It was a dark and stormy night and I was rushing through the streets of Burlington huddled up like Bob Dylan on stimulants. It had been a long, grueling day of classes, and all that I wanted to do was go smoke with some friends to relieve the stress of the day. Earlier, I had received a text from a new class friend asking if I’d want to come over and smoke with their friends, and of course I accepted. We had met a week ago in my introductory ethics class, and although they were always shrouded in a dark hoodie with a mask, I thought they had some pretty good points to add about social ethics and the concept of betrayal. I approached the door of the Burlington apartment just as a crack of lightning struck, and I jumped as the door creaked open to reveal my friend from class, decked out in their normal midwest emo attire.
“What’s up um….” I stammered, realizing just then that I never had caught their name. “It’s ‘Das,” they mumbled. “Oh, that’s a really interesting name!” I exclaimed, trying to sidestep the awkwardness of the situation as I entered the apartment. Silently I clocked that they had locked the door behind me as they started leading me through a narrow hallway to a room which cast a subtle glow upon the otherwise dark apartment. “Hey listen,” they started, “Sometimes people can be really off-put by my friends, but they have a really hard time connecting with people. So if you wouldn’t mind just reserving judgment until you get the chance to know them, I would really appreciate it.” “Of course!” I blurted out, “I would never…” I was cut off as we reached the large living room and I gaped in shock. On a string of couches sat a collection of people which stopped me dead in my tracks. It was my nightmare blunt rotation.
On a dusty tapestry-covered loveseat sat Chevy Chase, who was screeching about how he wasn’t invited back for the Community reboot with Morrissey, who was quietly moaning some self-pitying ramble about the human condition. Next to them was Eric Trump and a frat bouncer who had clearly already smoked a good amount and were discussing how they were both the treasurers of their respective frats (each of which was unaffiliated). Clutching the bong with a vengeance was Lea Michele, who was ranting about how she was rejected from an off-Broadway role to Azealia Banks (typing out a long and very misinformed instagram story mid-conversation), ‘allegedly’ because she was unable to read lines out on the spot. Leering over the group in a corner was the Burlington chief of police, who despite the enormous blunt perched between his fingers had definitely arrested a homeless person for smoking weed in City Hall Park earlier that day. I watched in horror as he passed this blunt to Watson and Crick, who were celebrating stealing data from Rosalind Franklin. Time didn’t exist in this apartment! Slowly, I turned to my class ‘friend’ just as they began to lower their mask and hood. “I’m sorry,” they said, as realization hit me like a truck, “my real name is Judas.” I felt myself begin to crumble beneath the weight of this betrayal, but was suddenly caught in the arms of someone, my savior? I gazed up into piercing blue eyes, slightly bloodshot from that premium ‘za. It was Ellen Degeneres. She lowered me to the ground and raised her cold, pale finger to my lips. “Shhh, it’s ok. Me and Portia saw you from across the room and really dig your vibe. Can we smoke you up?”
The rotation in question:
The guy who talks over everyone in philosophy classes and does psychedelics (realized things upon first tripping that I figured out as a 12 year old girl),
Morrissey (breaks out in song about ex midway through sesh),
Eric Trump (donald trump’s son),
Burlington chief of police
Watson and Crick