Police bust college student with marijuana

On the subject of getting into deep shit

During this fine release of my inner thoughts and ravings, we’ll dive into the topic of shit. No, we will not be studying your bowel movements, lack thereof, or the inability to completely wipe your ass. We will however be discussing the topic of getting into some deep shit. Considering that most states have upheld the general moratorium on marijuana use and production, many of us have crossed paths with the law for better or worse (usually worse)…

I was once told that during moments of deep fear, a human being subconsciously reverts to its animal instincts causing them to shit aka drop non-essential weight when fleeing. Funny, the first few times I got into it with local law enforcement, I had exactly that feeling. How awkward? Stoned, MISERABLY stoned, talking with the Massachusetts local police, and attempting to talk my way out of an arrest prior to high school graduation. No officer, my eyes are not bleeding out of my face. No, there’s no marijuana in the car. I have no idea what that smell could be. Of course we weren’t participating in any illegal activities…

Out of the archieves - a classic college cannabis confession

One of the best stories occurred during my early college years. My recurring incidents with the New Hampshire police for weed (and other) related occurrences should be buried in the memory banks, but no one hides in the bushes by a sketchy pond at the age of 19 and doesn’t share that information. The nightly blunt was the best excuse for exercise I ever made to myself. It consisted of a mile or two of walking, creeping into the bushes, navigating to a clearing, finding somewhere to sit, lighting the blunt, smoking it, all the while the temperature was plummeting to frostbite levels, and then the paranoia crept in at some point. I mean I had my head on a swivel losing my mind. Any sound and we went on full alert. It was a mess.

Sure as shit, a cop showed up at one point during our late night scurrying and hit the spotlight right into our area. I don’t think I’ve ever run so fast. Immediately, the need to shit took hold. I wanted to laugh, but then where’s that killer instinct to fight or flee?! Well, I guess I’m somewhere in the middle, laughing and nearly shitting my pants.

At any rate, I slide into the bushes down lower into the creek with my larger accomplice moving with a Chris Farley vengeance. A phenomenal sight on this nightmarish occasion. Here we are hiding in bushes from cops just for that nightly blunt. Thankfully, it was mostly done because it made hiding in the bushes at least a little enjoyable while I held back the fear (and shit). I suppose clenching my ass tight not only helped me from dropping a load in my pants, but it was practice for what I assumed would be a rough evening in a prison cell. Little did I know that Strafford DOC holding provided Ellio’s style pizza for twenty-four hour holds. Again, different story for a different day.

Of course we overshoot our duration in the bushes by at least 15 minutes. I mean the cop leaves, the paranoia ebbs and we wait, and wait, and wait. Finally, exit time. We realize we’ve run through thorn bushes in a thicket, etc. Whatever, point being. Remember to shit before you decide to get loose with the law.

I know I'm not alone.... Do you have an almost got busted story to share? That's what the comments are for. Leave one.