To say that they were addicted to marijuana was incorrect. They could quit anytime they wanted to with no ill effects. They just didn’t want to quit. They loved that weed. That green stinkin’ weed! It dulled the pain of war and politics. It made food taste better. It made sex feel better. It made everything seem funny, and put some money in their pockets besides.
Creetus settled in for the night. He rubbed his dick remembering the chick he had fucked that afternoon. She was a regular lover of his, someone he could hit on in a pinch if nothing else came his way. She was home bound, legally blind. She found his prattle amusing. She had a decent body, liked to fuck, and did not require heavy maintenance.
He had been married to a ball buster of a woman who was half Mexican and half New York Jew. She kept tabs on his every move, and nagged him into compliance until he finally got a job as a janitor for the local college. Jobs never lasted that long for him.
The money wasn’t that good, but it kept him out of the house and gave him some freedom as long as he turned over most of his check to his bitch wife. Washing floors, vacuuming classrooms, cleaning rest rooms wasn’t bad work. He got to check out all the co-eds, and sell some dope on the side.
He only lasted six months when he decided to take off and go to Hawaii for a couple of weeks. When he got back, he was out of money, his job was gone, and his wife had left him. Divorce was a welcome relief, but it meant he had to hunt pussy relentlessly. He didn’t have the charm or studly good looks of his friend, The Chief, so it didn’t come easy to him.
Chief was a big studly black dude. He got the first and best choice of all the women. If they went out hunting together, Creetus was always landed in second position or not a even possibility by the end of the night. He got the fat chicks, the ugly chicks, and the blind chicks. He admired Chief and the game he played, but Creetus accepted his place on the bottom of the totem pole gladly taking the left overs.
His current living situation was not a welcome invitation to most women. He was living in a tent outside of town guarding a marijuana crop for a friend. He got a room (a tent) and board (whatever food he could rustle up), and some leaf to sell or trade for whatever else he needed.
Night time marijuana guard, really? What woman was gonna want to go home with him when he presented that resume?
Everything changed when Mother Beck died. Creetus picked a bunch of wild flowers and placed them in an old pint jar in her memory. He thought that she would have liked that. After the funeral when they all got back to the compound, they discovered the theft. Everyone was furious! How could someone rip them off when they were at their mother’s funeral?
They tried to discover who it was, but you can’t go around putting up signs like when you’re looking for a lost cat,
Wanted!
Marijuana Rip Off !
Call 666-WEED to report the thief
Reward!
Since everything worth while had been pulled up by the roots, all they could do was replant, fertilize, and encourage the little seedlings they had left to grow. They were more concerned with their own personal supply and the affront that had been made during the sacred time of their mother’s funeral than the money they would have made from selling the shit… Just like any good hippie! Peace & Love… but leave my pot alone.
Home Bound
(First published 2/27/12)
