Although I have many great bud stories, my best is a trip i took down south to a little place called Oxford, Mississippi; home of the Rebels.

I was going to school in Oklahoma and one of my best friends there had been to school in oxford before moving back to OK (we will call him "D"). D had always told me about how fucking cool Miss. was and that we had to go sometime and so without reservation on an off week we took off.

I am not sure how much of the sweet sweet cheeba we brought, but we spent the entire night before rolling most all of it so we could blaze with no problems. One of the other homies Turtle rolled a little suprise too. We like to call it "tha bloom", but I will get into that later...We rolled out.

Shortly down the road, we sparked our first j of the day and drifeted off in to that state of extreme consciousness that i am sure you are all familiar with. However, within a few minute we were suddenly jarred by a car swerving from the on-ramp in to our lane...the far left!! This caused us to run off of the road and come to a stop a mear 20 feet from the pillar holding up a bridge. needless to say this cause us some distress and so to ease the tension we sparked again. The rest of the eight hour trip down there was little more than a haze. We would stop at gas station, talk to the locals and bolt before the idea that be were beyond baked came across their minds.

We rolled in to Oxford and the house we would be staying at shortyl after 10 and were still smoking. That night we continued to smoke into the wee hours of the morning and then slowly passed out in the haunted ass house. Now, I cannot be sure whether or not all of the encounters were real, or simply a figment of me weedmagination, but whatever it was...I saw dead people!! The next morning we rose early and went to grub. There are no chain restaurants allowed in Oxford so the shit was good. After the munchies D and I rolled to the largest legalized grow field in the United States and let me tell you, that shit was the bomb. They weren't fucking around there either. There were grow houses and outdoor plants alike, with guards posted up in towers with guns...BIG GUNS, and signs that said, "NO TRESPASSING!!! Violaters will be shot on sight!!!" That night we rolled out to the bars and got stoned out of our minds. After mak! ing our rounds we went and did the unthinkable. William Faulkner (a fucked up individual who wrote fucked up stories) is burried in a rebel cemetary right near the house where we were staying. So in an act of peace and to make contact, or some other stoned nonsense we decided that we would go to his grave and smoke "tha bloom" and drink and offer some of our Jim Beam. Ok, so the bloom is like the joint of all joints. It is rolled to look like a flower and is brought to you lungs via a rolled notecard (not to be smoked). There should be no less than 4 smokers per average bloom and we smoked a big ass one with 3. Needless to say...we were shibby. We started smoking on the way to the grave and had arrived long before we were done. After tokin' Falkner's ass out and givin him some Beam we rolled to the lake for a meteor shower. About the time we got to the lake "tha bloom" started to take hold and our buddy D-rek (a less avid smoker) started to freak out. He had to stay still and so we had to leave.

The rest of the trip was just as bitchen and was filled with going to an Ole Miss football game and ordering some chicken wing delivery at like 2 am for munchies and a lot of fuckin' cool memories. the bud supply lasted all 4 days and we smoked the last j about 20 minutes from home. This will be a day that will be a legend in my own heart forever.

Keep smokin' y'all and I will see you in the fog,
B Diddy