Bongloads With Unkle Chuk

I was powering down the bongloads at my Unkle Charlie’s last weekend. Unkle Chuk is the meanest weed smoker I have ever smoked against. He smokes weed at least ten hours straight every day. A lot of people say it has made him slow. But personally, I think it has just made him more patient.
He lives at the end of a cul-de-sac. His neighbor on one side is a corn dog vendor and on the other side is a bank robber. Like I said, I was powering down a couple bongloads in my Unkle’s garage and all of a sudden we hear this banging on the garage door. And then in a loud voice. “Open Up. Vice Squad.” Well, Unkle Chuk knows some pretty influential friends, so we just kept filling our lungs with THC.
A minute later the bank robber, Jerry, walks in the side door laughing his brains out and bleeding down his arm. He’s laughing cause he was the one banging on the garage door. The irony of Jerry, the galaxy’s biggest crack fiend, pretending to imitate a vice squad, keeping him in stitches. Then he scowled at our weed. “Why are you fucks smoking that crap? I got a couple crack rocks with your names on ’em.”
Well I’ve smoked my share of the earth’s crack supply, but just the thought of bugging out with Jerry on Gorbak 7 was enough to make me say “no thanks”. Unkle Chuk said the same.
And Jerry got pissed.
“Chuk you lousy stoner. How dare you look down on my crack habit. At least it’s a productive habit. The time it takes you to do one task. Give me a few crack rocks and I guarantee you I will complete that task in one fifth to one sixth the time. In the time it would take you to wash your car. I could probably wash all the cars on the landing strip. Provided my crack supply didn’t get wet.
“I may be slower than you, crack man. But I make sure I get the job done right the first time. Sometimes though I will space out and think about something stupid for what seems like a minute, but might be hours. Anyfuk, I will challenge you to a competition.”
?Ha. That you have the nerve to challenge me,? said Jerry loading a rock of super crack. Fsooooooooot. Jerry inhaled the rock with one huff. Caughed a little. ?Alright. We’re gonna put a little wager on this one to up the stakes. You name your competition.?
“We will each have to complete the same seven tasks. It is up to you to come up with each specific challenge.”
“You’re on buckwad. The seven tasks will be…”
Jerry the crack fiend thought short and hard. Then he announced the seven tasks. Seven tasks that he could do with his eyes closed if he needed to. ?Task one. Shave two oiled woodchucks. Task two. Mow four pints of chimpanzee turd. Task three. Task three. Oh yeah. Dice twenty buckets of merkin leather. Task four. Inflate twelve wino biscuits (rubbers). Task five. Throw seventy five bricks of corned beef into the neighbor’s pool. Six. Huff a half can of lighter fluid. Seven. Tow a moose across the freeway.?
I shot my musket into the ceiling and they were off.
Unkle Chuk was half way into his first woodchuck when Jerry called for a smoke break. Jerry whistled and his sisters peeped over the fence to cheer him on. Then Jerry hit his crack pipe. I just stared. Jerry went through the crack rocks like they were going extinct. He grabbed his woodchucks and shaved both of them at the same time. Unkle Chuk looked at me. He knew he was in serious trouble.
By the time my uncle finished with the woodchucks, Jerry was three quarters of the way through the chimp turd. Before Chuk even got to the merkins, Jerry was already well into the wino biscuits.
But Chuk kept on going. Holding a steady pace. Taking each task one at a time. 100% stoner focus. He looked deep into each challenge like only a stoner could.
When Jerry was done with the lighter fluid, he looked over and saw Chuk still struggling with the corned beef. He figured he had plenty of time, so he ordered a half rack of hookers from Super Brothel’s. Then he found a place to grab a smoke and work his abs.
Jerry started powering into the crack rocks like there was no tomorrow. And then the ladies arrived. Well, they tore Jerry up pretty good. By the time they left, Jerry had thrown his back out, dislocated his shoulder, herniated two of them, and slammed fourteen lids of rock.
When he finally got back to his last task, towing a moose across the freeway, he noticed that Unkle Chuk had almost finished. So Jerry heaved and huffed and torqued that fukin moose as fast as he could, weaving in and out of traffic.
And he caught up to the tortoise, I mean Unkle Chuk. And Jerry passed him up to win the challenge.
My Unkle didn’t really care though. He fired up his bong, sat back in his chair, popped open a Country Club and said, “Congratulations.” They had forgotten to put a wager on it anyway.

Unkle Chuk

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