This is a collaboration that I am working on with Gothie (gothgrrl13). It's an obviously alternate universe (AU) season of Total Drama, where everyone's on pot. Sound cool? Sweet. We're on the same page then.
Now, I've never been on pot, and I doubt Gothie has too, but we've got some pretty good ideas on what it's like, so we'll try our best. Also, I gave all of the contestants last names. Most of them are references to either other fanfictions or the show itself. Some of the show-referenced ones have been chosen because of how their last names originated. Look them up if you're curious.
We don't own Total Drama. If we did, Cody would be ripped in half by Gwen and Noah fighting over him and pulling him two different directions by his arms.
-X-
Last time on Tot--oh wait, this is the first episode? He-ha-ha. Sorry, I'm so stoned right now...
Anyway, check it out. This is Total Drama Pothead, the reality show where the only thing we want higher than our ratings is our contestants.
Here's the deal. Twenty-two junkies will be taken off the streets and placed on the thirteenth floor of the Mary Wananakwa Apartment Complex at 420 Doobie Street in some Canadian city I can't pronounce at the moment... Hold on, let me take a hit. ...Nah, still can't pronounce it.
Anyway, they'll be spending... uh... um... a bunch of weeks here at the apartment complex where they will compete for two hundred million Canadian dollars... worth of pot. Trust me, dudes. It's Grade-A shit. They'll love it.
The junkies will compete in different challenges each week, and after every challenge they will be sending some poor sucker down the Hall of Shame to catch the E-loser-vator down to the first floor... without a baggie. The ultimate punishment.
Who am I? Do you even have to ask? You've seen Goodminton, right? What about Goodminton II: The Awakening? Come ooooooooooon, throw me a fucking bone here.
Ugh... alright. I'm Chris McLean: actor extraordinaire, awesome celebrity, and rehab escapee, and you're watching the soon-to-be highest tele--er, highest rated tele--no wait, I got it right the first time. The soon-to-be highest television show of all time: Total! Drama! Pothead! ...Now where's my stash? Phil, did you take my stash?
-X-
Theme song time! Voodoo Highway... or is it Badlands? ...Dammit, Wikipedia! Why do you have to be so fucking confusing? Anyway, whoever the hell you are, start playing music. Thank you.
Alright--WHOA! Zipping through the parking lot of the complex... that's pretty trippy. Zooming by all the cars--WHOA, CRAP!! We almost hit my Volkswagen, dude! ...Whoa, was I in that thing? Talk about an out-of-body experience. I must be so high...
Where the hell did this hill come from?
HOLY SHIT!! WE'RE FALLING!!
Oh hey, we landed in the pool. ...This place has a pool? Kick ass! I call the pool!
Hey, there's a fat guy swimming. Hi, Fatty! Wanna smoke a fatty?
Okay, coming out of the water now, and there's two chicks sitting on the side of the pool, both taking a hit from the same joint. Oh, man... that'd be so fucking sexy if that one chick wasn't so fat.
...
Bah, who am I kidding? It's still sexy as hell.
Moving on... Zipping through more trippy shit. Lovin' it, dudes!
Alright, we're heading for the complex--dude! We almost ran over that poor nerd with glasses. GOSH!
Ugh! Stupid revolving door, slowing us down. Oh, hey. Looks like some dude in a toque is stuck in the loop. Ha, ha! Loser! What, you afraid you're going to get squished between one of the doors and the corner of that there wall right there? Ha, ha, even I'm not that high, dude. And I'm the one having the out-of-body experience!
Alright, now we're in the lobby. Hey, Cheffy, buddy! You're a living coat rack, I see. Ha, ha. You're not a coat rack, you silly goose. You're so high, man, I swear...
We're heading by the counter, and some redhead just jumped out from behind it, acting like she had some crack. Hey, lady! Don't you know that crack is bad for you? Shortens life expectancy and shit. Some people, I swear...
Going into the cafeteria, we find two people making out on one of the tables: some chick in a hoodie and some guy in a cowboy hat... and an open pink shirt?! Dude, either you're gay, or really, really high.
Moving on... Zipping some more... hey, this is pretty freakin' sweet.
WHOA! What's with these people getting in our way, man? I mean, seriously! This chick was wearing glasses, just like that last guy we almost ran over. Shouldn't they be able to see now? Can't they see we're coming? Damn.
Alright, we're in an elevator... and we've stopped again. Dammit! I miss all the zipping! This is so booooooriiiiiiiiing. And look at all these idiots in here--some jock in a white skull cap, a chick with long black hair that looks like she's about to kill someone, and some punk with a faux-hawk smoking some wee--hey, awesome, man! Let me get some of that! ...Aw, come on! Share that shit with me, dude! ...Fuck you, I'm out of here.
We're leaving the elevator and are now heading down the hall. Along the way we pass some bodybuilder chick, a hot chick with big boobs--aww, the one time we don't stop--some guy taking his shirt off (probably because it was getting hot in here from all the smoke), some weird looking dude smoking a doobie while reading a book, some chick who looks like she's completely full of bullshit, and a chick that looks like she came straight from a ghetto. ...I'll have to remember her--maybe she knows a good dealer...
We're entering a room, and there's this topless guy sitting on the floor playing his guitar while his geeky roommate makes out with his pillow, which was drawn on crudely with blue and black crayons. Man, these people really can't hold their shit, can they?
We're about to leave the room, but two people come in--a goth chick (there's something about her hair colors... oh wait! The pillow! Oh, du-hu-hude!) and some guy dressed in a red jersey--and they run into us, and we fall on our backs and look up at the flickering light hanging from the ceiling, as everyone crowds around, because apparently... we're dead. Thanks a lot, fucker.
-X-
Chris stood in front of the revolving doors of the Mary Wananakwa Apartment Complex. "Hey, dudes! Welcome to Total Drama Pothead. We're here waiting for the twenty-two junkies that our producers picked up from high schools, drug rings, and rehabilitation clinics all across the country. Can you believe they were all sixteen years old? Man, kids these days... they get into some shit, I tell ya.
"And they'll be getting into some MORE shit in this season, I assure you of that. He-ha-ha."
A black van pulled into the parking lot. Out came a nerdy looking boy with a somewhat dark complexion, a book in his hand.
"Noah Ramos, welcome to Total Drama Pothead," the host greeted, taking a hit from his own joint. "So, dude... according to our outside sources and shit, you're actually a pretty intelligent guy. What's with the drug habit?"
"Well, I first took marijuana because I heard it 'opens your mind'," Noah admitted. "And also to deal with my brothers and sisters. I gotta say, though... it sure does work..."
"Heh, heh... It sure does, dude..."
"...May I take a hit?"
"Get your own, hoser."
A red car pulled in next and parked next to the van. A girl wearing... virtually nothing stepped out of it and walked over to the two. "Ugh! You let losers on this show?"
"It's a show about junkies," Chris pointed out. "What were you expecting? Celebrities?"
"Yes!"
"...Okay, I see your logic, but that's not the case here."
"Ugh!"
"So anyway, welcome, Heather Oshiro, to Total Drama Pothead."
"Fuck you!"
"No thanks, I don't wanna catch anything. Alright, next contestant..."
A blue pickup truck came next. It occupied a young man wearing a toque.
"Ezekiel Adams, welcome to the show," Chris greeted as the new face walked up to them. "So tell us your story. Why are you a druggie?"
"Um... I found a group of people one day, eh," Ezekiel said, "that were sleeping in my barn. They toold me to 'get high off this shit', eh, soo I pitched some manure, and they were like, 'noo, noo, eh, you need to smooke this.' Soo I did, eh, and my parents foond oot and soo they put me in a rehab clinic, and I ended up here somehow, eh."
Chris yawned. "Interesting story... okay, not really, but thanks for sharing. Want some pot?"
A white van appeared next, and out of it came what appeared to be a psychotic redhead, who backflipped her way to the group standing in front of the complex.
"Hi, everyone! I'm Izzy Hag--"
"Shut up!" Chris interrupted. "That's my job!"
"...Well your job must suck ass, then."
"...Guys, this is Izzy Haggard."
"Hi, everyone!" She waved to the others as Chris groaned in frustration.
Another red car drove in. This one was occupied by a jock in a red jersey.
"Give it up for Tyler Reid," Chris introduced, and the others clapped.
Tyler responded by tripping on a pebble.
"Smooth move, dude."
A green pickup truck drove in next. Out from this piece of shit came a guy with a guitar case strapped to his back.
"Trent Smith, welcome to Total Drama Pothead," Chris greeted as Trent walked up to them. "Let me guess, you've used pot to inspire you for songs, right?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Because I've heard your songs. They sound like shit, dude."
"...Oh..."
"...More like the shit! You fucking rock, man!"
"...Um... okay..."
A pink Volkswagen Beetle drove in next. Interestingly enough, it was occupied by two contestants, and Chris commented on this right away.
"DUDES! That was WACK! How did you two both fit in that little car? Especially you, Sadie. Damn."
The others winced (except Ezekiel), but neither of the two girls seemed to take offense at Chris's outburst. Heck, they were even smiling.
Chris recovered from his shock. "Um, anyway, everyone, meet Katie Baines and Sadie Mizushima."
"Hi, Chris! Hi, guys!" the two girls said in unison.
Chris went wide-eyed. "Please tell me that's the pot..."
Next came a black Pontiac, vanity license plate "MTHRFCKR". Out of it came a punk with a faux-hawk.
"Duncan Hartell, welcome to Total Drama Pothead," Chris greeted, but Duncan didn't seem to care. Instead, he asked only one question:
"You got any pot?"
"We have some in the building--hey! Where do you think you're going?" He pulled Duncan by the collar of his shirt and made him stand in the line. "You ain't getting dibs, dude. If I find one milligram of my stash missing, you're dead, punk!"
"I'd like to see you try and kill me, pussy!"
"Wanna bet, fucker?"
"Um, Chris?" Trent got the host's attention. "Another car just pulled in."
This time, it was a blue Prius--the kind Jeff Dunham would make fun of. Out of it came a blonde girl in a light blue hoodie, a surfboard tucked under her arm. She walked over to the others. "Hey, guys! What's up?"
"Bridgette Bristow, everybody," Chris pointed out. "I gotta ask though... what the hell is with the surfboard?"
"I always take it with me when I go places," she admitted.
"...Like a real stoner. Congratulations! You've earned my respect." He winked at the surfer girl, who rolled her eyes at him.
The next vehicle pulled in: a red pickup truck. Out of it came...
"HOLY SHIT!!" Chris dropped his joint on the ground. "Either I'm hallucinating real bad or that's the hottest chick I've ever seen..." The others looked at him like... well... he was stoned. Which he was. "Uh, uh, I mean, uh, everyone, this is Lindsay Marshall."
"Hi, Chip!" Lindsay greeted as she joined the others. "So... like... why are we in a line?"
"Spoken like a true stoner. I like you--uh--that!" Chris quickly covered up his mistake. "Uh, uh, hey, the next dude and/or dudette is showin' up!"
Another pickup pulled in, this one a rather dull dark gray. Out of it came some chick with glasses that no one was excited to see.
"Beth Hampton, welcome to the show," Chris greeted unexcitedly as Beth walked up.
Beth gave the producer a hug. "Thanks for having me on the show, Chris!"
"...How come the hot one couldn't give me a hug?"
"As if!"
"Not you, Heather!"
"Hey!"
A sleek black sports car pulled in next. Out of it came a young jock with a skull cap.
"DJ, Devon Joseph," Chris greeted as the new contestant walked up, "welcome to Total Drama Pothead. Now, if you don't mind me asking, what's a muscle-man like you doing with the ganja?"
"Meh, what can I say? I'm kind of a hippie."
"Ah, cool, cool. Makes sense. Alright, next contestant coming up!"
A yellow car drove--wait, who the hell drives a yellow car? ...Anyway, it occupied a short guy with a strut in his step.
"Cody Walker, welcome to the show, dude," Chris held up a hand to high-five this new participant, who accepted it. He "dabbed" DJ (the fist thing, idiot--get your mind out of the gutter) and winked at the girls in line, giving them the "call me" sign.
Next came a white SUV, this one carrying a real heavyweight.
"Owen Auttenberg, welcome to Total Drama--"
He was cut off by Owen's patented Death Hug (TM).
"WOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! ACIIIIIIIIIIIIIIID!!"
"...Right. Uh... you can let go of me anytime, retard."
Owen threw him on the ground. "My dad ain't no cell phone, DUH!"
"Oh, yeah... we sure know how to pick 'em." Chris slowly got up to his feet just in time to see the next car pull in: a blue car with red flames on the sides. Out of it came a gawky teenager with glasses.
"Everyone, meet Napoleon Dyna--I mean, Harold McGrady."
"AWESOME!" the lanky nerd exclaimed as he carried his keyboard and other luggage toward the group. "This show will definitely help me hone my pot-related Mad Skillz (TM)."
Next came a black car with skull and evil-angel-kitty-of-death decals on the windows. Out of it came a seriously pissed off looking goth chick with blue and black streaks in her hair.
Right away, Trent swooned, as if he were hypnotized. "Dude... tell me this isn't a hallucination..."
"Dude, if it is," Cody added, also looking as if he were in a trance, "your hallucinations kick ass, man."
"Guys, this is..." He tried, but poor Chris couldn't hold his chuckles. "This is..." He laughed harder, doubled over and holding his gut. "This... this..."
"Just spit it out, asshole," the goth girl mumbled angrily as she reached the group.
"G-Gwen... Sexton." He fell on his back, laughing uncontrollably. "S-Sex... Sexton! Hahahahahahaha!"
"Yeah, yeah, get it out of your system..." She stood in line, amidst the slight snickers of some of the others. She kept looking down, not wanting and not caring to look at the others.
"...I don't see why that's so funny," Trent spoke up in her defense.
"Yeah, I mean... I can see why 'Cox' would be funny, but..." Cody started, but DJ elbowed him.
"Yeah, now's not the time, little man."
By the time Chris got back on his feet, the next car came. It was another sleek black Pontiac.
"Well, well, well," Duncan nodded approvingly. "I'm liking this new guy so far."
"...Having a black Pontiac is a good thing?" Harold asked.
"Not necessarily, but it means that, with a switching of a few plates, I can totally fuck with this guy and steal his car."
Little did he know, he would soon regret calling this new person a "he."
"Guys," Chris gestured toward the arriving contestant, who had just left her car. "This is Courtney Gallo, a striving politician. Which makes sense, 'cause she likes to snort 8-balls. And clearly, you have to be high if you actually want to be a politician when you grow up."
"I resent that," Courtney said as she walked up to the others. "I was actually trying to quit before I was dragged out of my rehabilitation clinic by your little interns."
"Hey, you guys all signed waivers. You knew what you were getting into."
"I thought this was to help us KICK our habit!"
"Nope! I'm sorry if any of you got that impression. But see... this is why you always read the fine print. I can't stress this shit enough. Fine print is the staple of life and death, or something... Point is, you're a politician, you should've known better to read the fine print. So fuck you. Next guy!"
A new car pulled up, this one a shiny white. Out of it came a guy who already looked like he was high, considering his outfit of choice, which included a cowboy hat and a pink open shirt.
"Geoff Heodemaker, welcome to Total Drama Pothead," Chris welcomed. "So, tell us, are you high or gay?"
"...What?"
"I mean, with that outfit and all..."
"Judgmental much?" He smacked Chris upside the head. "...Nah, kidding. Great to be on this show!" He pumped his arms into the air and got in line.
Chris rubbed the back of his head. "Dammit... I wish I didn't drop my ganja."
The next car drove up--another blue car. Out of it came what Chris thought first to be a man with tits, due to the contestants physical appearance and Chris's stoned state, but it was really a female bodybuilder.
When Chris finally realized who it was, he smiled and introduced her. "Everyone, this is Eva Mic... Eva Mickey... Mickoo..."
"Mikolajczak," Eva grumbled.
"...Riiiiight. I'm not gonna remember that." He tapped his chin, before coming up with a conclusion. "Tell you what, let's compromise. Your name, henceforth, will be... Eva Robotnik."
"...What? No! My name is Eva Miko--"
"Fuck that, that's too hard to remember. And for a stoner like me, who plays videogames all the time and shit, this is really the easiest Polish name to remember. And at least I don't have to spell it. So from now on, you're Eva Robotnik."
"My name is Miko--!"
"Everyone, say hi to Eva Robotnik," Chris told the others.
"Hi, Eva Robotnik," everyone else greeted in unison.
Eva growled, and dropped one of her dumbbells on Chris's foot. "FINE! Fucking A..." As Chris hopped on one foot in pain, Eva took her spot in line.
Finally, two cars came in almost at the same time. One, a white car, had a loud, thumping bass coming from it. The other, a green car, had a feisty Latino beat coming from within. Both were racing, trying to get to the closest spot first. Unfortunately for the white car, the green car, in its Latin fever, reached the closest space first, making the white car admit defeat and take the furthest spot away from the group.
"Dammit!" the girl driving the white car cursed as she stepped out. "You makin' me walk all this way, boy!"
"It's just one space, geez!" a handsome man said as he stepped out of his green car. "It's not gonna kill you to get some exercise either.
"Oh, oh, oh, oh, you callin' me fat, boy?"
"I ain't callin' you a model."
"Oh, oh, oh, it's ooooooon, bitch!"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP AND GET OVER HERE!!" Chris shouted, getting their attention. Reluctantly, they ended their quarrel and joined the group.
"Everyone, meet Justin Belmonte and Leshawna Jones," Chris greeted. "Alright, that should be everyone. Now, let's get inside before I get sober."
With that, everyone entered the complex, though Ezekiel had some trouble...
"Oom, guys... I'm scared, eh."
"Dude, it won't kill you," Cody assured him.
"Unless you're not fast enough," Duncan added, much to Ezekiel's dismay.
"Oh, man, oh, man, oh, man..." Poor Ezekiel was now stuck in the loop of the revolving door, afraid to go one way or the other.
"Alright, chill, man, GOSH," Harold told him. "On the count of three, you make your move, 'kay?"
"Oom... okay..."
"One..."
"Nyeh..."
"Two..."
"..."
"THREE!"
Quickly, Ezekiel jumped through the opening, doing a duck and roll... and realized he actually ended up back outside on the sidewalk.
"...Alright, let's try that again..."
-X-
How's this for a start?
Not sure when this will be updated next. It depends on the ideas Gothie and I come up with. We might mostly have parodies of already-made challenges. A lot of the challenges will also involve the "pot-related Mad Skillz (TM)" Harold alluded to earlier. Like remembering where you put things, or what have you. We already have some ideas for challenges, but if you do have any ideas, please don't hesitate to share an opinion. Also, please note that this fanfiction is just a fun, entertaining parody, and we do not want people to start smoking marijuana because of this story. Just like how the makers of Grand Theft Auto actually DON'T want you to kill people in real life. Yeah, I know. Shocker, right?
Once again, we don't own Total Drama, nor do we own anything else I referenced in this chapter.
Also, in case some of you get easily confused, or you're just really tired today, yes, the first two parts are in Chris's point of view, and the third part is third person omniscient. For the record, from now on, when an "episode" begins, Chris's introduction will be in his point of view, specific actions done in parentheses (like such), and everything else will be omniscient third person unless otherwise noted.