I Sold Marijuana to Mr. T

Barry woke up tied to the rafters of a giant igloo. A penguin with five dicks was getting a manicure in front of him. Another penguin walked in with a wingfull of bamboo spikes and a small cage. It set the cage in front of Barry and then left the room. The first penguin pulled a joystick out from under his bean bag. It started to manipulate the controls. A small robot crawled out from the cage and walked toward Barry. The robot looked somewhat like a praying mantis covered with fur. It sprung up on Barry’s shoulder and started poking in his ear. Something small and noodle-like wormed around inside Barry’s brain.
After a minute Barry saw a flash and then his hearing changed. The penguin with five dicks started talking to him about being short changed in a business deal and how dealing with deadbeat penguins is one of the worst things imaginable.
“I had to take a flamethrower to get the lazy deadbeats out of there,” said the penguin. “Anyfuk, you’re probably wondering why we brought you here.”
“I want my liver back,” said Barry.
“I’m not sure what you’re referring to. But if you perform the task we have in mind for you, you will be a very rich man Mr. White.”
“My name is not Mr. White. And what makes you think I would do anything for you?”
“Well unless you want your cornhole sawed out by my favorite robot, I would suggest you comply with our requests.”
“You have me there. What then would you like me to do?”
“Ice. It has been brought to our attention that you can cook up a pretty mean batch of meth. We’ve got the glass and the ingredients. We need you to cook it.”
“What the fuk? Only thing I know about meth is how to smoke or snort it. I’ve never even shot it.”
“Yes. Anyfuk, we have all the supplies including a huge shipment of pseudoephedrine that crashed into an iceberg.”
“Alright. I’ll supervise it but then I go home with my cash. How much are we talking?”
“Three hundred thousand dollars,” said the penguin. The microscopic she-males giving him a manicure gasped in disbelief.
“Fine. Now can you let me out of this shit?”
The penguin pressed a button. Barry dropped to the floor.
After a huge meal of corned beef hash and crab juice Barry went to examine the laboratory. Everything was there. Iodine, red phosphorous, pseudoephedrine, everything. Luckily along with the supplies was the Dummies Guide to Industrial Meth Production.
Barry got to work right away but soon tired out due to his missing liver. He flipped a secret compartment in his shoe heel and pulled out a curled up joint. The penguin assisting him whipped out a small torch and lit the joint. Barry took a lungful and then passed it to the penguin. It inhaled the grass and smiled.
“It’s good eh?” said Barry.
“Sure as fuk,” said the penguin. “I feel like I could stop a coal train.”
“Just wait till I get this meth going. You’ll actually be able to stop one.”
But that never happened. As soon as the penguin was high enough, Barry ran out of the igloo to the landing pad. An alien with two blue heads was fueling up his space trawler. Barry poked a sharpened shoe horn into his neck and hijacked the trawler.
Within five hours Barry was back at his house. He slid the top off of his coffee table to get to his super rolling board. There were fifty two different blends of weed categorized by THC potency. Barry rolled a joint the size of a baseball bat and relaxed on his couch. He flipped the TV on. The A-Team had just started.

  • By Drake VonChesterpoon, June 2, 2005 @ 1:02 pm

    Fucking deadbeats. Can’t wait till the bankrupcy bill passes and a bunch of cops with rubber wolf dicks clear out the dignity village and launch all the winos into outer space!

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