about.

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