I gave it a dry run and when I pulled my arm back, I caught a strong aroma of what I assume was smoked in a hookah as Punjab assembled my mouse pad. The odor was intense. Andi happened to buy one, too. We opened hers and the same damn thing met our senses. Maybe they were packed in a crate with another, uh "shipment", if you catch my drift. All, I know is that it has been through 2 loads of laundry and as Andi said, "Now it just smells like wet marijuana."
Man, that Abdul has the best shit. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go munch on a bowl of Chex Mix and wash it all down with a tall, cool glass of more Chex Mix.
I just thank God that a drug dog didn't sniff out my mouse pad in the airport because frankly "I swear I inadvertantly bought my marijuana Mickey Mouse mousepad from an Arab" just sounds made up. That wasn't my only encounter with Indians/Arabs (not trying to be too racist). We stopped at a restroom at the Magic Kingdom (we found that we required a potty stop every 2 rides. It sucks getting old). Outside of the bathroom entrance was an Indian family, shoes off and lined up in a row, kneeling in some ritual.
To each his own and you have to admire their conviction, but if I can't get through a day at an amusement park without having to face Mecca while kneeling in dried up spit and used gum, then I ain't goin'. I mean I wondered if something happened that they had to have an emergency ceremony. . . and by the bathroom of all places. Did one of them shit out a whole ear of corn or accidentally eat a pork rind or something? Maybe in a moment of weakness (perhaps after smelling a mousepad), one of them chowed a bite of burger and they had to wait by the crapper 'til they got it back so they could bless the cow.