By Anon

This really happened.

I was kind of a stoner in high school. Ok, more like a king-sized pot head. Every morning I blazed it up before school, snuck a quick toke off-campus during lunch, and you know I got double early dismissal so me and my boys could puff that herb immediately at 1:30pm.

Despite my current advanced level, I wasn’t always such a weed expert. There was a time when someone got one over on this old weed hound. That someone being none other than infamous “pharma bad boy” Martin Shkreli. You may know him from his recent excursions in price-gouging AIDS medication, threatening Ghostface Killah, or rolling his eyes during his recent congressional hearing.

I know him from that time he sold me a gram of shwag for 45 bucks.

Full disclosure, this happened in 8th grade. Martin and I went to the same prep school in Brooklyn. He was a year older than me even though we were both in the same grade. That’s a secret, by the way. No one’s supposed to know he got held back. Most people didn’t even question it because he was really small for his age and had very slender arms. I guess everyone from his grade had gone off the high school and no one else knew him because he didn’t talk much. Martin was a loner — he had that emo haircut where you have to toss your head to the side every few seconds to get your hair out your face. Martin was always doing that. He always wore one of those belts with the studs and skinny jeans. I thought he was pretty weak until he caught me one day in the hallway and asked if I “got high.” I didn’t but I was definitely interested.

Martin told me he could get me some “super dro.” I said that sounded pretty good. “Preemo dank,” he called it. Definitely, I said. How much? 45 for a g, he says. I have no idea what these words mean, but at the risk of losing out on a hot deal that was going fast, took the offer. He gave me a smile that looked like Andy Serkis mid-rim job and slapped a ziplock bag lined with a smattering of brown stuff right there in the middle of the hall. I was shocked. I reached for my wallet. Martin slapped my hand playfully. He tells me to give him the cash after school at the park and he’ll show me how to spark up.

Long story short, Martin convinced me I was high and I gave him a month’s worth of allowance. In hindsight, I don’t feel too bad about being hoodwinked by a master manipulator. I just hope my story serves as warning to all those who may fall prey to this snake charmer’s charms.