Cheech and Chong’s Halloween

by Crom

One of the most insane parties I ever attended was up at the warehouse of my brother’s place of employ on Halloween night. The owner of the business is a total maniac, and generally when you party with him, you regret it. I arrived late, as I had been working that night. But, never fear, lateness is easily remedied by drinking fast… really fast. They had a keg stuffed into their shower, with ice packed around it. I filled up a cup of beer and struck up a conversation with a nearby party patron. I recall having the beer power.

Sidenote: Beerpower (bîr pou ‘er)
1. The state of having the infinite capacity to consume beer at a rate most human beings would consider insanity.

So my drinking rivaled that of a story book dwarf, and for the most part I was having a good time. Till Murdock suggested we go out back and blow a huge cone. We retired to the loading dock, where we smoked this gigantic ballpark hotdog sized joint. It had begun. I started talking with a twisted kind of accent, sort of like southern united states, but with more spit. I was talking to some girl with huge breasts and making a total ass of myself (although that’s no real surprise) when my brother showed up with beers. I slaked my thirst from smoking with this freshly poured lager. Unfortunately the beers and weed were beginning to smash my judgment to small pieces.

Doug had brought all the sound equipment, and was very proud of his achievement of massive sound. The system was impressive after all, but in my shattered state of judgment I made a fatal error. I asked “How loud thish motherfucka go?”, one would have been safer asking “Hey Oppenheimer, this here bomb loud?”. Doug proceeded to turn the system up to it’s capacity. Son, this was like a physical blow; paint was peeling off the walls. A lot of the party people have dissipated, leaving only the solid rock core of drug crazed loonies left to burn the place down. Murdock once again produced one of his mad chonger style joints for us to consume. We proceeded to the loading dock “sssshshhhhsh…..’ere”, the combo was starting to seriously destroy my mind. I asked Murdock “hey man, what kinda weed is this, it’s fucking hardcore”, to which he replied “Oh, it’s standard B.C. bud, it’s the coke mixed in that really gives it the edge”. There was a solid minute of dead silence.

I glanced at my brother, who was giving me the “let’s go inside” hand signals. Once we’d retired to the shower for more beer, we both exploded. What the hell was that guy doing? Jesus, you’d think that straight up B.C. bud was enough of a shock to the system without adding shit that usually results in someone seriously fucked up. I’ve never seen that guy to this day, I’m sure that’s not a bad thing. I hold nothing against him, but harsh tokes follow him wherever he goes.

Erik and I retired to beer drinking, leaving the weed to the remaining psychos. At some point in the evening I recall helping Gomez to drink beer directly from the keg, as he had lost his glass and it was simpler to just pump beer directly into him. It was after that, that we decided to try BMX tricks. I’m not that good at them sober, and drunk it basically was practice at not falling down. It’s a good thing I was a soldier for Halloween, and that I had a helmet. I fell over and smash my head off the table in the office area. Those helmets really do work.

Pizza somehow managed to arrive and be paid for, I remember eating. I also remember trying to throw my blunt khukuri into the pizza box. (For those who don’t know, khukuri’s are the large curved knives that the Gurkhas carry). John then drove me and my brother home, deciding first to stop at the 7-11 and get slurpee’s, john then drove his VW van into the car of the 7-11 worker. He drove away.

Crom