Amsterdam weekend

I have yet to visit Amsterdam, and when I do I probably won’t seek out a hash bar because I’ve never smoked anything in my life and I’ve always been leery of dope. However, if I do decide to Cheech’n'Chong it, I hope the experience will be as entertaining as Geoff’s:

You select from the menu at the bar, you get a gram. Back home this would be the Bingo Bag Dame Fortuna rarely grants you. As a result, you and your pal are launched quickly to the Kuiper Belt. Your legs are about fifteen feet long, your cranium is pumice. It gets quiet, and everybody is staring at you. “Everyone is staring at us,” you say, and your pal says “I know.” “Do you think they heard us?” you ask. You get really quiet and think about the impossibility of ever standing up again. Then you decide to try and get to the head. Inevitably in a building in Amsterdam the head is up- or downstairs, and the stairs are twisting and steep and about two inches deep. These stairs would be challenging on any given day, but with fifteen-feet legs you best have your wits about you. Of course you have no wits about you at all. Going up or down you pass pasty-faced Yanks from Missouri or Idaho petrified with fear and clinging to a loose rail. Your feet are lower than your head and you imagine the implications of this based on Relativity–your head is older than your feet, and substantially so after all these years walking around upright. You decide to buy an inversion apparatus as soon as you get home so your feet can begin to catch up.

After a six month expedition you make it back to the table and your pal says “That was quick.”

WordPress has cleverly redone its format to make inserting videos a lot more difficult and aggravating, so I can’t include the Amsterdam dialogue from Pulp Fiction.

And if anyone has posted Patton Oswalt’s classic bit about the Amsterdam coffee houses, please oblige me with a link.