It’s been over a decade since I filmed WeedMasters III: Power Stoned. Recently I found some slides of the filming and had them scanned. Here is one of them. That’s me in the back with a 300 dollar video camera documenting the behind the scenes. The battery only lasted for fifteen minutes so all I got was on the Speefnarkle Collection DVD in the extras section. WeedMasters remains to this day a proud moment in my life. I spent 500 dollars on film and three thousand dollars on weed.
Today I am still running the same course. Struggling to make a dollar and a cent with my creativity. Right now I’m ball deep in finishing up Invasin Ferm Plant C which I think is gonna be the breakthrough film.
I drank a shatfuk of Miller Low Life tonight and have been on a creative streak for about a week. I have barely slept. Daft Punk’s “Fresh” has been on repeat for a while and I’ve been juiced. I’ve been smoking for two cause my better half and I are gonna stew up a clone pretty soon. If you’re sizzling chork, inhale a couple more lungfulls for the Gipper.
Rip Farts Not War,
Henry waited until she got into her car. She was pretty for her age, though that wasn’t Henry’s main motivation. He was attracted to her because of her money. She grew up in the house behind him, though then had never officially met until that night. As she pulled out of the parking lot, Henry started pedaling his bike. When she was at just the right spot, Henry crashed on his bike right in front of her.
“Holy shitfire!” Henry yelled and started kicking his bike tire. “You fukin slimy piece of goddam shitfuck piece of crapdick firetit fukpile of shit. I should throw you off a cliff and shoot you.”
“Are you alright?” she asked.
“Yeah. This fukin bike is always pulling stunts like this. I have never seen such a stubborn piece of scrap metal. Well its gonna take three hours to get home now.”
“Where do you live?”
“Really far, do you know where the Jenkins farm is?”
“You live out there?”
“Farther. I’ll call my cousin. Hopefully he’s not jacked up on hornet killer.”
“Let me give you a ride home.”
“Are you sure, its pretty far. That would be fukin tits if you did.”
“What do you mean tits?”
“It means good. Dandy. Swell. Keen. Sporting. Speaking of which I’m sporting a rig right now.”
“You guys with your slang. Put the bike in the trunk, I’ll give you a ride.”
“Thank you. I’ll never forget this act of kindness.” Henry heaved the bike into the trunk and stepped into the vehicle.
They drove for a while and then she stopped the car.
“What’s the matter.”
“I just remember where I saw you,” she said.
“What do you mean.”
“Don’t you live behind me? Aren’t you Parkey’s brother?”
“Aren’t you the one that used to spy on me when I was skinny dipping with the soccer team.”
“Aren’t you the kid that used to yell ‘I’m gonna cornhole you Mrs. Heatrix’ over the fence while you flung dog turds into my pool.”
“So what are we really doing?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well are you gonna try to cornhole me?”
“I can’t believe you asked me that.”
“It seems like a legitimate question since I don’t think you live all the way out here.”
“Just take me home would you. I’m another fifteen miles up the road unless you want to let me out here.”
“Now hold on. This was just getting interesting. Listen Henry, have you ever smoked cannabis?”
“You mean marijuana right? Of course, I power at least twelve bongloads every day.”
“Do you know how to roll blunts?”
“I don’t smoke a lot of joints or blunts but I have rolled them.”
“Why don’t you roll one up and we’ll hot box this thing.”
“I really should get home.”
“What are you afraid of? Looks like your better half is interested.” She pointed down to Henry’s weasel.
“Oh Senior Lorax. He’s just got nervous energy.”
“Well Senior Lorax, you gonna let your buddy here chicken out?”
Senior Lorax pushed his way out of Henry’s pants and jumped onto the dash board. Mrs. Heatrix passed it a lit cigarette. Henry rolled up a blunt and sparked it up.
“Jeezus. What’s in this grass?”
“You mean from a nuclear power plant?”
“Yeah my family owns a couple of them,” she said.
“Tits. I mean it tastes good. I heard you get a headache from..”
“From nuclear waste? No. Its perfectly harmless. Gives you that mellow buzz that you’re feeling.”
“I’m not feeling any mellow buzz.”
“You fukin pussy,” said Henry’s dick, “YOU FUKIN PUSSY!” Then it started laughing.
“Theres no need to laugh youngster,” she said “Henry’s just going through a little mental adjustment. Henry pass the blunt please.”
Henry passed the blunt over to her and she passed it to Senior Lorax. “After you.”
Senior Lorax took one puff, went limp, and fell onto the floor.
Mrs. Heatrix slowly unbuttoned her blouse and pulled off her bra. “Hows this Henry?”
Henry stared at her left nipple. “I can’t complain.”
“Is the cannabis affecting you yet?” She pulled her tits out of their socket and attached them to the cieling.
“Yeah, that nuclear waste really makes me mellow.”
“I knew you’d like it. Everyone that tries is loves it. Now shall we get down to business?”
“What business is that?”
“Who said anything about cornholin’. I just want to get home.”
“Henry, we both know thats not why you’re here.” She unbuttoned her pants and slid them off her ankles.
“I know Henry. I feel the same way. You must get awful lonely all the way out here.”
“I don’t really live out here. I was gonna take you to this grain silo and seduce you.”
“Thats an awfully bland word for cornholin’” Mrs. Heatrix reached down between her legs and pulled out her vagina and threw it into the back seat. She motioned to Henry.
“What, you want me to get back there?”
“No stupid, the Lorax.”
“My dick. No way. I don’t know where that things been,” said Henry.
“Fine.” Mrs. Heatrix grabbed Senior Lorax off the ground and threw it into the back seat. It perked to life with a subsonic hum. “Senior Lorax, meet Carlotta. Show him who’s boss Carlotta.”
The viagina started popping up and down on the bearskin seat cover. The wang started climbing up to the headrest.
“Wait.” Mrs. Heatrix pulled her butthole out and placed it on the rear speaker. She put in her Falco tape and turned up the bass. The butthole started spinning and jumped down next to the vagina. The wang made it onto the headrest and then began to pulsate with the music.
“Thats enough,” said Henry, “If you want to humiliate yourself, you go ahead, but I’m not gonna watch this circus.”
“Harry, don’t be such a spoil sport,” said Mrs. Heatrix.
The wang took a big breath and jumped off the headrest toward the vagina. This pissed off the butthole. It pulled out a dart gun and shot three darts into the dickhead. The vagina slid down into the seat crack and crawled into the trunk.
Henry grabbed his dick and threw the darts out the window. He put it back in his pants. “Can we go now?”
It was a powerful feeling. J.C. had never killed another human being before. He crouched over the body and ran his hands through the blood. He smeared a little bit on the guys face and then stood up.
“Let that be a lesson to you. Next time you or your brothers try to steal my chickens, you best be armed,” he said and walked away.
The body laid there for a week before J.C. came back and buried it under the chicken coop.
The real estate appraiser came back into the house and told J.C. the good news. The house was worth a shitload should he decide to put it on the market. In fact at the rate they are building in the area, the place could probably be sold within a couple days. J.C. asked if he should clean it up and repaint it. The appraiser said not to bother. It had a real old-farmhouse charm.
Ten days later the house was sold and J.C. was moving out. He had packed everything into a rented moving van. After he put his chickens in the passenger seat he remembered the body. He turned to his favorite chicken.
“What do you think Jarvis?” he said.
“About the body? It will be fine,” said the chicken, “I made sure to crap on it every other day.”
“Thanks buddy, you’re always looking out for me. Remind me to put a couple of crack rocks in your feed tomorrow.”
“I could actually use a couple right now, if you don’t mind. Its a pretty long ride.”
“You need a puff, brother?”
“Does an elf have three dicks?” said the chicken.
J.C. loaded up his crack pipe with his last rocks. The chicken powered them down and passed the pipe back. J.C. finished it up and then hid it under the seat.
“Remind me to stop by Hank before we get on the freeway,” said J.C.
“Are you kidding. As soon as this buzz wears off I’m gonna be fiending.”
They backed up out of the driveway and J.C. hit the gas.
The next morning Smitty and Janice moved in.
“I love it Smitty!” yelled Janice. “It’s everything we always talked about. I’m gonna paint the shed, we can grow marijuana in there. I’m gonna plant a garden too. What do you think about growing lavender? Where is the nearest home improvement center?”
“One thing at a time hon. We got a bit of cleaning up to do still. Why don’t we invite your brother and his wife over for dinner and they can help us unpack.”
“That sack of turds,” said Janice, “I don’t want him over here yet. Not until I take inventory of what we have.”
“You honestly think he’s gonna steal our stuff?”
“He’s done it before.”
“That’s when you were kids. He’s probably grown out of that by now.”
“What about when he stole your speakers.”
“He didn’t steal my speakers, he took the cones out and switched them with his shitty ones. He put them back.”
“Whatever, that’s still stealing.”
“Yeah you’re right. Forget it. I want to check this place out again. I only saw it once when the realtor was with me.”
They walked out into the backyard.
“A chicken coop. How cool,” said Janice.
“Yeah. Fresh eggs every day. What do you think about that.”
“I think we’ll get sick of them.”
“We can give them to the neighbors, or we can throw them at the skunks.”
“Thats funny Smitty.”
“You want to make love in the chicken coop?” said Smitty.
“Hell no, that thing is unclean.”
“You’ve never wanted to make love in the hay? An old fashioned roll in the hay like in the movies.”
“No, but I’ll go for it in the daisies.”
Smitty and Janice cornholed in the flowers until the sun went down. They returned to the house and cleaned the kitchen. Janice cleaned behind the refrigerator. She found a scrap of paper with a checklist on it.
1) Break down ML
2) Body under coop
3) Guns in attic
4) Finish ticket
Smitty walked over to check it out.
“What’s that? It looks like a list.”
“Yeah what do you think ML is?”
“Body under coop doesn’t sound too healthy,” said Smitty.
“What do you think we should do?”
“It could be nothing. I’ll check it out in the morning.”
“Smitty. I don’t like this. Who lived here?”
“I don’t know? Some hick I’m guessing.”
“OK. Some small town person. They all have guns. It may be a dog that he buried or something. These people are real sentimental about their pets.”
“Lets go look.”
“Are you out of your mind?”
“It’s our house now.”
“Fine. Where did we pack the flashlight?”
“Get the one in the trunk.”
Smitty went out to the car and pulled out the flashlight and the tire iron. He went back into the house.
“Unpack one of the big kitchen knives,” he said. Janice pulled out the boner and they walked out the back door.
They unlocked the coop and there was a man’s head sitting in one of the chicken nests.
“Oh excuse me,” it said, “do you know where my friends have gone?”
Janice screamed and threw the knife at the head. It stuck into its ear.
“God damn lady! Can’t a guy ask a simple question?”
“What the fuk are you doing in my chicken coop?” said Smitty.
“Trying to get laid, what does it look like?” said the head.
Billy Joe Pooloafer was probably the last guy I expected to see climbing off my wife. Our breakup had started some five years ago. I remember the exact moment, I was headed out of town on a business trip. If you’ve ever had people come to your door to sell you magazines, thats called a mag crew. I ran one of those. I would recruit homeless people, kids who had run away, people with no hope left, anyone who couldn’t get a normal job. I’d drive them to different towns in a huge old school bus that was supplied by my boss. I won’t tell you his name, only that he and half his entourage had been driven out of the country over ten years ago. Currrently he lives in Uruguay on a giant plantation. Anyway, I was leaving to take the mag crew out the next morning so that night I made my wife a nice dinner of breaded chicken and a double size bottle of wine. We drank and mowed through the chicken and then started frolicking on the stove. We turned the burner to low and we were kissing and then I ripped a fart accidentally. She stopped kissing me and started gagging. Earlier that day I had eaten a ton of wasabi peas and a bunch of unripe nectarines. She ran over to the sliding door and opened it to breathe fresh air. When she was done I was laying on the couch with my underwear off. She looked at me with disgust and told me to take a shower and not to forget to shove the soap up my ass. I went to my computer instead and whacked it to some downloaded porno.
We didn’t speak to each other for the rest on the night. In the morning when I was ready to leave she finally said something. “I may or may not be here when you get back.” Well that was some quick thinking I told her and I left.
That night I tried to call her from the road and just got a busy signal. I took it as a sign that we were not on speaking terms so I hit the bar with some of my crew and we kept drinking and drinking. I heard later that I passed out under the pool table. My workers had carried me back to the bus on their shoulders and hosed the puke off my clothes.
The next morning I tried to call again and she answered.
“Jacob, its fuking six thirty in the morning,” she said.
“Baby, first thing, I wanted to apologize for ripping that fart.”
“No you’re not, you were laughing.”
“I wasn’t laughing. I was shaking in embarrassment. Anyway, it’s past. I can’t wait to get back home and see you. You’ll still be there right?”
“Yeah. I’ll be here. We’re gonna have some talking to do though.”
“I know. I’m gonna try and change, its just hanging around with all these losers all day effects me.”
“I’ll see you when you get home. I’m gonna get back to sleep.”
“OK. Bye Snookums.” I hung up the phone and took a swig of menudo smoothee. We had a real good pull that day. A couple people from the crew never returned though. We headed to the next town the following morning.
On our fifth night I took everyone out to dinner at Fuckys Beer & Tits. I had the pelted vartsteak and a huge mug of Fire Piss. One of the crew, Helga, started playing footsies with me. I kept pushing her foot away until she took her shoes off and rubbed my inner thigh. Well I got a little excited an pulled out my pud. She pulled off her stocking and started caressing my wang. I kept drinking and eating and then I busted a nut covering the entire underside of the table. I stuffed the general back in and ran to the bathroom. I heard screaming and clanging iron back in the dining room and when I came out there were three dudes in chain mail armor with swords and crossbows fighting back a huge chlorine smelling white slime. I put a hundred on the cash register and we took off back to the KOA.
The next morning we headed back home. I dropped the winos off with their earnings at the liquor distributors. The junkies got out at the alley behind Safeway. And then Helga and I stopped by the river for some brisk skinny dipping. We replayed the previous night but this time I only felt guilty. I stopped early and told her that it wasn’t right. She got pissed and pulled out a bike chain and started swinging it at me. I grabbed it and ripped it away from her. Her hands were bleeding so I covered them with petroleum jelly and wrapped them with galvanized fencing. She apologized and I dropped her off in front of her uncle’s.
I drove back home rehearsing what I was gonna say to my wife. I didn’t want to apologize anymore. What I wanted to do came straight from that movie with Mikhail Douglas where he opens the door and the girl throws herself at him and he tears her clothes off and she tears his clothes off and they cornhole till the cows come home. It didn’t happen quite like that. When I broke the door down with my dong she was there alright, but she was already partially nude waiting for me. Or so I thought. I ran over and jumped on her. But while I was in mid air a band of gypsies emerged from behind the door and grabbed me and stapled me to the ceiling. My wife was stapled to the floor with a kiwi fruit in her mouth and a celery stick out her ass. The leader of the gypsys pulled his mask off and he had three ears.
“This is your lucky day, Mr. Krevoks. Your wife and I were just talking about you. Now if you’d kindly give us the combination to her chastity belt we’ll be going.”
Water Hawk. In days of yore and times of pain there lived a giant with a taste for freezer eagle. He woke every morning and pillaged the townsfolk. He pawned off half the shit he scored and then hid the rest in frog holes on the hill behind his house. Every day at noon he visited his smoking chamber and studied his rituals. This giant was a learning machine. He could process information at a rate ten thousand times the average mammal. He had fifty brains placed at strategic locations throughout his body. They were backed up by a cellular RAID system. If brain cells from one brain were destroyed by some ditch weed or poorly synthesized acid, there were already duplicate brain cells moving along the lymph stream to replace them. He read everything he could get his hands on. He inhaled the information like time was running out. In fact it was, and it still is. If you are reading this then you know what I am talking about. Do you ever feel like your life is just wearing down in fast motion? That’s because it is. We are all getting weaker. That’s because there are giants crapping upstream. The river of shit water that we consume on a daily basis is enough to stunt anyone’s development. But at the rate the shit is flowing into our systems now, we are getting weaker faster than we ever have in history. You are watching yourself sufficate in fart. You too feel the weight getting heavier. Its getting harder and harder to dig yourself out of that hole isn’t it? You know when you go to bed but you just sit there running escape plans in your head. Now when I walk into a room, I will know where every potential exit is. I will have plotted two or three escape plans including using my foldable grappling hook. If you’re looking for a real self-confidence builder then you too should carry the newest in grappling technology. This five prong beauty is built to last a life time but still maintains that timeless look that you’ll be proud to wear. Five billion ninjas can’t be wrong!
“You can take that scurvy dick and your sallow ass cheeks and skittle the fuck back into your shitty car and back to your shitty planet and drink all the beer you want. But on this planet we don’t do that shit in our buddies house.” I was pissed. Charlestone Hughlorf had taken my grandma out on a date earlier that evening. I had driven them to the jacuzzee parlor. When I went back to pick them up there were five police cars outside. I walked in and flashed my badge. What I saw would put anyone back on abstinence. This horndog had plowed the place to shreds. There were pecker holes smashed in everywhere. Supposedly his hip joint went haywire but I still think he’s on speedballs. He and my grandma were sitting in the back of the police car. I went up to the commanding officer and introduced myself. He released the prisoners to me and I drove them back home. Charlestone picked up his things and ran into the backyard and started fucking the garden. Then he grabbed our costco bagel pack and plowed his wang through all three rows. They were inedible now. By the time I finally got him back into the car, the entire garden was gored and he even aerated the new lawn, which, I guess, was a good thing.
Are you one of those paranoid druggees? Are you always checking out the window to see if the cops are ready to bust down your door? Have you ever found a bug hidden in your taxidermy? I have to sweep and pet down all my muskrats before I feel safe enough to pull out my fifteen chamber nitro cooled brain-pounder gravity bong. But when I spark up that first bowl then its all worth it. My mind will laugh. I’ll chuckle and then smile as I inhale the mean fukin weed. Then I’ll rip through a couple more bowls and then put my dick through the cieling and wait for the hookers to sit on it. One of the only benefits of living under a brothel. There are a few more but I won’t get into them here. Sometimes Larry will come over with some angel dust and we’ll make a mushroom angel dust smoothee. Have you ever had your brain freeze on PCP? Mine freezes on arrival. When I’m blasting a nut my brain will actually stop working. I’ll sit there frozen with a strange face and then wildlife will turn around and give me a look of total unsatisfaction. A few times, actually more times than I’d like to admit, I will be sitting there with nut face until my dong wilts. Then I’ll moonwalk across the ceiling and hit the toilet for a piss. It will fork and I’ll be trying to shake the split out. And if I’ve had my daily dose of prune drops I will sit down for a grogan. Sometimes I fart, sometimes not. I’ll be staring at the door to the bathroom grinning. Maybe I’ll float a couple logs and get back into bed. Then I’ll almost instantly fall asleep and then the wildlife will hit the trough. I’ll wake up and all my alfalfa will be mowed to shit. Eventually I’ve learned that its not a good idea to leave exposed grains in your bedroom. I guess thats why they have root cellars.
Anyone who can synthesize a feeling of power and confidence in a pair of ajax cans can share my enthusiasm for total clarity. A person who can honestly shove grapes into three pairs of wooden sox can surely appreciate my hankering for total unclouded ecstasy. Thats why I use Name Brand Products. I used to buy the generic shit. I wanted to save a buck or two. But I was never satisfied. I could barely walk down the street without something looking down their nose at me. It got to where anything with my name on it would make me depressed. I used to pound my head with a melon rind. I went to school in a cardboard box towed by a pack of balding midgets. When I burned out in the parking lot my box would catch on fire. I would have to ninja roll out of it onto the grass. I would be converted to veal loaf in the parking lot by the school bully. Then we’d both get suspended and have to sit in the detention room staring at naked women. Each isolation chamber had its own peep booth. I always had a couple logs of quarters in my back pack. I would pump wads onto the glass until my epidermis was shed like a snake skin. Then I’d lay back and fall asleep until the bell rang. You too can enjoy the greatest gift that your brain has awaiting your every move. And keep smoking those snowcone turbo blunts!
Young and single equals idiot. I am a complete super idiot. I am a fukin turbo drunk. I wake up on street corners or behind dumpsters at least three days a week. I work all week and then when Thursday comes, its time to get fuked up. I’ll start the evening off with a lid in my van at lunch time. I’ll walk in the office and everyone will caugh and look at me. I walk to my cubicle grinning to myself but keeping my cool on the outside. Then I pretend like I am doing work. Or pretend that I’m on the phone for official business. I’ll make one, maybe two sales and then I’m lost in my own world staring down at the phone or up at the cieling. I’ll reach up in there and scrape together some mouse droppings and then put them in my lip as a chaw. After a bit I’ll go to the bathroom and snort a line of frozen chimpanzee piss. Then I’ll head over to systems and see what my stats are. Then when the clock hits about 4:45 I’ll go back to my desk and make a couple more sales and then I’ll wait. When someone leaves I’ll say “leavin early today Phil? or whatever their name is.” It makes me look like an overachiever. Then I’ll wait a bit and then at 5:05 i’ll take off to the alleyway and score some hobo joints. The winos under the freeway make them. They are fukin tits. They make you so fukin high you want to reach up through your nose and massage your brain. Then when I’m coming down off of that I’ll hit the bar around the corner. I enter through the back. Harf usually passes me a shot of THC and Clamato. I’ll take a couple more to the darkest booth. Its in the corner by the vacuum. The middle seat reclines and I can put my legs on the table top. My kit is hidden in a false plate in the wall. I sawed it out once when everybody else was drunk. It was Saint Pattys day and I brought my cousin from Vulture Craps out. He was staying in town for a cannibal workshop. I was roasting on DMT when I picked him up at the launch station. He got in my van and the first thing the fuk hole said was “Rolk tovalsoe tojt camjdo.” I passed him my roach clip and he toked that and the next five snowcones down to ash and then speed bonged two bricks of hash. I immediately locked up my hards and tapped an aphid on the shoulder. Aphids have three speeds. My van had six.
We were sitting at the border waiting for the inspectors to check our luggage. I was wearing a lime green seer-sucker suit with a bear skin ascot. My wife was dressed tastefully in a mesh jumpsuit. The inspector waved us through and we sat down at our gate. I was getting pretty fukin hungry. We had been cake testing all day and the sugar had congealed into a stewing slop in my lower intestines. I asked my wife if she wanted anything. She said just an ice tea so I went looking for somewhere to grab something to-go.
I was walking into the food court when it caught my eye. It was in some sort of exhibition. There were a bunch of them but this one really stood out. I walked over to it and stared. It was made in 1947 by a club-foot wino. He had hand-crafted it out of particles while he was waiting for junk.
One of the security guards walked up next to me. “Its a fukin beauty huh?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Its the prize of the collection. Everybody comes up and stares.”
“I’ve never seen one like that.”
“Supposedly it was a pretty popular thing to do among the cheap wine and heroin addicts back then.”
“And you thought they were just a bunch of lazy dudes getting drunk and high.”
“Yeah theres some serious craftsmanship that goes into compressing them that tightly and a lot of heat too,” he said.
“Cool. What do you eat here when you eat here?”
“Shit. Stay away from the corn-based woodchuck sizzle.”
“Anything here that would settle my stomach?” I said.
“Probably not. You’d have to go over to concourse C for that. There’s a health and beauty store that has all sorts of shit.” And then the skid-blast shot out my cornhole and set off an alarm. The security guard got swept down the hall in my fart slick. He stood up and tried to run but he just slipped back down and started snacking on corn. I grabbed the piece and ran off into the parking lot. Nobody followed.