The Center Post

First off, I want to be granted immunity. Im not sayin shit till the DA brings me a deal. Fuck your contingencies, full fucking immunity or I dont say shit, whats it gonna be copper? Thats better, so like I says, Im somewhat of a notorious middleman. Whenever Im smokin a joint, blunt or whathaveyou with buddies, I try to take a central location and hit that shit every time it passes through. If I am punished after being caught and relegated to the end of the line, Ill camp out down there until someone physically removes the roach from my hand. Shit might as well let me set up a tent and take it down by my lonesome if you bitches are too stoned to recognize you’ve been had. All of these tactics, while juvenille, are downright effective and I have no qualms telling you that Ill attempt them everytime I sneak my way into your smoking circle. That said, last night I stumbled upon some advanced shit that utilized my knowledge of psychology and mathmatics to generate the most masterful smoke screen ever undertaken. Everything just fell into place for me dude, couldnt do it again if I tried, but everything fucking fell into place.
So last night round 2 in the AM, my council of degenerates was meeting to discuss our third viewing of last sunday’s Sopranos. I was seated at my computer trying to research whether it really was Micheal Imperiolli punchin Lauren Becall in the head or if it was suppossed to be his buddy, and it was this seating location which gave me position on everyone else involved in the puff puff pass. Seated behind me, at about 6 o’clock on your radio dial, was my buddy Moosy McGoldenudder fresh off some online losses, looking for his docent Floyd to finish rolling that fucking joint so we could take it down. Floyd was sitting at 10 o’clock, and my buddy Scalley’s chick who we will call Rockstar Riggins was sitting on the couch at two O’clock. Do the fucking math dude, that is a perfect triangulation of 120 degrees between each participant with me serving as the fucking center post. Even if you could treat pi as a constant, it would be nearly impossible for you to place these potheads at such a beneficial arrangement to yours truly. You see, despite my short T-Rex arms, I was still the only one who could pass between anyone else. They had all hit the bong in preperation for the joint, and were in no condition to have to arise in order to pass or be passed the smoking gun. The center post dude, fucking dominant.
So what did I do? I exploited it, thats what. Any public official worth his shit takes bribes, and any center post worth his shit takes triple hits. The rotation shaped up like this: Floyd, Moulton, McGoldenudder, Moulton, Rockstar, Moulton, Floyd, Moulton…and wasnt no one could say shit abouts it. As the paper started to burn the remains down to a nub, I finally got called out by Moosy for the domination that had thus unfolded and rather than grant him the rights to even hits that he deserved, I announced to the room that he was now cut from the preceedings. I further announced that I would be taking his spot in the rotation, and that anyone else wishing to voice their displeasure with my leadership would also be cut. I then openly revealed the new rotation to my audience “It goes Floyd, Moulton, Moulton, Moulton, Rockstar, Moulton, Floyd, Moulton, Moulton, Moulton, Rockstar…” and their shits thought I was joking. When ms. Riggins spoke up and said she was done for, we might as well cut her out, I again revised my assesment “Check that, now its Floyd, Moulton, Moulton, Moulton, Moulton, Moulton, Floyd, Moulton, Moulton…” Moosy had endured enough in his estimation, so he lunged at our orange mouthed warrior, as I pulled it from his reach. I quickly passed it to Floyd who was well out of this sedentary creatures range, and told Floyd to take the rest down by himself. This only further enraged Moosy.
Moosy – “Duuuuuuuuuude, Floyd seriously. Give me a hit, this is bullshit.”
Moulton – “Dont you dare follow that order soldier. You give that man but one puff, and you will be cut off for the rest of the evening, I guaran-fucking-tee it. Dont you dare follow that order soldier.”
Moosy – “Come on dude. Dont be ridiculous, let me get a hit already.” Moulton – “Dont fucking do it dude.” Moosy(turning to directly address Floyd) – “Come on dude, seriously. You know I wouldnt fuck you over like that.”
Floyd(with a pained look rivaling a knicks fan checking a box score) – “Yeah man, Im in a tough spot here. I think I got to take it down.”
With that he proceeded to take giant hits and blow them in Moosy’s grillpiece as I cackled in the backround. You think Floyd is a man cant be bought? He would sell out his own brother for an egg salad sandwich if given enough pot beforehand. Having thus won the battle, I decided to give up on the war and packed up bongload after bongload for my guests. I bought this new plastic shit for fourteen bucks the other day that is bright pink and has both a mouth piece and base that are unreasonably wide. Upon seeing it in the store I knew it would be mine, and immediately began calling it “The pot bellied pig”. When it first appeared in his homestead, my roommate Russell declared “thats literally the ugliest thing I have ever seen.” To sumarize everything thats been said here today, its pretty fucking good to be Moulton.

The Center Post

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