IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE 5/3/05
In light of a recent review from Salem Navy, I decided to drag this file out of my virtual attic and blow off the dust. Please note: I hate this story. When I first wrote it, it was in script format, but I decided that since it was a) not very funny, and b) illegal, I should at least attempt to flush it out into prose. However, hindsight is 20/20, and I now think it is not any funnier than before, but since it's above-board on the format this time around, I left it up anyways. The only reason it is still here is because a couple of people have enjoyed it, plus eleven is such a nice number of stories and demonstrating growth over time, so on and so forth. So until I get real good and mad at it, it stays. If you're a new reader, want my personal advice? Don't read it… just walk away.
-mgmt
On a bright, sunny morning, Brock walks into the house of his ex-wife, Reba. The whole family is lined up on the couch, looking very, very bored. Reba, the adult in the household, is a middle-aged woman with red hair. Cheyenne, a girl of about eighteen, is playing with her blond curls where she sits next to her husband, Van, about the same age. Van is boring, so we'll skip him.
There is also a teenage girl named Kyra and a small boy named Jake. The small boy named Jake is unnecessary to the plot of this parody, and will henceforth be unknown to the reader.
Anyways, seeing the whole family all lined up, ready for a good family talk, he proclaims, "Drugs are bad, kids. You should never, ever do them. You should not even look at them."
A snort comes from the far end of the couch. It appears to have come from Reba's nose. She whips a grainy black-and-white photo out of nowhere. "Guess who did crack?" she says, proffering the photo to Brock, who takes it and stares at his grainy black-and-white self, doing crack.
"Hey, what happened in Mexico stays in Mexico!" he replies indignantly.
His current wife, Barbara Jean, a ditzy blonde, appears out of nowhere.
"Pot head!" she shrieks, pointing an accusing finger at him.
Cheyenne, the blond girl, speaks up. "About that... Ah. I mean to say... I took the liberty... Ahem."
Her husband, Van, jumps from his seat on the couch and assumes a position identical to Barbara Jean's. "Pot head!" he shrieks, jumping up and down in agitation.
Kyra curls her lip, and finally adds to the conversation. "You all suck. I'm leaving." At this, Reba is horrified. She jumps in front of Kyra and blocks the door with her body.
"Ack! She is my daughter! Mine, and no other's!" The frenzied woman yells.
"Whose father was a POT HEAD!" Barbara Jean adds, rather loudly and unnecessarily.
Reba turns slowly to face her, glaring.
"Tangerine!" she snarls. Barbara Jean sniffs crossly, and in a puff of pink smoke, she disappears.
Cheyenne turns to Van. "Ya see, it was cheerleading camp."
Van frowns. "I always hated pyramids."
Cheyenne has an idea. You can almost see the cogs working in her brain; the light bulb turning on. She turns her back to Van momentarily, scribbles something with a pencil stub on a receipt she finds in her pocket. She turns back to face him, and says brightly, "Look, Van. I didn't do pot after all!" She brandishes the receipt at her "See? This diary says, 'Did not do pot.'"
Van brightens momentarily. "Really?"
"Um. No." Van's face falls.
Reba is trying to convince Kyra to stay. "Oh, by the way, I did pot.
"Really?" Kyra asks interestedly.
"Well... no." Kyra nods.
"I hear ya," she says.
Reba gets a conspiratorial look on her face, and leans over to whisper in Kyra's ear.
"Hey, I know! We can be exclusive now, just to annoy your father!"
"Cool!" Kyra exclaims. Reba opens the door, and they both leave.
Upon seeing this, Brock decides he needs a good sulk.
As the scene fades slowly to credits, one last shriek of "POT HEAD!" is heard before all goes black.
THE END