Up In Smoke

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Vol 37 Issue 28

ESL Textbook Concentrates On Food-Preparation Vocabulary

NEW YORK–An English as a Second Language textbook focuses predominantly on food-preparation vocabulary, night-school student Eduardo Reyes reported Monday. "I must admit, I would like to learn how to say more than, 'I have diced the onions,' and, 'Did he want scrambled or over-easy?'" said a disconsolate Reyes, speaking through a translator, following his first lesson. "I had hoped to learn words for the different parts of the body so I can pursue my dream of becoming a doctor. I have instead learned much about the grilling of chickens."

Candidate Turns To Focus Group For Position On Rape

RICHMOND, VA– Wanting to "feel out the popular attitude before committing to a position," Virginia House of Delegates candidate Mark Earley turned to focus-group analysis Monday to determine Virginians' stance on the hot-button issue of rape. "So far, results indicate that the state's residents skew heavily toward anti-rape," Earley said. "A good 99.9 percent of Virginians say they feel strongly that the state would be a better place if rape were reduced." Earley has not yet declared whether he will adopt a hardline anti-rape stance or take a more moderate position to avoid alienating the state's estimated 35 pro-rape voters.

Cuba To Buy Car

HAVANA–In a bid to bring its citizens greater independence, the nation of Cuba decided Tuesday to pool its resources and purchase a car. "We know of an '82 Buick Skylark in Haiti that we should be able to fix up and make usable," Cuban transportation minister Alvaro Perez Morales said. "Having a car will make it easier for our citizens to do everything from grocery shopping to commuting to work." Use of the car will be determined by lottery, with a winner chosen daily from the nation's pool of 11 million citizens.

I've Never Been So Accurately Insulted In All My Life

Well, you crossed the line, that's for sure. I've been insulted before, but until today, I'd never been attacked with such appalling accuracy. I cannot believe you had the gall to unleash that torrent of utterly valid criticisms. Vicious, founded attacks like yours cut deeper than any knife.

Celebrity Meltdowns

Mariah Carey, Ben Affleck, and Backstreet Boy A.J. McLean are among the celebrities to check into rehab after recent breakdowns. What do you think?

Peeping Tom Tired Of Watching People Watch Television

COLORADO SPRINGS, CO–Jonathan Hargrove, a Colorado Springs-area peeping Tom, expressed exasperation Tuesday, when a fifth consecutive victim did nothing more with her evening than watch hours of television. "I thought peering in on strangers would be more, I don't know, exciting," said the 44-year-old Hargrove, speaking from his hydrangea-bush hiding place. "I guess I somehow expected other people's lives to be more sexy or interesting than mine." Hargrove did note, however, that Big Brother 2 is "really starting to heat up."

Headline News' Makeover

Last week, CNN Headline News unveiled its much-hyped makeover, intended to lure younger viewers. Among the changes:
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Just Like Everything Else!: Fox 8 p.m. EDT/7 p.m. ABC Pete's wife is still on him about building that darn shed, these kids are going to be the death of Sheila and Dave, and the hot next-door neighbor is up in EVERYBODY'S business! Sunday nights on ABC couldn't be any more familiar!

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Up In Smoke

Hola, amigos. What say? I know it's been a long time since I rapped at ya, but I've had my balls to the wall lately, working an overnight shift at a convenience store.

Actually, it ain't all that bad, but I get pretty creeped out by all the cameras taping everything I do. One night, I started getting seriously hungry, so I grabbed a kippered ham stick and chowed down on that, then washed it down with a Mountain Dew. I'm telling you, that really hit the spot. The next day, though, when I showed up for work, there was a note from my manager, Mr. Dybzinski, taped to the register saying that I owed $2.21 for the food. That's all I need, having The Man watch my every move so he can bust my chops. I put the $2.21 in the drawer, then I flipped the video camera the bird. That oughta make Dybzinski think twice before he starts up with that shit again.

Also, I've been real on edge lately because I haven't smoked up for, like, five weeks. See, after my dealer went pussy and stopped selling, I've had a hard time locating any weed. I'm not even talking primo stuff here–I would have smoked the rankest ditchweed for a two-minute buzz. I guess it doesn't speak all that highly of my social circle if, between me, Wes, and Ron, we couldn't line anything up, but there ya go. That's the problem with being King Shit. The guys who follow you around can't think on their own, let alone score weed.

So, what did I do? What any reasonable man would when faced with a problem of this magnitude: I tried growing my own. Now, for whatever reason, Ron, though unable to score weed to save his life, had stashed away about a quarter-ounce of seeds he was saving for a special occasion. After spending half an hour doing everything short of sucking his pud, I was able to convince him to give me 12 seeds. He said it'd grow up to be the kindest bud I've ever smoked, and that I'd better share when it came down to it. No problemo, I replied.

I wasn't exactly sure how to grow it, since I've never had what you'd call a green thumb. They've got ads for all kinds of growing books in High Times, but there was no way I could wait four weeks for the books to show up in the mail. Besides, I was pretty sure I knew at least the basics. I knew I needed dirt. Water, too. So I filled up some old soup cans with dirt and the seeds, poured in some water, and watched the magic happen.

I started out just setting them on the window sill so they could get some light. Now, you're probably thinking that was a dangerous move, putting illegal shit like that out in public view, but no one can recognize a baby pot plant. Like human babies, baby plants all look alike. After a few weeks, though, you could sort of tell what kind of plants they were, so I decided I'd better move them to a less conspicuous spot. You better believe I didn't want any hassle from the pigs. Plus, I didn't want Ron coming over trying to mooch off of me like he always does. Whenever he asked, I just told him I hadn't gotten around to planting the seeds yet.

I looked around the house for a new spot and eventually settled on this closet. It had a bunch of crap in it, like a box of shitty old NES Nintendo games like "Duck Hunt" and "Bad Dudes," and a black-light poster of Jimi Hendrix that was waiting for a black light. I cleared that stuff out and set up shop.

From what I understood from this one High Times article I'd read, you need a special light to keep the plants healthy. I went out and got a light that was supposed to do the trick from a greenhouse. I think they had an idea what I was up to, because the old geezer at the register was giving me the business, asking me what I was growing. I just said strawberries, and he left it alone.

My future was riding on this project, so I did my best to do a good job: Every day, I'd turn the light on before going to work and turn it off when I got home. I also made sure the plants had plenty of water. After about three weeks, they'd gotten pretty tall. I wasn't sure how long I was supposed to wait, but I figured I'd waited long enough.

I cut the plants down and hung them up to dry on this clothesline thing I stretched across the living room, right above the TV. Then I popped a frosty MGD and sat down to enjoy the 4 p.m. showing of Cannonball Run II on TNT. But while I was sitting there, I kept getting distracted by that beautiful weed, which was practically begging to be smoked. Wanting to hurry up the drying process, I put the plants in the oven and fired it up. I checked on them after 10 minutes, but they still didn't seem ready. I drank a few beers and returned to watching TV, excited by the thought of the sweet, Cannonball Run-enhancing bud I'd soon be enjoying.

The next thing I knew, I was awakened by the sound of my smoke alarm going off. I started to freak out, not knowing where the smoke was coming from. Then, once I figured out where it was coming from, I freaked out even more.

I ran over to the stove and turned it off as fast as I could, but it was too late. I opened the stove, and a bunch of smoke came pouring out from the charred stalks. Thinking quickly, I sucked up as much of the smoke as I could. I think I caught a buzz off it, but it could have just been from lack of oxygen.

Man, was I pissed! From the smell of it, it was pretty good stuff, and now I was gonna have to wait another month and a half to grow more. There was no way I was going to be able to make it. On top of that, Ron came over and was totally convinced I was holding out on him because the whole apartment reeked of pot. Then he shoved me and said he wouldn't give me any more of his seeds.

As hard as I'm jonesin', though, this current dry spell ain't without its upside. Ron is pissed at me, which means I get a week or so away from him and his damn bitching. And the lack of a buzz hasn't hurt my job performance at the convenience store, for what that's worth.

Still, I'd blow a muffler for a toke off a one-hitter. I ain't an addict or nothing. I just like to have all my options open, you know what I'm saying?

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