A Celebration

For those of you in the dark on this whole underground narcotics movement, the number four-twenty has a special place in the hearts of smokers. April being the fourth month and this being the twentieth day, in simpler times we would have sacrificed a goat or two, but now we just get piss stinkin high. There is some debate on the origin of the mystique, today alone I heard no less than three seperate versions. Its like the police code for marajuana, dude. Its like that verse in the bible where you plant seeds and grow plentiful, dude. Its like the time of day when all the kids are out of school gettin high while their parents are still at work, dude. The last option is by far my favorite, and I contend that the reason I still enjoy hitting the arbitrary colon seperated digits four and score is because I know at least a few degenerates like me are looking at the same readout and thinking, “duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuude, foooooooo twentaaaaaaaaaaaaay.” Its a commraderie thing. When my buddy Jeff and I were discussing this explanation, he had an epiphany. “Dude, it totally should have been four ten. Seriously dude, think about it. How key would those extra ten minutes have been? When you were in high school and your parents came home and you were freaking out, imagine how much easier it would have been with that extra ten minutes. They would have been crucial.” When I questioned the onslaught of the slippery slope down to three something, he was incredulous at my questioning and with as much forcefullness as he stressed the key nature of that ten minute head start, he denied the need for anything beyond said ten minutes. Nothing like celebrating the season with one of its own mascots.
I brought the shit in right last night, cruisin over to my boy Moosy McGoldenudders place and rollin up a blunt each for east coast four twenty(pacific time one twenty) and the real deal four twenty. Myself, Moosy, and his roommate floyd tore through the formidable fuming foe, as Moosy struggled through a fifty dollar buy in tourney on party poker. As a short stack on the bubble, he asked me how he should play it, and I told him gruffly “Just win the fucking thing and stop your crying, are you gonna hit this or not?” He did as told, and with the proper advice from an over his shoulder pundit, we took it the fuck down. First prize 44 hundo, and aint no stoppin us now. He had literally had zero dollars left in his account, and had to double up through a 22 dollar heads up game to scrape up the original tourney fee six minutes before it went off. Playing overly aggressive in the heads up shit, he admits “Dude, I sucked out like a motherfucker on that guy”. But lo and behold with the proper coaching, here we were updating his account two hours later with foty fo hundo starin back at us. I would say approximately 7% of the victory could be attributed to his play, 3% to floyds blunt rolling abilities, and 90% to my coaching directives.
To attone for his reliance on my strong intellect, Moosy agreed to pay me the sum of twenty dollars, or in other words he agreed to play me in a game of ping pong for twenty dollars. After wiping the floor with him, we prepared for the latter four twenty in style including the reemergance of the elusive choco taco. I hung out, unable to drive, until like six in the AM, before wandering home to pass out. So innodated was my system with plant culture that I awoke still stoned and after realizing the magnitude of the occassion, I stopped being angry at my alarm for going off at one in the PM and prepared instead for the second coming of east coast four twenty. From there I bounced around a few tutoring sessions, cut out on a couple others, and made my way to my buddy Scalleys BBQ.
To let you know the kind of crowd it was, even though one couple had brought their preschool age daughters, when I suggested rolling up a joint to take down while we grilled, daddy was the first to be in favor. We passed around sum total three bob marleys, and pretty soon we were all fucking done for. A couple burgers and a bratwurst later for yours truly and a discussion emerged which followed very closely the recollection I provide here. Participants names have been changed to reflect lead characters from the television series Married with Children, I will be played by the role of Bud Bundy:

Bud: Dude, how sweet would some smores be right now. I got some graham crackers back at the place, anybody got any leftover easter candy? Seriously dudes, a couple chocolate bunnies here, a couple peeps toasted on a stick and we’re in fucking bidness.
Al: Oh, dude, peeps. How good are fucking peeps?
Jefferson: Duuuuuuuuuude
Al: You gotta leave em out of like two days though, get them nice and crispy, they suck soft.
Jefferson: No fucking way, soft and sweet dude.
Bud: I see both sides of the argument, but have you ever melted them dude? Shits are incredible.
Al: How the fuck do you melt them?
Bud: I just microwave the shit, pour in some ice cream, blend it in and garnish with an additional peep.
Jefferson: Duuuuuuuuuuuude
Bud: I think peeps are the seasonal candy I most look forward to
Al: Candy corn dude
Bud: Get the fuck out of here, we’re talking about peeps and you’re saying candy corn? Get your fucking head out of your ass. Candy corn? Fucking candy corn? Im not sayin I wont eat the shit if it crosses my path, but Im not going out of my way to find it.
Jefferson: Its definitly either peeps or thanksgiving. Thanksgiving is pretty fucking good.
Al: That doesnt even make sense, thanksgiving is a meal not a seasonal candy.
Jefferson: Fucking yams dude?
Steve: You’re wrong, candy corn is good. I look forward to it.
Bud: What about those orange pumpkins, better or worse than candy corn?
Al: Candy Corn
Steve: Candy Corn
Marcy: Candy Corn
Bud: Incorrect however, the correct answer was pumpkin. Its just a solid mass of sugar, shits the shit.
Jefferson: What about that ice cream with like candy canes in it for christmas?
Al: What the fuck are you talking about dude?
Jefferson: You know, its got like crushed up candy canes in it and like ice cream, its fucking delecious.
Steve: What about girl scout cookies, do they count?
Griff: I think they have to. They only come around every so often.
Al: What do you go with though dude? Somoas?
Bud: Sometimes, aint nothing hits the spot like a couple thin mints.
Griff: What about the do ce do? Its like a peanut butter oreo.
Bud: Id rather have a tag along. More chocolate in the shit.
Jefferson: It would definitly be somoas if it wasnt for the coconut. I dont know why the fuck people put coconut in shit like that.
Bud: Damn straight, fucking mallo cups dude. You and I both know they should be the shit, but some fuck decided to get cute and throw some coconut in there that just throws the whole mixture off. You always want to give em a second try, peanut butter cup with marshmellow sounds fucking delicious, but every fucking chance you give is just another chance for it to suck again.
Griff: Mallo cups fucking suck.
Jefferson: All that shit sucks, almond joy, mounds, all of it. Fuck coconut.
Bud: If your gonna throw down coconut, you gotta at least go balls out, something like snowballs.
Griff: Snowballs fucking suck.
Steve: I would eat the shit out of some snowballs right now.
Al: I would down some snowballs with a full can of mountain dew.
Bud: Why not toss some pop rocks in there and full on declare war on your esophogus.
Al: I think pop rocks are illegal
Bud: Your saying they’re like slap bracelets? Couple kids slit their wrists and the fad is dead?
Jefferson: I think they were illegal, but then they came back but they werent the same. They had that stick you could suck on that looked like a foot.
Bud: Does anyone know what the fuck hes talking about? There was no stick in poprocks.
Jefferson: Im telling you dude, it looked like a foot and you like sucked on it while you threw in some poprocks.
Bud: Did the foot thing come out of the old man’s zipper who was giving you the poprocks?

This is the middle five minutes of approximately three hours. We went on to discuss a potential online casino bonus scam, who would win a heads up hold em match in their prime Stu Ungar or Amarillo Slim, and whether anyone could ever finished an entire meat pie from joes pizza by their lonesome. The meandering discussions surrounded the passing of joints, grilling of meats, and general malaise of a perfect thursday afternoon. This is our holiday dude, you got to cherish it.

A Celebration

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