You know those people who can get up in the morning, smoke some weed and then go about their daily routine? I’m not one of those people. I rarely smoke weed, and if I do it’s at the end of a long workday when I’m at home by myself and I just want to enjoy Jack in the Box, watch South Park and go to bed. The last thing I’d want to do is smoke a large amount of weed and be in public place surrounded by a bunch of strangers. That’s why I had mixed feelings when I received this invitation a few weeks ago:

So there’s this guy that goes by the name Marijuana Don. I’m not certain if that’s his Christian name, and he throws these parties at a huge house in the Hollywood Hills known as, you guessed it, The Marijuana Mansion. The invitation was from someone named Big Mike, but I don’t think I ever met Big Mike. Maybe Big Mike doesn’t exist. Maybe Big Mike is all of us. Maybe we are all Big Mike in a way.

I brought my friends Max, Steve and Bree along because there was no way I was going to experience this place by myself — and if my goal was to smoke as much stuff as possible, the last thing I wanted was to end up wandering around in the streets like Laura Harring in Mulholland Drive.

We were shuttled up to the house and when we arrived it seemed as though they’d really committed to the weed theme.

The crowd was an interesting mix of older guys who wanted to dress up (but not to the point of being uncomfortable!) and women dressed like they really hoped all the guys would be dressed better than they were. It’s like they wanted to be impressive, but not at the cost of potentially sitting on the ground to eat a snack. Bree’s face kind of sums it up:

Before we even started exploring, we hit the weed bar. This was a line of tables where women in nice dresses rolled joints for you. It probably would’ve been easier to have a bunch rolled beforehand, but I guess some guys enjoy watching a woman frantically roll joints for an increasingly impatient line of people. Nonetheless, it was lots of weed and it was all totally free, so there was very little room to complain.

The woman finished, and we immediately lit it up. The biggest rule in the house was to make sure everyone smoked inside because if you did it outside it might bother the neighbors. It was like having the coolest parents of all time. “Hey, boys, if you’re gonna be doing drugs, just make sure you blow all the smoke into the house, OK?” We went through three joints, and I was immediately gone. I was at the point where you realize you’re staring at someone but you’re not sure if you just glanced over or if you’ve been intently staring like a psychopath for 15 minutes. This guy became a close, personal friend:

We worked our way over to the food area, and it was an instant game-changer. There was sushi and oysters, and even though I have a strict “never eat sushi and oysters at a marijuana mansion party” rule, I decided to make an exception.

It was time to start smoking again, even though I was probably high enough to understand the plot of The Matrix sequels, there was another joint so I joined in. This time I had one of those hits that immediately make you cough, and with every cough you can feel the highness work through your body. Your brain goes, “OK, buddy, that’s enough” but your body says “Lol sure pal.” That’s when I spotted the man that I’ve decided to call hipster Confederate General Morgan Freeman. He was hitting that buffet HARD, and I respected him tremendously for it.

We ended up smoking one more joint and then found out there was an accessible downstairs to this place. That’s where things got really interesting. While walking downstairs I looked to my left and saw what appeared to be a gypsy reading people’s fortunes. I can’t think of anything more terrifying than being super high and having an old woman tell me that my great grandparents are disappointed in me and I’m probably going to die in a boating accident.

So I did this instead:

This is where things get a little blurry. We hung around outside for a few minutes looking at the view and coming up with a short film idea where an old couple seems to be trapped in their home with a monster lurking outside their door, but finally the old woman looks out the window through binoculars and sees a group of guys standing naked in a row, smoking weed and groping themselves while Drake’s “Jumpman” plays loudly. It makes no sense whatsoever, but at the time it felt like we’d come up with the greatest idea humanity would ever experience.

We wandered back inside because there were rumors of a mermaid being in the pool, but those rumors were false. Or so we thought. Turns out the mermaid was just sitting in her dressing room because it was freezing outside. So what does a group of super high guys do when they come across a woman dressed as a mermaid trying to have a little privacy in her dressing room? They start a detailed conversation about her life and goals, of course. She didn’t seem to mind at the time, but thinking back, there’s no way she didn’t mind.

I met a guy named Cliff Burt and he was telling me all about his business and what separates it from everyone else, but I was so high the only thing I heard was the way adults talked on the Muppet Babies. I do remember he opened his pocket and had dozens of joints and he gave me one, so that was nice. The one thing I needed was to get a little higher.

We found another set of rooms and honestly I have no idea where they came from or if they were just manifesting as spells were being spoken from an ancient book, but this room really got me in trouble. They had more joints and lots of bongs. I tried them all.

At this point I was so high I couldn’t really remember what people were. We found a digital backdrop to take photos, and after a guy took ours he asked if I could take one of him and his friend. He took a bunch, and then handed me his phone. I thought it would be funny to turn the camera to forward facing and take a few pics of myself before taking their group pic. Unfortunately after taking a few of myself, he said he couldn’t find his friend so I didn’t need to take it. That meant, instead of pictures of my face being buried several photos back in his album, the first thing that popped up was me looking insanely confused. This made me very paranoid that he was going to be upset at me. I’m not sure why. Imagine him punching me in the face for being too high to understand how an iPhone camera worked. Thankfully he did not murder me. For that I am forever grateful.

Apparently there was a chocolate fountain that I interacted with at some point, but I don’t really remember it. That feels like something you should definitely remember.

I vaguely remember seeing a woman sexy-dancing for her husband to what I would assume was “Let’s Give Them Something To Talk About” and thinking it would be a good idea to join in. I got way too self-conscious of my dance skills, but thankfully Steve did not. Clearly, she was not impressed:

How to get people to walk the fuck away from you at a party.

A video posted by Steve Zaragoza (@stevezaragoza) on

This guy won an award for what I assume was one of the following:

  • Best at Weed
  • Best Weed Man 2015
  • Best at Looking like Diamond Dallas Page Without Actually Being Diamond Dallas Page
  • Mr. Weed
  • Most Likely to Weed in 2016

As we made our way outside to leave we noticed what might have been the strangest occurrence of the entire evening.

Why was there a live bongo player??? There wasn’t a live band anywhere else, but hidden in a corner upstairs was a man just going to town on the bongo drums. Did they specifically book a solo bongo player? Was this a rogue bongo man who plays by his own rules? Who are you, Mr. Bongos? I may never know your story, but you will always hold a special place in my heart.

I got home and slept for a solid 10 hours. It certainly didn’t take the nightmare turn that I was afraid of, but I did wake up with an unwrapped Kit Kat in my pocket. It nearly ruined my hoodie. If that’s the kind of damage weed can do to your life, then I’m out. We can’t have weed out there ruining innocent people’s hoodie pockets. Shut it down! When will we ever learn?

Rob Fee is a comedy writer. Twitter: @robfee

Follow For the Articles on Twitter and Facebook for more Playboy Sex & Culture.