Alright you lead barf chicken wangs, here's the complete story of my trip to the Cannabis Cup in Amsterdam.

frughck

Friday, November 21
Left work, punched a grogan, checked for my passport, tickets, and fake moustache. A long bus ride unloaded me at LAX, British Airways desk. 1hr 47 minuted before take off, I head off to the bar to smoke DMT laced cigarettes and sip on a double for a dollar more. Heard someone complain about a burning plastic smell, and put out my cigarette.
    Slurked into the chair, through the post attached to the floor, and dropped onto the luggage belt. Attendants loaded me into the cargo bay of a 747. I napped for a while and then went up to the cabin to order a Speef Narkle. The fucking thing lands in Amsterdam and its freezing.
    The Cannabis Cup began in 1988 when a couple of stoned idiots from High Times magazine flew over to The Netherlands and smoked dope. The competition was restricted to just the commercial seed companies. Four strains entered. Only one won.
    "Shaas lawal," (Austrian for "fart loaf") greets my friend Gernot, a professional snow boarder and accomplished pot smoker. "Souhen een un apen lil," ("Suck an ape's dick" in Dutch) I respond. We leave the airport in his 68 VW camper bus, known as "the boss". Gernot has serious mental problems and he drives like a cannibal. Wait, maybe its my brain that's damaged. A mule deer on a three wheeled orange motorcycle rips a greasy fart, burns out, and implodes leaving a lead chicken beak on the road. Gernot slows down and I grab it.
    We park and hit a Smart Shoppe picking up some elephant tranquilizers and an ounce of Albanian mushrooms called "Zogg Blast". I immediately set to work on the tranquilizers and soon find myself staring down th tunnel of an empty bottle. I regain consciousness and find myself trying to steady on some coat rack looking through a window into a thousand drunken pupils. There is a heavy rotting fish smell, and to my left sits a perky nippled, soupy eyed harlot. She sits spread legged toward the sloppy onlookers ashing Drum onto the scarred carpet. I barely stumble through the curtain behind her and collapse on a shitty matress, tap my pockets for the passport and fall through a door into some alley.
    "I'm not selling drugs," said some blanket wrapped fuckwad, "but do you have some change?"
    I pull at my hair in frustration and try to make sense of the situation. "I do not speak English," I mumble and warp, careening into the base of a tree. I am dizzy and my knees are foreign to the cobblestone tiling. I burp. I burp again and something nasty comes up. I try to barf. Nothing. I stick my finger down my throat and a tingling sensation on my tonsils results in a weak stream of brick red spew.
    Now I am in the middle of the road grasping for stability and fall-run down into some piss soaked doorway. I notice the cold and put my cap on. After fighting the blackness I swalk out of the hole and in a blurry stupor I find a place behind some bikes that seems hidden enough to pass out. I pass out.
    I shiver myself awake. My head drumming against a metal rod. I feel like raped chickens and check my bunghole for tears. Nothing. I check my pockets. Dollars. Not much use. If I'm still in Amsterdam.
    The tails of a black trench coat slice my forehead and I look down at a gorilla arm duct taped to my nutsack. There is snow on the ground. Not snow, ice. I find a pawn shop and hock a wooden cannonball for some thumb cuffs. I hear an inaudible grunt and spin around. The smell of almonds overcomes me and I barely reach the sardines glued to the midget's leg. Like a swine I shovel the things down my throat like jello. And vomit myself to sleep.
    "Grandpa…Grandpa…" she said. "What?" "Grandpa, it's me Beefer Lips." The old whore, she was playing games with me. I ripped my moustache apart and smashed it into the bowl. I took a humongous hit and blackness.
    …sliding down the hill. Lizard puke coating my back. Spinning, scraping, slamming into a tree. I think my shin is busted. My neck doesn't work. The elephant tranquilizers tumble down my throat into t…h…e…
    t…h…e… concrete box behind the woodpile. My legs are splinted together and I pogo into a truck bed. After an hour some oaf slams the heap into reverse and my head crashes into a snowboard. I grab the board and leap out of the thing.
    Looking up, the beautiful savageness of the mountains overcomes me.
    A pig-tailed vixen wakes me up, "Allo, allo." She is wearing a tan sweater with reindeer on it. I feel warm in her smile. "You are all ok?"
    "Yeah, ok."


speef@dreamscan.com

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