The story of N Cubed Pipes began a long time ago, back in 1977, when I was a college student living with 5 other guys in a run-down house in Flagstaff, Arizona. We called the place the Chicken Shack. One fine day, I stopped in the living room and took a long look at some Texas Longhorns mounted on my wall. It was just a decoration, but I thought to myself, Man, that would make a great bong.

Off the wall came the horns, and I began to experiment. My friends were fans of the idea, and soon I was creating horn pipes for them—pipes that were not only unique works of art, but completely functional, easy to clean, and smooth to smoke.

At the beginning, those pipes were for friends only. Then word got around, and other people began to ask for pipes of their own. After graduation, in a slow work market, I decided to make my bong hobby into a business. Head shops in Phoenix, San Diego, Beverly Hills, and Las Vegas all clamored for the pipes. Demand was steady. But responsibility catches up with us all, and the pipe production had to take a backseat to a more predictable paycheck.

45 years went by. For a long time, all that remained of the pipe business were my memories and a photo of me holding one for display in an Old West-themed picture. Then, in 2022, a friend from the old days brought up those pipes again.

“Neil, remember those steerhorn pipes you used to make? Wonder if anyone makes ‘em nowadays.”

As it turned out, no one makes them like I do.

The pipes I create are all unique, as no two horns are alike. The bases are made from exotic woods. Every ingredient in the process is ethically sourced from Texas Longhorns, USA steer horns, and horns from Indian oxen. The horns’ interiors are coated with three layers of food-safe and heat-resistant epoxy, and the glass downstem and bowl are removable for easy cleaning. On top of that, these horns are nearly indestructible—you don’t have to worry about knocking over your delicate glass pipes anymore!

These are pipes with history and a sense of community, made with love by Neil Nathan Nepsky in Flagstaff, Arizona—the same place where the journey began back in 1977.