313 lines
13 KiB
Plaintext
313 lines
13 KiB
Plaintext
Issue #11 of Mike's Madness is a special release issue, in celebration of
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Mike's graduation from Cosumnes River College and his receiving his A.A.
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"Hi, I'm Alice," the little girl said in a sparkling manner, for she was
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a very polite girl indeed.
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"'Ere!" Steve said with barely-scented breath. "You got any beer??"
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"No sir!" Alice said with a tone of alarm, "Alcohol is very bad for you!"
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"'oo are you then, the Surgeon's General?" Steve asked menacingly.
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"I'm a member of the Stop Drinking or I'll Kick You in the Balls Movement!"
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Alice said very proudly.
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"Blimey!" Steve spat. He was quite unprepared to meet anyone with the
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moral virtue of Alice. Indeed, the little cretin had spent the majority of
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the morning putting the boot to old ladies and spitting at policemen.
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"Now Mr. Bancroft," Alice said sternly, "are you going to quit drinking?"
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"Little Girl?" Steve asked politely.
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"Yes?" she answered brightly.
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"FUCK OFF!" Steve commanded. "Fuck you, fuck you and the horse you rode in
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on. Fuck you and anyone who looks like you. Fuck you and your mother. Fuck
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you and your dog. Get fucking real. Is this a fucking joke? What the fuck's
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the story here? Just suck me!"
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Well, hardly had Alice ever heard such language from a U.C. Davis student.
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Oh and was she ever so shocked! She could hardly imagine anyone using such
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language and still having a tongue afterwards.
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"Caw Blimey!" Alice said in surprise.
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And to add insult to injury, Steve flipped Alice the bird! Alice could
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only gasp in shock.
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And for the coup-de'-grace', Steve FARTED!
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Alice gasped in shock again, but she accidentally sucked some fart-air
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into her lungs. Gasping and hocking up great wads of phlem, she died.
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**THE END**
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This man is Steve Bancroft, alumnus of U.C. Davis. For the last nine
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years, he has been struggling with one of the greatest questions of our
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time: "Why does anybody need Pi calculated to 20 billion digits?". Today, he
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will not come up with an answer. Nor tomorrow. Or even the next day. No
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solultion will come to him in the span of years and finally in the span of a
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life. He dies at Saint Philsbury-on-Creme Hospital without ever learning the
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answer.
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. . .And now, for Mr. Bancroft of U.C. Davis, The Answer to the Question
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"Why does anybody need Pi calculated to 20 billion digits?"! Tonight, the
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noted proffesor Jenkins of M.I.T. will answer your question. Please give a
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warm welcome to Mr. Elizibeth Jenkins, professor at M.I.T. and noted
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cross-dresser!
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"Good evening, Professor Jenkins!"
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"Ooohh! Well helllooo thailor!"
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"Caw blimey, you're a poove!"
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"Oh you little bitch! I'll scratch your eyes out if you say that again."
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"GET OUT! I'm not having a raving queen on my show! GET OUT!"
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"And you acted so butch backstage!"
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"GET OFF!"
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"Well I'm certainly never sleeping with you again!"
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"BUGGER OFF SOMEWHERE ELSE!"
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"Ha! I got another date for tonight! Toodles!"
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"Well Mr. Bancroft, you're question will not be answered tonight."
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The Biblical Lesson of Saint Steve, Australian Translation
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1: And so did Saint Steven wander many days in the Land of Nod seeking the
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Children of Cain. For many years wandered he, ever seeking, yet never
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finding.
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2: So Saint Steve grew frustrated and did calleth upon the Lord to interceed
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in his quest.
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3: And the Lord was merciful, and he sent Saint Steve 2 six-packs of ice
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cold Foster's.
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4: Saint Steve did see the rain of beer. And joy entered his heart, for the
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desert was hot and the beer cold.
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5: And light did comes into his eyes as he spie a can flying towards him.
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Yeah verily, and did that light also go out when he was beaned in the skull
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by a 25 fluid ounce can of frozen Foster's moving at sub-sonic speeds.
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6: Here endeth the lesson of Saint Steve.
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COMING SOON FROM 20'TH CENTURY FOX . . .
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20'TH CENTURY FOX !
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He was born after 1900 and he's a fox in
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a new century! See a tale of action so big
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they had to invent a new number system just
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to determine how big it is. It's huge! Not
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just large, but behemoth! Gigantic! The
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screen alone takes up all the space from here
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to Alpha Centauri! The fox itsself appears
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to be a light-year long and his anus could
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swallow up most of the inner solar system!
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You cannot miss this movie!
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S*T*A*R*R*I*N*G
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Steve Bancroft as the man who is looking for beer.
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Annette as Bitchzilla, who fights the 20'th Century Fox.
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Matt as Barfzooka, the Ultimate Weapon
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Jason as Stoner Joe.
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And introducing . . .
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David Rediski as Mr. "Hand-Job" 1988!
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And who could forget . . .
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Tom as Mr. Mopey!
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(fair play shot)
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And . . .
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Mike Beebe as the Fat Guy!
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*Coming soon to a prison near you!*
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====================================================================
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The following skit was written by Steve, Mike's editor, as a
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graduation present for Mike.
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====================================================================
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Smoke Your Weight in Colombian. An exercise in self-indulgence.
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Cast of Characters:
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Blink Martinidale -- Host
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Mike Beebe -- Contestant
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Steve -- Show Assistant
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Jason -- Male stoner in Audience
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Twyla -- Female stoner in Audience
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Audience -- Random collection of adults + children
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Setting: The usual looking game show setup -- kinda like Tic-Tac-Dough or
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Joker's Wild or Scrabble or any of those regular game shows, the
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only difference being that one contestant seat is present instead
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of two. General theme music plays in the background as the skit
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begins...
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Blink: 'Good Evening, and welcome to "Smoke your weight in Colombian",
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the show where 'You don't go home.'. I'm Blink Martinidale. Tonight, we
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are very pleased to have a special guest from Sacramento, California. A very
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robust young man who is majoring in Undeclared at the University of Buds,
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please welcome, your friend and his, Mike Beebe!' [Loud racous cheers from
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the audience...Jason shouts from the audience 'Right on!']
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Mike: 'Good evening.'
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Blink: 'It's only 10:30 a.m.'
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Mike: 'Whatever. Where's the weed?'
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[Audience cheers.]
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Blink: 'Not so fast, Mr. Beebe. We have to tell you the rules first.
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The rules are simple. Smoke your weight in Colombian Gold, and you win.'
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Mike: 'Uh, what do I win?'
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Blink: 'More Colombian.'
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Mike: 'Killer.'
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Jason: 'Hey...how do I get on this fuckin' show?'
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Blink: 'Ok, Mike, are you ready?'
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Mike: 'Stupid question, Wink.'
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Blink: 'That's Blink.'
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Mike: 'Whatever. Where's the weed?'
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Blink: [uneasily laughing] 'O.K., Mike, here's the first plateau. 10% of
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your weight in Colombian. May I have the potato sack please?'
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[A young man of about 18 years old comes out, eyes redder than a tomato.]
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Mike: 'Hey, Steve! How'd you get here???'
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Steve: 'I'm the one who's fucking writing this story!'
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Mike: 'Oh, yeah.'
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Steve: [Roughly] 'Blink, i'm 'fraid theres a bit less than 10% of Mike's
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weight of Colombian left in this here bag...due to technical difficulties
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beyond *HACK* *HACK *COUGH* beyond my control...'
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[Steve passes out on the floor, and drops the bag. Jason yells out 'Right
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on!']
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Blink: 'Well, well, well. Ok, Mike, are you ready for the first plateau?'
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Mike: 'More than ready.'
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Blink: [Taking the full potato sack of Colombian weed over to Mike and
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putting it on his podium] 'Regulations for "Smoke your weight in Colombian"
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require you to hold each hit for a minimum of 5 seconds. Any less, and we
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will have to toss in more weed to account for it.'
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Mike: 'Killer.'
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Blink: 'Unfortunately, that's how it will probably end up for you. On,
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your mark, get set, T O K E ! ! ! !'
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[Mike suddenly undergoes a dramatic and spectacular change of personality.
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He whips out a huge pipe, 3 feet long, with a bowl the size of a drinking
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glass. In the middle of the pipe stands water-smoke coolant mechanism,
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filled with brandy. Mike, waving to Jason in the audience, and the now
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comatose Steve on the floor, says, confidently and securely 'Das Vadanya,
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comrades.' He grabs two handfuls of the weed in the potato sack, and stuffs
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them into the bowl. The weed is so sticky he can't get some of it off his
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hands. 'Fuck it' he exclaims. From beneath his jacket he produces a butane
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torch, ignites it, and douses his weed in blue/white flames. Breathing in
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for what seems like forever, the whole bowl of weed bubbles through the
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brandy and into his lungs. The studio grows silent. Mike calmly puts the
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butane torch down, and closes his eyes.]
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Blink: 'Uh, Mike, it's been 20 seconds. You can exhale any time now!'
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[Mike nods his head politely. 30 more seconds go by, and finally, he
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releases. A cloud of white/grey smoke billows out of his lungs, as six 12
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year olds bound out of the audience and run towards the cloud. Their
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mothers grab them and put them back in their seats.]
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Mike: 'Killer.'
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Blink: 'Wonderful, Mike. Just wonderful. How do you feel?'
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Mike: 'Killer.'
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[Mike, grabs another handful of weed. He stops for a moment, appearing to
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be in deep thought. Then, signaling to someone in the audience, he
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exclaims...]
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Mike: 'Jase, bring on................The Pounder.'
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[A sharply dressed young man pops his head out of the audience and produces
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what appears to be a lead pipe, about 4 inches in diameter, and about 5 feet
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long. He also grabs a huge hammer from a backpack. He walks up on stage,
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and stands in front of Mike.]
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Jason: 'I'll bet you Albert is watching this on NBC.'
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Mike: 'Yeah, he bet me that if I could smoke my whole weight in Colombian,
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he would get me every Classical CD ever produced. Boy, he must be shakin'
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in his socks now.'
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[Mike begins to stuff handful after handful of weed into the bowl. When it
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seems to be overflowing, Jason interceeds and puts the solid lead 'pipe'
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over the bowl. It fits the bowl perfectly. And, with a few sharp pounds of
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the hammer on the pipe, the weed in the bowl is compressed to half of its
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original volume.]
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Mike: 'Killer.'
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Jason: 'Killer.'
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[Packing and pounding, packing and pounding, Mike continues to smoke bowl
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after bowl. Soon, the audience begins to realize they are getting 'contact
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high', and some of the conservative ones leave, disgusted.]
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***FOUR HOURS LATER***
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[Mike, a virtual zombie, is now being held up by three other crew men.]
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Blink: 'Congratulations, Mike! You have finished off 35% of your weight
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in Colombian. How do you feel?'
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[40 minutes of silence pass. Finally...]
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Mike: 'Killer.'
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Jason: 'Right on! Right on! C'mon Mike, you got 5 more sacks to go!!!'
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[Jason, borrowing an electric bong from Twyla in the audience, who had
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showed up 3 hours previous to watch the show, pumps 4 more bags of killer
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Colombian into Mike.]
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Mike: '..blxrzyq...'
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Jason, Announcer: 'What?'
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Mike: [pause...] 'No....no..more....gotta.....quit......'
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Steve: [suddenly bouncing up from his coma, eyes red and all] 'NO WAY,
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MIKE. Never, EVER, are you going to back out of this one. For years I've
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considered you the expert pot smoker of the century, and now, you're backing
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out on your only chance to stay buzzed for 3 months in a row. If you quit
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now, I swear by all that is good and right, I WILL NOT front you a twelve
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pack for this summer's camping trip.'
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Jason: 'He's got you, Mike. There's nothing you can do now but keep going.'
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Mike: [whispering] 'Shit. Ooops.......I mean.....Killer.'
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Steve: 'That's the spirit!' [Immediately falls back on the floor again, dead
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to the world.]
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[Jason pumps the final sack of marijuana into Mike with the electric bong,
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and he passes out cold. His eyes are so red, they glow from beneath his
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eyelids. The cameramen begin to claim that they are getting stoned just by
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looking at him. The announcer does not argue.]
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Blink: 'HE'S DONE IT!' [Theme music plays] 'Congratulations, Mike, or
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whoever you are now. You've smoked your weight in Colombian! Of course, we
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measured your weight in DOUBLED KILOGRAMS, not pounds. Clumsy us! Heh heh
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heh. Your consolation prize will be left with Jason, your apparent friend,
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and, for about 4 years to come, your respiratory machine operator. He will
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be in charge of delivery of the prize. Your prize?? 100 pounds of Killer
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Colombian Green Buds. No shake. No stems. NOTHING BUT 100 pounds of the
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most sticky, stony buds ever imaginable.'
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Jason: 'Killer deal, dude.'
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Blink: 'Tune in next week when two girls who call themselves Twyla and
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Karen attempt to "Smoke their weight in Colombian". So long folks, and
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remember, a day without pot, is like, totally terrible, dude!'
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[Blink takes a pipe from his coat jacket and sneaks a toke before the
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cameras shut off. Steve, although still passed out, slowly gives a 'thumbs
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up' to Jason as he passes by, Mike on one shoulder, 100 pounds of buds on
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the other.]
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(C) 1989 Yucks For You, Inc.
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Mike Beebe, Steven Bancroft
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