JT always laughed when Billy said "poongristle." Sometimes in class, after the teacher asked a particularly difficult question, Billy would raise his hand and bounce in his seat as if he had the answer. The teacher would grudgingly call on him, hoping that this time would be different. Billy would stand up slowly and say, "Could the answer possibly be POONGRISTLE?" and then he would reach into his pants, pull out a handful of shit and throw it at the hamster cage.
Billy wasn’t really one of JT’s friends though. Billy was part of the cool plus crowd. The coolest of the cool. The guys that got the chicks, the chicks, and the fukin chicks. Billy’s dad, Ralf and JT’s dad, Grout were good buddies though. They were on the same bow hunting team.
Last weekend Ralf threw a big party cause they placed third in the national bow hunting championships. Grout asked JT if he wanted to go but JT said he had too much studying to do. Grout told him about all the cool shit in Ralf’s backyard, so JT decided to go.
JT walked around the backyard to find Billy. Billy was in the Jacuzzi teabagging their math teacher, Mrs. Thompson. JT eased into the Jacuzzi and started talking to a girl smoking a hash pipe.
“How’s it going, my name’s JT,” he said.
“I’m Margerie. How do you know Billy?” she said.
“Oh, we’re in the same English class.”
“You go to Weed High?”
“Yeah. Do you?” JT asked.
“No, but I will be next semester. We just moved here.”
“Where’d you move from?”
“Chicago. Billy and I are cousins.”
“Cool. So you’ve known him for a while?” said JT.
“Yep. You smoke hash?”
“Naw. My dad’s here. I mean, I have before. I smoked marijuana. It’s like marijuana right?”
“Yeah. I think it’s better though. Here, I’ll give you a little piece.”
“Cool. I’ll smoke it when I get home.”
Margerie laughed. “It’s not for later. Stick it up your butt.”
“Stuff it in my butthole?”
“Yep. Here watch, I’ll do it. It gives you a raging high.” Margerie ripped off a small piece of hash and stuffed it into her butt.
“Doesn’t it hurt?” asked JT.
“Ain’t you ever been cornholed?” asked Margerie. “I’m just kidding. It’s like taking a reverse poo, it’s no big deal.”
JT stuffed the hash in his butt and then took a drink of his weight gainer power shake.
“What’s cool is if you want to get high quicker, you can shoot it farther up your ass by sitting against a jet.” She hoisted herself up a little and let the jet blast into her keester.
JT stood up and stepped out of the jacuzee. “I got to go to the bathroom.”
“Don’t shit it out. That’s good hash.” She said.
JT stumbled towards the bathrooms and ran into the caterer fixing the chips and salsa.
“Is there any hurl in that salsa?” asked JT.
“What is hurl?” said the caterer.
JT barfed in the salsa bowl and then pissed in the bag of chips.
“There you go,” he said and then walked into the house.
Grout and Ralf were sitting at the bar examining Grout’s latest purchase. A lazer sighted compound bow made of a graphire substrate with a fission powered string equalizer.
“God damm Ralf, are you even gonna need me on your team?” said Grout.
“Of course fukbroiler. That one is for you. I’ve got two more just like it.”
“You’re fukin kidding right?”
Grout noticed JT staring at them.
“You OK son?”
“Oh yeah. I’m great. That’s one mean looking bow Dad. What are you gonna do with your old one?” said JT.
“This thing is for show. It’s not legal for competition. Is it Ralf?”
“Naw. Not yet. But I got some friends working on it,” said Ralf.
“Some ninjas?” said Grout.
“Yep. Straight from feudal Japan. Cost me a fortune, but they should give the league chairman some good reasons to bend the rules a little bit. Every sport has to evolve right?”
“Evolve or die,” said JT.
Everyone started laughing.
“That’s right kid. That’s one smart boy, Grout. One smart boy. You know my Billy from school right?”
“Yeah. We’re in the same English class.”
“How is he doing? I’m always getting calls from my teacher about him disrupting class. Is that true.”
“Oh. No more than anyone else. It’s a pretty lively class.”
“Dad, I need to get my bong out of the car,” said JT.
Grout threw the keys and took a hit from his speefnarkle. JT walked out to the car and popped the trunk. He unzipped his backpack and took out all the schoolbooks. His bong was gone. JT played the day’s events back in his head and said the F word out loud. He left his bong at the rec center. He and Dusty were playing bumper pool and smoking bongloads behind the raquetball courts. “Fuk!”
Grout closed the trunk and wandered down the street to the liquor store. The cashier was teabagging his math teacher, Mrs. Thompson.
“Where are your chocco tacos?” said JT.
“Are you roasted?” said the cashier.
“Yeah. I’m frying pretty bad.”
“On acid? Are you seeing trailers?”
“No. I put some hash in my rectum.”
“You keestered hash? Tits. I know the perfect treat,” said the cashier, “Get a couple of those cheap fudge bars and squirt some of that chili on it.”
“Jeezus, are you sure? Sounds like a dog fart on a stick.”
“That’s rich. Trust me. I keester all the time. It’s where it’s at. If you don’t like it, come back and I’ll give you a chocco taco for free.”
“Alright.” JT reached down into the freezer and pulled out the fudge bars. He smashed them into a nachos tray and then squirted some chili onto it. “There’s no way I can eat this pile of fukmunch.” He took a spork and started chowing into it. It didn’t agree with his stomach. He bent over and started breathing heavily. His head started turning purple.
The cashier ran over to help him but he was too late.
JT pulled down his pants and launched a firehose of acid diarrhea all over the cereal boxes. The cashier pulled out a fly swatter and scraped part of the wall. He pulled out his hash pipe and brushed the tomato skins off the hash piece. He ripped into the hash and finished it in one puff.
“That ought to teach you to trust a hash junkie,” said the cashier.