In an effort to not kill himself or others after a long week, Max Paine swung by the dispensary to pick up a vape on the way home.

“The Penjamin is about the only thing keeping me sane lately,” Paine sighed. “I’ve been sucking on these bad boys like I owe them money.” 

But upon arriving home, he noticed something was off.

“Took a couple of blinkers, and it tasted like blood,” he said. “Of course, my first thought is oral cancer. But, after taking a couple of steps back from the edge of a mental breakdown, I looked at the pen, and there was a little fucking spider in there.” 

Though rightfully concerned, the fear of smoking the spidey vape was quickly replaced by the anxiety of having to return it to the store.

“Honestly, I’m going to be done with it by tomorrow at the rate I’ve been going through these things,” he explained. “And I would rather risk dying of spider venom than have to go through the whole fucking song and dance at the dispensary. The last time I started leaving before they gave me my change, and when they called me to come back, I left faster. No, I’ll roll the dice on accidentally entering the spider-verse.”