Medical Marijuana
“Medical Marijuana,” are you fucking out of your mind. They’ve already got survellience on three roof tops. “Hey Angela, 2 o’clock…flash that guy some nipplage.”
“I mean we start dealing Purple Kush and the whole town’s gonna go postal.”
“It’s perfectly legal, moron, we just set up a co-op, apply for a license and start making brownies.”
Anyway, who gives a fuck what they think?….That a girl… Angela, now give that guy at 11 o’clock some 36-DD mammary glands.
“You’re out of control.”
“Listen freak, my braw in West LA buys somethin called Herijuana, he’s fucking couch-planted twelve hours a day…and then sleeps like the Ameritrade Baby. It’s our constitutional, god-given right, besides these Ambien are starting to make me stupid; last night I ate the whole fucking bag of Canolli’s and sleep walked into Jennifer’s bed.”
“No shit….did you uh….
“No Braw…the dolphin didn’t get waxed but flipper was all over her stomach.”
“Sick fuck, what did she say?”
“She was groaning and sending some very subliminal I want you in my mouth signals until she realized it was me and not biker man…. yea, she kicked my ass.”
“Getting back to the Goo, where would we start?”
“Well clientele, isn’t gonna be a problem, Mrs. Good Dress has been sending me signals all week. Her husband is the Kiwanis President and makes Fat boy look like a number 2 pencil. I mean girth, anyway we turn her on to some Ragin Cajun out of a bong and half the PTA’s gonna be lined up after hours.”
The Tanning Blankets
“A tanning yards a great idea, I can sell it right now Braw I mean yesterday!”
“It’s all gonna be about marketing. Dude, sex sells. We just plant Cindy and Angela out front in those
slingshot thongs and we ain’t go need no sign twirlers.”
“So no booths?”
“No shitlock, artificial rays cause cancer, it’s all over the internet. We’ll be delivering direct rays from the sun out back on blankets,
and have Adonis Boy and Raven serve Ice tea and Lemonade. Forty bucks an hour and you and me can whack the jack from up stairs.
We’ll crank Artic Monkey, maybe even set up a cage dancer on a platform. We’ll call it Tantric Tan’s”
“We’ll have to get a permit?”
“A permit, for what?”
“It’s a business D-Trump dickhead.”
“Fuck that, it’s a private tantric tan in the comfort of our own backyard.”
