Hey Guys !
I'm doing a giveaway for 0,5G of MDMA free of charge (USA&CANADA ONLY)!
The rules are easy:
1) No begging
2)You do a reddit review WITH picture and a trip report
3)You consume the sample with friends, Not for resale
4)You have a nice roll
Best comment/story is Winning the sample of my new batch ! (include which country in comment)
Good Luck !
CONTEST IS OVER! ( CONGRATS TO HELLACIOUSVIBRATIONS)
When I was 15 my father bought me my first ride - a '93 Pontiac Grand Am. It had a few minor issues, both window motors had shit out and the gas gauge seemed to be a little off in its readings. I begged my father to let me drive him, my sister, and I to the mall the day he bought it and despite the fact I didn't even have my permit yet I managed to persuade him to let me drive us to the city, about 45 minutes from our semi-rural college town. We got there just fine, my father was satisfied with my driving but made it clear he would be driving us home. We all split up at the mall, and met back up at the Auntie Ann's. They had both already ate but each saved me a pretzel. I had received a call about a party in my area while shopping and tried to hurry the family back to the car so I could make sure I got back in time and not miss out on a ride there. On the way back my dad asked me what classes I'd signed up for in school. I try explaining applied acoustics to him, how I was learning about modes, practicing legato runs, trying to explain it to him the best I can.. but he doesn't really look like he gets it. He looks uncomfortable, but I don't remember saying anything to offend him. I ask him what's wrong and he explains that at the mall he ate "two greasy ass hotdogs" against his better judgement. He needs to pull over, the situation in his stomach is about to be out of his hands. He pulls into a McDonald's and doesn't even manage to find a parking space before he's sitting up and fumbling with the seatbelt. That's something I forgot to mention about that Grand Am, that seatbelt was horseshit, you were always stuck there for a minute after you shut the car off trying to get that damn thing off. He gave it his all, but the shit got the best of him. I can't think of a good onamatopoeia for it, but I assure you it was loud and wet. The thing he said was what got me: "Goddammit son, I've gone and shit myself", it kind of sounded like he was trying to pin out on me and really I just had to let him have it. "Uh, sorry dad..."
We continue down the road. We've maybe 15 miles left until we're back home and he can throw his dirty pants in the bottom of the garbage and we can put this all behind us. He never went into the McDonald's to clean himself up out of embarrassment, so we all sat in silence, holding our noses as the windows were stuck closed. But something's not right. The motor goes silent. Yes, this is where the faulty gas gauge comes in to play. My father's screaming no, no, this is not happening, but it is. My father calls everyone in his phone book he thinks he can count on but has to settle on my grandfather when no one else picks up. It's my mother's father, not my father's I should add. We sit there and I finally manage to get my window open after an old college try. My father has been hanging his head for the 20 minutes we sat there silently when he finally chimes sadly "Goddammit, I've got to go again". He gets that seatbelt off in probably 10 seconds, something I never managed to accomplish in the 3 years I had that piece of shit. Motherfucker hikes up this steep hill off the interstate, climbs a 5 foot fence with shit presumably running down his leg only to shit in a cornfield and wipe with an ear of corn I imagine. It's at this time my grandpa pulls over in his truck, rolls down his window and yells " having a shitty day Pete? Hahaha!" I fucking die, I'm still laughing by the time he gets down the hill. And that was the only time my dad ever punched me in the face.
Edit: USA