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Kafka's Chocolate Cake

by Brad Morse 7 days ago in humor · updated 6 days ago

Insanity by Chocolate.

Arriving at the dispensary late Friday afternoon, I waited in the lobby for my name to be called. While waiting to be summoned I realized, from experience, that Fridays were typically busy. Cannabis users usually stocked their inventories for the weekend. After all, where was the fun on Saturday morning without a good bong hit to start the weekend?

While waiting, I enjoyed watching the assortment of people that used marijuana from every social stratum. Long gone were the days of meeting some sketchy pot connection, late at night, in the back of a convenience store parking lot.

Hearing my name called, I walked to the second dispensary door, hesitating momentarily for the secured door to buzz open. Entering the inner sanctum, I was greeted by my assigned salesperson or budtender. He appeared to be a tall, skinny college-aged kid with a lopsided smile and red-rimmed eyes. He greeted me with, ”Welcome to the Lotus Tree dispensary. My name is Mikey. What can I get for you today?”

Smiling in anticipation I said, “I’d like to purchase some flower. How about some Afgan OG gold cherry wedding cake, please.”

”Sure Dude, whatcha’ thinkin’ about?”

Reminding myself I really needed to order future purchases online, I repeated my request, “How about some, Afgan OG gold cherry wedding cake flower.”

After a brief delay Mikey rallied himself, ”Good choice dude, that’s some tasty bud… but we’re out.”

Disappointedly I mumbled, “How about some, Purple Urkel OG Gold, and some gummy bears.”

“Do you want Sativa or Indica gummy bears?”

Salivating, I answered, “Sativa strain gummy bears would be great.”

Mikey smirked, ”Sorry Dude, we’re all out… the shelves are bare.”

Pleading, I said, “C’mon man you’re killin’ me. What do you have?”

”Sorry brother. I’ve got some miniature chocolate cakes. They are righteous, I had one last week. Dude, I was baked beyond Betty Crocker’s dreams,” with a laughing snort he continued, “…get it?… baked…baked on baked goods.”

Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I needed to keep this guy focused in order to close the deal, “What is the dosage?”

Lowering his head toward me, looking from side to side he hoarsely whispered, ”Dude…they’re a thousand milligrams.”

Stunned at the implications, I said, “What the….that sounds like a lot. What are the most milligrams you should take in a single dosage?”

Mikey straightened himself behind the counter, ”Dude…no such thing, man-up brother….don't be a wimp.”

Desperately wanting to avoid an attack on my masculinity I purchased the item and walked out of the store. As the door closed behind me, clutching my cannabis cake, I looked in both directions, like I had just stolen the magic confection.

Returning home, I removed the edible from the paper bag. It looked innocent enough. It looked like a miniature square chocolate cake complete with dark chocolate frosting. The small cake had a white dolly around the edges, wrapped in clear plastic with a few multi-colored sprinkles on top. The delicacy looked delicious. Letting my imagination wander I could see a kindly grandmother smiling as she removed a tray of fresh-baked goodies from the oven. Her neatly organized kitchen smothered in the wafting aroma of fresh-baked chocolate cake. With hordes of children furtively reaching for the succulent sweetmeats. Shaking the images from my mind I reminded myself this baked good was not intended for children or the faint of heart.

The next day, Saturday morning, I jumped out of bed bright and early. I hurried through my weekend chores in anticipation of consuming my chocolate treat. With a hurried kiss, my girlfriend left the house for the day to run her weekend errands. Around mid-morning, I decided the time was right to begin.

Smugly, I decided to slice the cake in half, in a conservative attempt to prevent overindulgence in chocolate decadence. Eating the slice of chocolate cake, I enjoyed the fresh-baked texture and sweet smooth chocolate. Congratulating myself on my restraint, I continued to putter around the house until the edible’s special ingredient kicked in. However, as the minutes ticked by with no change in my perception, I began to have my doubts concerning the efficacy of the chocolate sweet. Thinking I may have gotten a bad batch, baked by baked bakers, I decided to eat the second slice of chocolate cake.

Slowly I began to experience the first faint tendrils of cannabis-induced euphoria. With a goofy grin and meandering thoughts, I turned on some music and laid down on the living room sofa. Settling contentedly in the sofa’s embrace and watching dust motes gyrating on the rays of spring sunshine propelled by a light breeze from the open window. I reveled in the gloriousness of life.

Closing my eyes, I fell into a light sleep. I could feel the gentle oscillation of the earth’s rotation causing my stomach to slightly flip-flop like a car accelerating up and over a gentle hill with your stomach suddenly falling as you descend. With my sense of time slowing, these pleasant sensations continued as I drifted contentedly without concern or care in the world.

After several pleasant minutes, I began to feel a slight weight on my chest. I tried to ignore it, but the weight began to increase as the minutes passed. Suddenly my extremities felt like they were full of lead. I could only move my arms or legs with extreme exertion. Panicked, I began to breathe heavily. Paranoia began to creep into my consciousness, extinguishing my pleasant thoughts of butterflies darting on summer breezes in sun-soaked meadows.

My thoughts began to race and fragment into random pulsating colors. Intermittent clips of past and present experiences flashed before my eyes.

With horror, I watched as my appendages began to transform into Kafkaesque insect legs. I could see antennae wiggling in my peripheral vision above my head. At this point I began to hyperventilate; globs of microbe laden perspiration began to stream down my face. I closed my eyes desperately willing my fiendish visions away. Slowly my cockroach transformation subsided, alleviating my paranoia. My heart rate and breathing began to slow. Within seconds a relieved sense of normalcy returned. I tried to sit up but even with the weight on my chest subsiding, I felt spent, I just needed to rest for a moment.

As I relished the brief respite from the descent into my Lovecraftian nightmare, I began to realize the beginning of a new nightmarish paranoia cycle. Like the slow rattling of a roller coaster ride ascending the beginning of the next hill, my anxiety began to build, exacerbated by the realization that the next downward freefall into the abyss could shatter my sanity.

Clenching my teeth, strangling a blood-curdling scream I plunged downward again. I squeezed my eyes shut, terrified of potential anthropoid transformations reaching fruition. Pleading with God to save me I swore off any further unsanctioned endeavors.

As I reached the next emotional trough, I quickly surmised I would not survive long enough for this insidious confection to pass through my system. I just wanted this carnival ride from hell to stop. Sleeping was not an option. Ending this madness would require something far more aggressive. As I endured the next stomach-twisting loop, I remembered ingesting CBD oil could counteract the psychoactive component of cannabis. Only one major obstacle remained; the magic elixir was in my bedroom on my bedstand.

Under normal circumstances, my bedroom is only a few feet from the living room. Writhing in the clutches of my sofa’s death embrace while plummeting into Dante’s lower circles of hell, it might as well have been on the dark side of the moon.

I lifted myself with herculean effort. Slipping out of the La-Z-Boy’s constrictive grip, I flopped to the floor with a heavy thud. With a painful groan, I began to slither along the carpeted floor toward the bedroom. Slowly, at a glacial pace, I inched my way toward my bedroom. The excruciating journey from my living room to bedroom seemed to span entire geological time periods.

Finally, as my mind reached its breaking point, I found myself in my bedroom, below my bedstand. Laying on my back, grunting at the physical effort needed to raise my leaden arms above my head. I blindly groped the top of the small table for the elusive potion. Just as my sanity began to slip away, I grasped the tiny bottle with trembling fingers. As I lowered my exhausted arm, a muscle cramp forced me to drop the bottle. The small glass vial fell, hitting me directly in the forehead, right between my eyes. Bright Stars exploded in my vision. Sharp pains stabbed me in the eyes. Sobbing in frustration I twisted my head from side to side. Miraculously, I felt the cool glass bottle between my cheek and floor. Bellowing in anger, I reached across my face, grasping the tiny bottle. Twisting the small cap off, I raised the bottle to my lips and poured the precious liquid down my throat.

Under normal circumstances, only a drop or two is a typical dosage. That day, I gulped the entire bottle like it was antivenom for the most lethal snake species known to mankind.

Within a minute the waves of paranoia and anxiety faded. Exhausted, I sat up with my back against the side of my bed. I ran my fingers through my sweat-soaked hair. Slumping against my bed panting heavily, I glanced at my alarm clock expecting it to indicate hours, days or perhaps even years had passed since I began my horrifying ordeal. Incredibly, only a paltry 90 minutes had passed since I had first consumed my satanic bon-bon.

Later that day after I had gathered myself. I ventured outside to the backyard patio with a cool drink. Feeling extremely grateful for surviving my brush with the demonic underworld, I heard my girlfriend return home from her weekend errands. After a few minutes, I heard her cheerily call to me from inside the house inviting me to come inside and sit with her on the living room sofa. Gasping with revulsion I implored her to come outside and join me on the patio. Tentatively, she came outside. Standing before me she asked me if anything was wrong. Reassuring her I had no concerns, she walked back into the kitchen returning with a drink. She sat down next to me asking me with a smile how my day was. Looking at her for a moment I cracked a big smile and said, “Just another relaxing, uneventful Saturday, honey.”

humor
Brad Morse
Brad Morse
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