Ever since I started writing this column a bit over a year ago, I’ve been getting asked the same two questions by guys. No. 1: What’s your favorite smoking method? To which I always immediately reply, “Gravity bong.” Followed by No. 2: Wanna go out? To which I always immediately reply, “Maybe.”
My love for good ol’ gravity starts with the MacGyver-like ingenuity with which these bongs are crafted from spare parts. I would give my left arm (and that’s my smoking arm!) to have witnessed the original conception of the gravity bong. I bet the creative genius’ friends bowed down to her—or him— like something out of Wayne’s World. Hell, we’re all not worthy of that accomplishment—an impromptu invention that unleashes a hell of a fucking high that lasts all day long. Pretty similar to eating pot (remember, I’m mostly a ganjatarian)—in fact, I’ve seen gravity bongs produce smoke so thick I thought I could chew it.
Unfortunately, I didn’t pop my gravity-bong cherry until my final year of college. A little late blooming from the Vaporella files that I’d rather not admit, but I think it was my teenage preference for smoking blunts that really had me ignoring other crucial methods of ingestion. Then came the day when a fellow stoner chick and I were sitting in her room, preparing to get high (as usual) and discussing the best way to maximize the minimal stash of grass we had between us. When my friend brought up the idea of building a gravity bong, I admitted my ignorance of said bong, then endured 10 minutes of “You’ve never smoked from a gravity bong?”–like disbelief before she finally went into her kitchen and returned with a pair of scissors, an empty two-liter Canada Dry bottle, a plastic pitcher, a measuring cup filled with water and a garden-hose nozzle—which I found a bit puzzling, since she didn’t have a hose, much less a garden.
The finished product included a screen fresh-cut from the window to fit inside the nozzle, and on which we placed our sorry lot of combined weed. Then my lesson began: “All right. The way this works is to start off by submerging the bottle into the water in the pitcher, while keeping the nozzle above water. Then, light the weed in the nozzle while simultaneously pulling the bottle ever so slowly up out of the water— but not out of the water—so the upper half fills with smoke. Once it’s filled with smoke, take the lighter away from the pot. Now I’m gonna take the nozzle off of the top for you, so cover the opening immediately with your hand so the smoke doesn’t all escape.” She removed the nozzle, and I almost let all the smoke escape before finally slapping my hand over the top. My guide rolled her eyes and continued: “Here’s the tricky part—to really get the best hit, get on your knees, put your lips around the opening, and push the bottle back down into the water slowly so it forces the smoke into your mouth. Basically, it’s just like giving a blow job.”
With a description like that, I knew exactly what I had to do (and how). So I dropped onto my haunches, and instantly that familiar feeling of having my knees hard upon the wood floor came back. I placed my mouth around the base of the bottleneck and proceeded to give Mr. Canada Dry the best head he’s seen this side of Montreal. The smoke came softly into my mouth. Inhaling it all, never losing a drop, I let the hit expand my lungs, then sat back and looked up to see my friend, eyes wide, motionless, staring at me with new respect. I blew the smoke back out into the world via one long, continuous, solid-white ring and wiped my mouth off with the back of my hand. Fully blazed and extremely horny—a daily combo for me—I passed back the bottle to my gal pal, said my thanks and took off in search of a cute stoner boy holding a bag of Doritos (who hopefully had a spare set of geology homework up for grabs).