Roper the Sloth

So we hired Morton. And so far he has worked out ok. Just don't get him talking cause he won't shut up. I was working late. I was just about to get out of there. I'm loading my computer into my backpack and in walks Morton. "Did you hear that helicopter?" he said. "My best friend's brother is a helicopter pilot. He's rich. I guess helicopter pilots make a shitload of money." "Is that a fact?" "Yeah. You ever smoke that shit from Humbolt?" "Sure. Why you got some?" "Nope. But I know where we could get some?" "Where?" "Larry's locker. I have a skeleton key." "Thats not cool." "He won't even notice. We'll just take it from the bottom of the sack and fill it with styrofoam peanuts. He'll think his dealer stiffed him." "Actually I have to get home, but if its quick, I could use a couple rips before I cruise." So we broke into Larry's locker and grabbed a handful of weed. Mort and I split it fifty fifty. And we rolled the shake into a monster joint. Mort sparked it up and passed it. I tore into the joint and smoked it down to my thumb and then clipped it and finished it off. Mort was kind of pissed that I powered the whole thing down so I rolled him another out of my share. He ripped through that one and than blasted another two more and then got back to shining the floor. I had to fly home and I was going out of my mind. I got on my trike and let it warm up. You know when you are standing there taking a piss but you are so fucked up that you have to support yourself with your forehead on the wall. Well I was twice as fucked up as that. I tilted the cycle back and strapped myself in. I punched the ignition and I heard this terrible scream. And I take off out into space. Needless to say I was lucky I made it home. I found out the next day that when I started the rockets, I burned up Morton's sack of grass. He had left it on the tarmac.

Latest Pimpsteaks

Pimpsteak Archive


HOME | NEWS | FILMS | GAMES | STORE | PIMPSTEAK | WWWBOARD | ABOUT | CONTACT
© 2006 speefnarkle.com