Mad Cow Steakho
New Member
Get as creative as you want on this one.
I'd throw it down at my house up on the mountain, starting early enough in the morning to catch the sunrise. We'd have people laid out on the roof, the balconies, soft beanbag chairs and lounging on the couches and the fluffy alpaca wool rugs. I'd definitely have to have all of the 420times crew present, a few select friends and some special guests, namely Del and Supernatural. The front door would be a scene of chaos with an endless caravan of deliverymen and catered food. I'd also have two gigantic Char-Broils on the back porch grilling some fat ass steaks and three hired chefs in the kitchen making everything from pasta and pizza to duck and lamb. The green would be so plentiful, it would look like a bud blizzard jsut ripped through the house. I'd have spice racks filled with different samples of rare strains, a few Lazy Susans with ounces of bud stockpiled in heaps. There'd be 50 or so different strains from White Lightning to Kali Mist to Bubbleberry to Jack Herer, Indicas and Sativas of every different combination, even a tub with 3+ pounds of fungus for anyone who felt like it. Then the smokingware. There would be a pile of Royal Blunts, White Owls and Phillies stacked to the celing. There'd be more glass than the warehouse of a window company. Sidecars, Spoons, Bubblers, Chillums, Hammers, Sherlocks, bongs ranging from 2 to 20 feet, beautiful 4-hosed hookahs scattered across the room like vines and a few wicked vaporizers stacked in a corner of the room. There'd be an entertainment center like none other in another room of the house, with game systems, DVDs, surround sound and cable, and my 750 CD collection.
Another room lower down in the house would be darkened out, with trippy ass artwork hanging from floor to celing and mood lighting and crazy ass knicknacks from lighting generators to lava lamps to ultraviolet lights placed all around the room.
I'd throw it down at my house up on the mountain, starting early enough in the morning to catch the sunrise. We'd have people laid out on the roof, the balconies, soft beanbag chairs and lounging on the couches and the fluffy alpaca wool rugs. I'd definitely have to have all of the 420times crew present, a few select friends and some special guests, namely Del and Supernatural. The front door would be a scene of chaos with an endless caravan of deliverymen and catered food. I'd also have two gigantic Char-Broils on the back porch grilling some fat ass steaks and three hired chefs in the kitchen making everything from pasta and pizza to duck and lamb. The green would be so plentiful, it would look like a bud blizzard jsut ripped through the house. I'd have spice racks filled with different samples of rare strains, a few Lazy Susans with ounces of bud stockpiled in heaps. There'd be 50 or so different strains from White Lightning to Kali Mist to Bubbleberry to Jack Herer, Indicas and Sativas of every different combination, even a tub with 3+ pounds of fungus for anyone who felt like it. Then the smokingware. There would be a pile of Royal Blunts, White Owls and Phillies stacked to the celing. There'd be more glass than the warehouse of a window company. Sidecars, Spoons, Bubblers, Chillums, Hammers, Sherlocks, bongs ranging from 2 to 20 feet, beautiful 4-hosed hookahs scattered across the room like vines and a few wicked vaporizers stacked in a corner of the room. There'd be an entertainment center like none other in another room of the house, with game systems, DVDs, surround sound and cable, and my 750 CD collection.
Another room lower down in the house would be darkened out, with trippy ass artwork hanging from floor to celing and mood lighting and crazy ass knicknacks from lighting generators to lava lamps to ultraviolet lights placed all around the room.