Beast Have Mercy

As I've mentioned before, when I smoke marijuana I change. A being takes over-–one that I am virtually powerless to—and starts pulling the strings, ordering me to pillage and consume anything with calories. And I don’t use the term “pillage” lightly. Follow me.

I want you to close your eyes.

Now open them to read the rest of this blahg.

Open? Good. Imagine a party. It’s several months ago and I’m there with a slew of friends. Many people are laughing. Everyone is having a good time. Marijuana is introduced.

“Hello Marijuana, I’m Brad. Lovely to see you again. You look scared. You’re being chased? Maybe you should hide out in my lungs for a while. But not too long, otherwise I’ll start coughing and give us both away.”

“Oh Marijuana, you’re so funny! You make me feel like a kid again. I feel like I’m sinking, like this chair is swallowing me. I can’t stop licking my lips. My hips are numb. Remember, Marijuana, the time we hung out and I… completely forgot what I was going to say! Oh, Marijuana, how you distract me so!”

I died a little when it was canceled.

Fast forward. But not the DVD 10x fast forward. I’m talking VHS fast forwarding. (Whistling). Dum, duh-dum. Almost there. Wait, did I go too far? Nope, here it is.

“So one testicle decides to—“

Whoops! That’s not it. Didn’t go far enough. Here it is!

“Hey, Brad. This is Beast. You need to go into the kitchen right now otherwise babies will die.”

“Babies?!”

“Yes, Brad. Babies.”

“Yes, of course I will go!”

"Marijuana is not a drug. I used to suck dick for cookies. 

Now that's an addiction. You ever suck some dick for marijuana?"

“O.K.,” Beast says as I enter the kitchen. “I lied about the babies. But since you’re here, you should eat something. You look famished.”

“I am quite hungry.”

“Yes,” Beast says. “You are hungry. And you should eat.”

Creamy seven layer dip? Yes. Baked ham? Of course. A slice of baked ham placed on a cracker with a dollop of Ranch salad dressing topped off with another slice of ham and cracker to make a divine miniature sandwich? Oh, you are good!

“Beast, I’m sleepy. I think we should go to bed.”

“Are you sure? I’m fairly certain there’s more food in here somewhere.”

“Yes, Beast. I am sure. I’m powering down.”

I strip down to my boxer shorts as if my clothes are suffocating me. I crawl into one of the beds in one of the rooms of the apartment where said party is winding down. I am fading into dreams when Beast hears three words out of the mess of chatter. 

“Blah blah blah carrot cake blah blah blah fridge.”

“Brad! We need to go into the kitchen or else all the babies, even the dumb babies and the ugly babies, will die right now! There are puppies, too! Babies and puppies! Get up! Get up! You need to save them!” 

“Of course, Beast! I will be the saver of the babies and puppies,” I say as I climb out of bed. “But let me put some pants on.”

“There’s no time, Brad! The babies! The puppies!”

“You’re right,” I say while making a beeline to the kitchen.

“Alright, I’m here! Where are the babies and puppies?”

“I lied again,” Beast says. “But there’s some carrot cake in the fridge and you should eat it because you really, really love carrot cake and pssssst, you’re still hungry.”

“You’re right, I am. You’re so smart, Beast.”

So there I stand, wearing only boxer shorts, eating carrot cake that’s not mine. Two friends enter the kitchen to watch the spectacle. They are two of the most beautiful human beings I know and both are giggling at me. Soup is the host of the party. She’s an amazing cook with an amazing heart, but has been known to accuse her coworkers of stealing her soup when she actually forgot it in her car. B’Dazzle is a lady of the cloth and will be the source of my bankruptcy as I try everything known to man to get her to like me sexually, or men in general.  I am facing them as they watch me engulf the delicious conundrum (who would’ve thought that vegetable + cake = glory?).

My good friend, HotMom72, comes in the kitchen, loops around behind me, and with one swift motion pulls my boxers down to my ankles. He bobs and weaves through the laughter and ducks out of the kitchen.

“That’s my cue,” B’Dazzle says, admitting that the party is over the second she sees a penis. Both her and Soup make an exit.

“Maybe I should pull my boxers up, Beast,” I say while standing completely naked in the kitchen.

“But think about the babies, Brad.”

“There are no babies, Beast.”

“Shut up and eat!”

I ignore any embarrassment and obey. HotMom72 swings back into the kitchen, thinking that by now I have embraced the shame of man and covered myself. Man is he wrong! 

“Jesus,” he says while turning and walking straight back out of the kitchen.

The party is over. My boxers eventually find themselves around my waist, the carrot cake (or what was left of it) finds its way back into the fridge, and I catch a ride to passed outville. 

In the morning I swing my legs over the side of the bed, rub my bulging stomach, and pray. “Beast have mercy on me.” 




Did you enjoy this entry? I'm sorry, I didn't hear you over all the chewing. Well, if you did don't miss the Beast's latest chronicle of gnawnia. And if you missed the his debut, you can read more about it here.