Smoking hookah is a wonderful social activity that is also cough cough cough cough cough cough cough cough cough cough very soothing. Granted, so is ingesting bear tranquilizer, but hookah is arguably better.
One reason is that a hot babe may accompany you for hookah smoking. Whereas a girl would never in a billion jillion years ingest bear tranquilizer with you, unless you were Anthony Kiedis or one of his bandmates or relatives. Otherwise, you would probably have to trick her into it, because she is one smart cookie. She would probably ask annoying questions, such as "What is this stuff?" and "It's not bear tranquilizer, is it?"
But a hot babe and I were in the Valley, a world known not only for its staggering pornography output, but also its immaculate moral standard. In fact, if you exclude the delinquent areas of the Valley such as Reseda, Van Nuys, Canoga Park, Encino, North Hollywood, Tarzana, Studio City, indoors, and outdoors, drugs are virtually nonexistent.
Options cut short, we went to a hidden spot (name: "the Spot") which turned out to be the largest haze-saturated tent in a shopping center I had ever seen. You could fit probably ten or fifteen tranquilized bears inside it before the first one died of smoke asphyxiation. But up until then, it is worth noting, the bears would feel roughly at home because of the glowing electronic displays of almost-realistic nature scenes hanging on the plastic walls.
A nice waitress with a comparably nice nose job brought us Persian tea, then crunchy rice (why not?), a lime monstrosity, and finally a hookah. There was much rejoicing, much puffing, and much perceived spinning. Sepi and I ended up smoking an amount which was at least a metric ass-ton, but still probably slightly less than the annual harvest of America's tobacco crops.
I like to think the first ancient hookah smokers would be proud, had they not died of throat cancer in 1998. The first hookahs recognizable to modern eyes emerged in Turkey, where they were called nargilehs (pronounced "hookahs"). Smoking cafes became commonplace and hookahs (pronounced "nargilehs") quickly spread throughout the eastern continents.
Before long, the ancients had an idea: By mixing fruit-flavored sugar syrup into the tobacco, they would not only expand hookah smoking to include American high school students 400 years in the future, but also - this is still seen as a monumental achievement - the smoke would still taste like burning armpit.
Perhaps I am unduly exaggerating towards the negative. To be truthful, the potential for mixing flavors is quite novel. For example, you can combine apple with even more apple to create "apple smushed between sweaty thighs," or indiscriminately toss in a slew of flavors the same way you used Crayolas to produce the color "barf."
But it is improper to complain about smoking hookah. It is a well loved tradition that successfully attempts to keep one grounded and calm, and by God, whether it tastes like harsh ass, stinks up your hair or chars your lungs a bit and causes cancer, you are going to CHILL.
Unless you forgot to tranquilize the bears.