In Keizer, Oregon, a small city outside of Salem, there isn't a whole lot to do. The night life mainly exists in Portland, about 40 miles away, and we often find it hard to journey up there due to all of our money going towards bud.

Because of this, it is hard to think of a single night that wouldn't go down as a legend story, but one that comes to mind certainly does. Anybody who has ever been to Oregon will agree that we get some bomb-ass weed. Purple Kush, Humboldt, White Widow, and many others are all basic here in the Keizer Circle of Chronic, so every night consits of getting as blazed as we can get. April 19th, 2000, my junior year in high school and we had just purchased 2 oz of Blueberry in preparation of the night to follow, sat down, smoked about a twamp sacc between me and two buddies, and began to roll joints. About 5 joints and another twamp up in smoke, we crashed with 55 killer cones ready to go for tomorrow.

4/20/2000, we woke up at 4:20am and began to spark up. We each lit up a cone to ourselves, then crashed again where we woke up at 7:00 to go to school. We got up and went to school, met up with some buddies, then skipped the school day and got high. We packed up my truck and waited to go camping. 4:20 rolled around, again, and the three of us sparked up, again each singling a cone. With 45 joints left, we took off to the beach for the best 4/20 party ever. About 20 people, all close close friends, 2 kegs, and enough weed to fill an airplane hangar, we all partied until the sun came up. Apparently the cops had stopped by to check on us, me passed out in the bed of my truck, but couldnt find any conscious people and carried on with their business. Amongst all of us, we smoked the joints like cigarettes and the beer like water, emptying the probably 5+ ounces of weed and the two kegs. Everyone had puked with no regrets, as we woke up and smoked the last three joints which were locked away in my glove box, then headed home silently with memories clogging our heads from 4/20.