When I was in high school I was really into poppies. For those who don't know, a poppy is when you put tobacco in the bowl of a bong and smoke it with weed. Don't do these, as they're extraordinarily addictive and they're partly responsible for how fucked up my life is right now.
Anyways, there were these two kids I who befriended because they both sold weed and I was a wannabe poser. I was from a lower-middle class part of town, but through a loop-hole I was able to attend an extremely affluent public school in a neighborhood near mine. These guys had money and girls and I had nothing in comparison.
Friend A, the leader of his crew, had recently bought a brand new car. It was an older Camaro with a really trippy custom nylon upholstery. Friend B, the one who I knew much better, gave me a ride over to friend A's house, and we switched over to A's new car to smoke some weed in his driveway.
Friend A reached into a duffle bag and took out an enormous straight-tube bong. For those who don't know, straight-tube bongs produce the most powerful tobacco buzzes, and so we started smoking poppies right away.
Friend A took a large rip and then friend B wanted to show off, so he took an even larger one. I didn't want to be seen as a pussy so I loaded his bowl all the way up to the brim and milked it for 15 seconds as they both stared at me in disbelief. I held it in for about a second and a half before I started coughing it up. Friend B caught the bong before it spilled, and I was completely paralyzed in the back seat, rolling my face off. I was gone. My mind had strange clarity but absolutely zero connection to the movements of my body.
I felt something brewing inside me but I couldn't move. In the past I'd thrown up many times before so I prepared myself for the worst. But I didn't want to throw up. Not in front of these guys. I wanted to be cool. I didn't want to be a pussy. So I focused all my energy on just being there and riding out the high... and you know what, I actually did it. I didn't throw up.
But I guessed incorrectly. I loosed the slimiest splattershit you can possibly imagine. My anus nozzle was like a pissing horse. My shit soaked straight through my boxers and slithered out my gym shorts in such volume that it actually made a small waterfall off my leg.
Both my friends screamed. Friend A sprang out of his car hyper-ventilating. I thought he was going to attack me while I was fucked up, but he's a good dude, and he just paced back and forth on the verge of tears saying '...no no no no no no no...'. Friend B just got out and stared in shock and horror. He was the reason I'd tagged along.
I started to regain some control over my body, and I moved my head to shake off the drool dripping from my chin. I tried desperately to drag myself out of the car so I could just die in peace, but at this point it was like waking up from sleep paralysis-- I could move my hand and my arm but they both felt like they were asleep. Really I only got my body to rock back and forth, grinding the splattershit deeper and deeper into my friend's backseat.
Things became more aligned. I opened the car door and slumped down into the dirt in a fetal position. I started vomiting after the smell finally hit me and friend B started vomiting too.
After I recovered we assessed the damage. Friend A concluded that he'd probably need new upholstery, but he was wrong. The shit had soaked so far down that even with new upholstery and pressure wash the smell stayed, so he had to get a whole new backseat.
Those guys were absolute bros though. Friend A knew I was incapable of paying him back so he let it go and neither of them told anyone except for a mutual friend of ours. Given how small my high school was, I figured they didn't tell anyone because if someone starting gossiping you'd know pretty quick.
Of my drug days that's the most embarrassing thing I've done that I'm willing to talk about.