[ Some legal notes: Except for Jamal, all characters and names are owned by Natsume Inc. My apologies for the blatant defamation! Don't do drugs, man! ]
"Yo, what's up chinkie?" Jamal strode up to Won the merchant, who was found in his usual spot against the wall in Mineral Village's Winespring Inn.
It was a beautiful day in the tiny, sleepy town, and so Jamal felt justified in putting that extra little spring in his step-- but weren't all the days just simply wonderful? Or was it the fact that he'd just smoked up, that made every nerve in Jamal's body tingle with pleasure? Jamal neither knew the answer, nor cared.
"How yas doin', mah homie?" Jamal slapped his hand into Won's outstretched hand. "Yeah, man! Gimme five!"
Behind his sunglasses, Won tried not to oggle. Such...strange customs these people had-- extend your hand for a shake, and get a slap instead. How curious. "Ah, Jamal. Such a pleasure to see you again."
"Word," Jamal nodded. "So...ya gots da shit I asked for?"
Won tried hard not to laugh. What colorful language these people had! If Jamal had really meant what he just asked for, then Won would probably need to wash his hands afterwards. Twice, even.
But then again, Jamal was a foreigner to this town. This was not the first time the two had exchanged words, but Won still had trouble understanding Kai's older brother from the inner city. What was the word that he used?, Won wondered. The "hood," wasn't it?
"Of course, Won replied to Jamal, and with a self-pleased smile, pulled back the flap of his yellow Chinese-style shirt. From the recesses of the voluminous garment-- the better to smuggle porno mags in for Pastor Carter, Won added-- he produced a red-translucent length of plastic tubing. The cylinder had a base on one end, and a rubber ring on the open mouth by the other end. Midway up the length of the pipe, a smaller plastic pipe branched upwards and away.
"Holy shiznit, mah yellow brother," Jamal jumped back, genuinely impressed. "That's one helluva fine piece ya gots me!"
Won nodded modestly. "Thank you for your kind words. To tell the truth, I was afraid that I'd misheard your description and gotten the order all wrong. I've never heard of....a bong before," he explained, struggling with the unfamiliar word.
"What? You shittin' me, man? You never heard of a bong before?"
Won shook his head slowly, not sure where Jamal was going with this.
"Hell, man! You're telling me you're an herb virgin?" Jamal slapped Won on the back, laughing, not noticing Won's bulging eyes. Behind the counter, Doug, the proprietor stared suspiciously at them, whereas his daughter Ann could be heard whispering "Eek! Ecchi!"
"Shit, man, I'll deflower ya tonight," Jamal said, ignoring or not noticing the looks he was getting from Ann, Doug, or Won. "Besides, I've gotta break-in this bong, and the sooner the better, know what I mean?"
"I...I suppose," Won stammered. "But really, sir, I must protest-- Who told you that I'm a -- I mean, I'm not a virgin!"
"Not after tonight, you won't! Buahahaha!" Jamal laughed heartily.
"Excuse me," said a cantankerous voice nearby. "Can't you lower it down a bit? Some of us are trying to enjoy their time here in the inn!"
Both Won and Jamal turned to look at Saibara, the town blacksmith. Although it was hard to tell who was older, Saibara or Barley, the owner of Yodel Farm that specialized in livestock, there was no question who was the more stern of the two. Saibara was well known for his tempers, which got worse and worse through the years. He could often be heard as far away as the Town Square, whipping his grandson Gray with his metal-buckle belt. That was usually only on Friday nights, however, after Saibara'd had too much to drink.
"What's going on here?" Saibara roared, his words slightly slurred.
"Oh, shiznit, man! Mah bad! I didn't know we wuz too louds fer ya, old dude!" Jamal scratched at the side of his nappy-haired head, and shrugged his shoulders. "Yo, man, you're Saibara, right? The blacksmith? How's it hanging, old dude?"
"All the time," said Saibara, mishearing what the black man said. He rocked slightly on his feet although still standing upright, his arms over his barrel-chested green shirt. "It's hanging all the time; seems I can't get the ol' boy up nowadays. Why are you asking? You wouldn't be a faggot, would ya? Jeff the grocer and you would get along very well together."
"Aiit, a comedian!" Jamal cracked up, slapping his knee as he held onto his 3-foot-long bong with the other hand, as Won stared behind his round sunglasses.
"Ah, so sorry to hear that, Saibara-sir. If you'd like some medicine for your, ah, condition, I've got the perfect thing here," Won said, starting to reach into his yellow chinese coat. "It's the newest thing, I assure you--"
"What've you got there, hrmm?" Saibara interrupted Won, pointing to the red tube in Jamal's hands.
"What? You never heard o' a bong before? Shit, man! Are you another herb virgin?" Jamal put the bong proudly on the nearest table, displaying it like it was a work of art. "This, mah niggas, is the state o' da art, fully-functioning, superbly-crafted BluntMastah-3000. It has nodules for hook-up hoses for seven additional people to use at the same time, a super-ass fine filtration system, and comes in pre-scented weed flavors man! With this thing, you can make a high-nigga-pie!"
Jamal chortled uncontrollably as the grizzled blacksmith and the opportunity-savvy merchant looked at each other and shrugged.
"What's it for?" asked Saibara.
"It's for smokin' up weed, man!"
Saibara nodded and drew himself up. This was more his area of expertise. He'd been pipe-smoking for years, and thought he knew his tobacco weeds fairly well. "Hrmm, what kind?"
Jamal blinked, not sure if the old dude was joking. "Shiznit, man, you never heard of pot? The chronic? The blunt? The mary jane? The cannabis? The hemp?
"Shit, man," he continued, and held up a hand to start counting, "There is plenty o' names for dis shit: grass, weed, bud, jay, reefer, joint, ganja, herb, dope, smoke, boo ya, red hair, the green, the kind, mary jane, skunk, sens, thai sticks, hash, hashish, mowie wowie, J, hooter, toke, yesca, budah, bionic, shwag, indica, mex, herbage, doobage, wacky tobacky, hemp, THC, indo, homegrown, and doobie. Yas never heard of marijuana?"
Won shook his head, but Saibara nodded, slowly. "That's that medicine stuff you gave to the Doctor and to Lillia, right?"
"Yeah, man, this stuff makes it all good." Jamal grinned from ear to ear, bobbing his head as though to some unheard music. "It's the feel-good shit for all your worries."
Saibara nodded, scratching at his chest-length white beared, knitting his hairy white eyebrows together. "I heard of that shit... I mean, of that stuff. The Doctor actually wanted me to make some new kind of device for Lillia, to make it easier for her to smoke. Oh, and she's reporting good reviews for that stuff of yours so far," Saibara added. "May I?" He pointed to the bong on the table.
Jamal shrugged. "Why the hell not? Have at it, old dude!"
Won sat down on a nearby bench, watching Saibara pick the bong up. The blacksmith ran his fingers over the shiny red glass, carefully memorizing the look and the feel of it under his probing fingers. After a while, he handed it back to Jamal.
"It's construction should be exceedingly simple," he said. "I'll get on it right away. Er, do you mind if I stop by the Seaside Lodge sometime, to talk about the schematics of its design? And maybe see how you use it? I'd be most grateful; such knowledge would make my job so much easier."
"Hell, man! No problem with me! In fact, me and Chinkie here," Jamal pointed at the surprised merchant, "Me and Chinkie are planning to christen the BluntMastah-3000 tonight. Stop by, if you want to. Aiit?"
"Later tonight, then," Saibara nodded, still swaying slightly drunkenly on his feet. "Thank you, Jamal, even if you are a flaming poofter." He patted his crotch and grinned from ear to ear, and then stumbling slightly, turned and walked back to his waiting mug of beer.
"Yo, what's up chinkie?" Jamal strode up to Won the merchant, who was found in his usual spot against the wall in Mineral Village's Winespring Inn.
It was a beautiful day in the tiny, sleepy town, and so Jamal felt justified in putting that extra little spring in his step-- but weren't all the days just simply wonderful? Or was it the fact that he'd just smoked up, that made every nerve in Jamal's body tingle with pleasure? Jamal neither knew the answer, nor cared.
"How yas doin', mah homie?" Jamal slapped his hand into Won's outstretched hand. "Yeah, man! Gimme five!"
Behind his sunglasses, Won tried not to oggle. Such...strange customs these people had-- extend your hand for a shake, and get a slap instead. How curious. "Ah, Jamal. Such a pleasure to see you again."
"Word," Jamal nodded. "So...ya gots da shit I asked for?"
Won tried hard not to laugh. What colorful language these people had! If Jamal had really meant what he just asked for, then Won would probably need to wash his hands afterwards. Twice, even.
But then again, Jamal was a foreigner to this town. This was not the first time the two had exchanged words, but Won still had trouble understanding Kai's older brother from the inner city. What was the word that he used?, Won wondered. The "hood," wasn't it?
"Of course, Won replied to Jamal, and with a self-pleased smile, pulled back the flap of his yellow Chinese-style shirt. From the recesses of the voluminous garment-- the better to smuggle porno mags in for Pastor Carter, Won added-- he produced a red-translucent length of plastic tubing. The cylinder had a base on one end, and a rubber ring on the open mouth by the other end. Midway up the length of the pipe, a smaller plastic pipe branched upwards and away.
"Holy shiznit, mah yellow brother," Jamal jumped back, genuinely impressed. "That's one helluva fine piece ya gots me!"
Won nodded modestly. "Thank you for your kind words. To tell the truth, I was afraid that I'd misheard your description and gotten the order all wrong. I've never heard of....a bong before," he explained, struggling with the unfamiliar word.
"What? You shittin' me, man? You never heard of a bong before?"
Won shook his head slowly, not sure where Jamal was going with this.
"Hell, man! You're telling me you're an herb virgin?" Jamal slapped Won on the back, laughing, not noticing Won's bulging eyes. Behind the counter, Doug, the proprietor stared suspiciously at them, whereas his daughter Ann could be heard whispering "Eek! Ecchi!"
"Shit, man, I'll deflower ya tonight," Jamal said, ignoring or not noticing the looks he was getting from Ann, Doug, or Won. "Besides, I've gotta break-in this bong, and the sooner the better, know what I mean?"
"I...I suppose," Won stammered. "But really, sir, I must protest-- Who told you that I'm a -- I mean, I'm not a virgin!"
"Not after tonight, you won't! Buahahaha!" Jamal laughed heartily.
"Excuse me," said a cantankerous voice nearby. "Can't you lower it down a bit? Some of us are trying to enjoy their time here in the inn!"
Both Won and Jamal turned to look at Saibara, the town blacksmith. Although it was hard to tell who was older, Saibara or Barley, the owner of Yodel Farm that specialized in livestock, there was no question who was the more stern of the two. Saibara was well known for his tempers, which got worse and worse through the years. He could often be heard as far away as the Town Square, whipping his grandson Gray with his metal-buckle belt. That was usually only on Friday nights, however, after Saibara'd had too much to drink.
"What's going on here?" Saibara roared, his words slightly slurred.
"Oh, shiznit, man! Mah bad! I didn't know we wuz too louds fer ya, old dude!" Jamal scratched at the side of his nappy-haired head, and shrugged his shoulders. "Yo, man, you're Saibara, right? The blacksmith? How's it hanging, old dude?"
"All the time," said Saibara, mishearing what the black man said. He rocked slightly on his feet although still standing upright, his arms over his barrel-chested green shirt. "It's hanging all the time; seems I can't get the ol' boy up nowadays. Why are you asking? You wouldn't be a faggot, would ya? Jeff the grocer and you would get along very well together."
"Aiit, a comedian!" Jamal cracked up, slapping his knee as he held onto his 3-foot-long bong with the other hand, as Won stared behind his round sunglasses.
"Ah, so sorry to hear that, Saibara-sir. If you'd like some medicine for your, ah, condition, I've got the perfect thing here," Won said, starting to reach into his yellow chinese coat. "It's the newest thing, I assure you--"
"What've you got there, hrmm?" Saibara interrupted Won, pointing to the red tube in Jamal's hands.
"What? You never heard o' a bong before? Shit, man! Are you another herb virgin?" Jamal put the bong proudly on the nearest table, displaying it like it was a work of art. "This, mah niggas, is the state o' da art, fully-functioning, superbly-crafted BluntMastah-3000. It has nodules for hook-up hoses for seven additional people to use at the same time, a super-ass fine filtration system, and comes in pre-scented weed flavors man! With this thing, you can make a high-nigga-pie!"
Jamal chortled uncontrollably as the grizzled blacksmith and the opportunity-savvy merchant looked at each other and shrugged.
"What's it for?" asked Saibara.
"It's for smokin' up weed, man!"
Saibara nodded and drew himself up. This was more his area of expertise. He'd been pipe-smoking for years, and thought he knew his tobacco weeds fairly well. "Hrmm, what kind?"
Jamal blinked, not sure if the old dude was joking. "Shiznit, man, you never heard of pot? The chronic? The blunt? The mary jane? The cannabis? The hemp?
"Shit, man," he continued, and held up a hand to start counting, "There is plenty o' names for dis shit: grass, weed, bud, jay, reefer, joint, ganja, herb, dope, smoke, boo ya, red hair, the green, the kind, mary jane, skunk, sens, thai sticks, hash, hashish, mowie wowie, J, hooter, toke, yesca, budah, bionic, shwag, indica, mex, herbage, doobage, wacky tobacky, hemp, THC, indo, homegrown, and doobie. Yas never heard of marijuana?"
Won shook his head, but Saibara nodded, slowly. "That's that medicine stuff you gave to the Doctor and to Lillia, right?"
"Yeah, man, this stuff makes it all good." Jamal grinned from ear to ear, bobbing his head as though to some unheard music. "It's the feel-good shit for all your worries."
Saibara nodded, scratching at his chest-length white beared, knitting his hairy white eyebrows together. "I heard of that shit... I mean, of that stuff. The Doctor actually wanted me to make some new kind of device for Lillia, to make it easier for her to smoke. Oh, and she's reporting good reviews for that stuff of yours so far," Saibara added. "May I?" He pointed to the bong on the table.
Jamal shrugged. "Why the hell not? Have at it, old dude!"
Won sat down on a nearby bench, watching Saibara pick the bong up. The blacksmith ran his fingers over the shiny red glass, carefully memorizing the look and the feel of it under his probing fingers. After a while, he handed it back to Jamal.
"It's construction should be exceedingly simple," he said. "I'll get on it right away. Er, do you mind if I stop by the Seaside Lodge sometime, to talk about the schematics of its design? And maybe see how you use it? I'd be most grateful; such knowledge would make my job so much easier."
"Hell, man! No problem with me! In fact, me and Chinkie here," Jamal pointed at the surprised merchant, "Me and Chinkie are planning to christen the BluntMastah-3000 tonight. Stop by, if you want to. Aiit?"
"Later tonight, then," Saibara nodded, still swaying slightly drunkenly on his feet. "Thank you, Jamal, even if you are a flaming poofter." He patted his crotch and grinned from ear to ear, and then stumbling slightly, turned and walked back to his waiting mug of beer.