Nate Carroll

Pretend I Posted this on 4/20

This is a story about the first time I tried weed. But only if you’re willing to be real generous about the definition of the word “tried.” Otherwise you could look at it more like “weed-rape.” But in a good way.

It is my senior year of high school. I am not one of the cool kids, and I’m happy being not one of the cool kids, which means I’ve never bothered trying any of the adult things I assumed from my vantage point that all the cool kids were doing: drinking, fucking, smoking, manipulating each other emotionally, etc. 

There was one narrowly averted with drinking when 5 of my best friends and I decided to rent a large cabin in Northern Minnesota and hang out there for a few days over Spring break. Nick brought along a bottle of tequila that he had stolen from a dead woman’s house, which is the most obvious way to obtain alcohol when you’re 17. The sitation could not have been more ideal for a first-time saucing, but everyone abstained. We mostly just played videogames and drank Dr. Pepper, so even without booze it turned out to be good practice for college.

Substance-wise, the only thing that happened was me drinking a glass of lemonade spiked with several crushed caffeine pills. I did not know they were in there. My friends had slipped me the anti-roofie, hoping to have their way with me later and it totally worked becuase their way in this case was me spazzing out and talking about how hyper I felt for reasons I couldn’t discern. 

The trip also involved some very aggressive Iowan skanks, which are ranked rather low on the stimulation scale when compared to caffeine pills or skanks from other states or anything else, really. 

Anyway, the day in question is April 20th. I’m young and naive; the signifance of this date is lost on me. It still is, in the sense that I can’t figure out why the number 420 means anything, although I now know that it does.

I and two friends from the above trip are walking back to school after an off-campus lunch break. With us are a guy who is several degrees closer to cool than I am, and a girl who I’ve had a crush on for several years, the entirety of which she’s been dating one guy, who happens to live on my block. I silently curse every time I pass his house, because I don’t realize I childishly prefer it this way. The girl is also much cooler than I am, but lately has become confused about this fact and is happy to hang out with me and the other guys.

We are on our back to school after a successful trip to Sunnyside Market, whichs offers such delightful lunch staples as corndogs and more corndogs and probably some fruit or granola bars or something somewhere because it’s actually a real grocery store but that doesn’t matter because they have corndogs. The only reason the percentage of my income spent on corndogs remains at reasonable levels is the incredible student lunch deal offered at the nearby Dairy Queen: double cheeseburger with fries and drink for $3.41. It’s light on the dairy for a self-appointed monarch of the food group, but I guess Cheap & Fat Queen doesn’t have the same kind of ring to it.

“Who wants a brownie?” the girl asks with an exaggerated cheerfulness obvious to everyone. 

Well, that’s a stupid question. “Ooh, me!” I say. “I love brownies!”

I love brownies.

Everyone sees what’s happening. They stay deadly silent for fear of ruining the impending hilarity. I have good friends. I should be alarmed about the fact that no one else wants a brownie, but the portion of my brain devoted to thinking that thought is drowned out by the portion of my brain devoted to thinking about brownies. Specifically, eating them.

Girl eagerly opens guy’s backpack and pulls out a tupperware container full of brownies. Why is she giving out baked goods that aren’t even hers?, I think. Then, as before, I don’t care! Brownies!!!

She hands me the brownie. It looks like a brownie. I take a bite.

It tastes like dirty socks have been cooked into the batter. I can even feel the sock chunks in my mouth. 

“Ugh! What the hell is wrong with this brownie?” 

In retrospect (my favorite kind of spect), this is a rather high-risk way of expressing my distaste for the brownies. What if this was the guy’s serious attempt at baking serious and not at all drug-related brownies? We’d probably never speak again, which would kind of disappointing, and people would probably stop letting me sample their brownies, cookies, etc., which would be a really disappointing. [In retrospect: part II, brownies are not supposed to taste like this, even when you’re trying to cook THC into them.]

Everyone cracks up. I recall from the recesses of my cranium that pot brownies are a thing, and I further conclude that I’ve probably just taken a bite of that thing. I also laugh, while continuing to spit out flecks of “Hint of Brownie”-flavored dirty sock.

We go back to class 4th period English. I’m not high.

Later that year, the girl and I made out. That part’s not really relevant to the story.

I suggest

“Nobody likes me, everybody hates me, guess I’ll go eat worms.”

Seriously dude? Seriously? Worms is where you were going with that? Have you ever met people? Really, it should go “nobody likes me, everybody hates me, guess I’ll go eat a pint of ice cream for dinner.”

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Tune in Sunday at 8pm ET for the season premiere of HBO’s acclaimed series, “The Choir.”

Baseball

Baseball season is almost here! Here is my American League preview, in the form of personal assessments about you based on what team you support. 

Indians: You once won $250 on a lottery scratch card.

Orioles: You have fond memories of Camden Yards, but you haven’t been there in 15 years.

Rays: Your favorite restaurant is Red Lobster.

Tigers: You’re a job-stealing robot. Your favorite cheer is 10, 100, 111, 1000, who do we appreciate.

A’s: You once helped flip over a police car.

Mariners: Your favorite writer is David Foster Wallace, who you were way into even before he died.

Angels: You don’t actually know how many balls are in a walk.

Yankees: You use the word faggot as a casual insult.

Royals: You’re related to someone who plays for the Royals.

Marlins: You play for the Marlins.

Twins: You are a champion among men.

OOPS

You know how sometimes you’re at the movies and you’re trying to say something to your friend during a preview that’s really loud so you’re basically yelling and then all of a sudden it gets quiet and you ejaculate prematurely? So embarrassing!! 

Hey dude

Why were the Ninja Turtles teenage? I mean, I’m down with the fact that the turtles are ninjas. Unconventional, sure, but nobody would care if it was about turtles that just ate leaves and sat on logs and did turtle shit.

And then once we agree that they’re ninja turtles, it seems pretty obvious that they would be mutants. I’ve definitely never seen a non-mutated turtle do any ninja shit before—although on the other hand, maybe they’re just stealthy with it. The point is, these traits make at least a modicum of sense in combination.

But then we just throw in the teenage part like the age of the fucking mutated turtles make any difference. Am I supposed to understand the developmental stages of a mutated turtle? Like, are there any big character implications derived from the fact that the turtles are 17 years old instead of 24?

Also, statistically, one of them is probably gay. I bet it’s Donatello. I bet he’s totally gay for Splinter.