"Epoxy"

Larry interrupted: "Ah, come on.  The stuff that Kerouac was smoking 
wouldn't approach the potency of a bottom leaf of this plant.  The best 
they had back then was low grade Mex.  But then again, maybe he smoked 
some early strains of the good shit."

Dave raised the waterpipe.  "Yeah, I guess.  Well, whatever works.  
Aren't we fortunate today to have considerate pioneers who, through 
careful selective breeding for potency, have blessed the earth with 
excellent weed !"

Dave took in a grandiose cloud.  With a clownlike grimace he held it in 
his lungs.

Larry motioned impatiently for Dave to pass the device.  "Well, I know 
one thing and that's... I'm high already."  Dave exhaled the spent air 
and added:

"Guess what ?"
"What ?"
"I'm glued to this chair."
"Huh."
"No -- you don't understand.  I'm GLUED to this chair."

Larry looked at the seat and indeed Dave was writhing in epoxy.  
Stunned, Larry leaned forward. "You're..."

"Told you..."
"...really glued there."

Dave sprang to his feet with the chair pivoting, balanced on his back, 
and as he contorted back and forth, the chair held on with a dogged 
barnacle furiosity and would not budge.

"Shit !  This isn't funny !"

The chair was in fact not moving and appeared almost as a natural 
outgrowth of Dave.

"Guess I'll have to sit down, then."  Dave resumed the appropriate 
position.  The chair was no longer wrestling a hold but was now an 
inanimate object.  When Larry focused on the Chair, it glanced back at 
him with a wooden coolness.  The epoxy was gone.