STONER GODOT

[sus]

A summer villa in southern-central Mexico, on the patio (then roof, then inside to the kitchen, then patio again). Beautiful vines growing on the veranda’s trellis, and the weather is good: sunny with wisps of clouds floating past. Idyllic but semi-empty, meaning-wise. Y is a kind of honorable asshole, but his curmudgeonliness comes from a feeling of responsibility once engaged. X is friendly and outgoing, but his friendliness comes from being untethered to that responsibility for how one affects others.

Y: I’d be happier if it wasn’t After Hours. That flick's just aight and I saw it last year anyways.

X: Their little cinema will be worth seeing though. Can you believe they’re able to pay for all this? I wonder the rent. Will you hand me the papers?

Y: Oh, I just keep them in my pocket.

[Y pulls up wadded balls of paper.]

X: Whose turn is it?

Y: I think… you went last. I know I went last time, unless there was a time after it.

X: I think that was the last time— all you.

[...]

X: Are you going to roll it around in your hands again?

Y: That’s how I always do it.

X: Huh. A little oily, though, ah?

Y [head tilted down, eyes angled up, brows raised]: ...Do you have a problem with how I roll it?

X: Oh, no, your turn, your roll! Just curious.

[...]

X: Like, does it end up getting inhaled?

Y: What?

X: I don’t know, whatever’s on your hands. [beat. Oil... sweat.

Y: My hands are clean. You’re inhaling smoke into your lungs.

X: Oh sure, sure, clean—no issue.

Y picks flower off stem, pulling bits apart with his nails in lieu of a grinder.

X: How much we have left?

Y: Not much. I’m padding it out it out with loose Spirit.

Y: You're not gonna slobber over the whole thing, are you?

X: What, you want it to canoe?? It just evaporates you weirdo.

Y: [resigned silence]

 

[sus]

Some people have arrived at a get-together on the patio, perhaps 8-12, and they are drinking wine. X & Y are still on their bench, but are rolling again; it appears to be Y’s turn, which means X has rolled one in the meantime.

X pulls out a pack of king-sized papers and hands one to Y; they talk while he balls one up in his hand and then carefully smooths it out again. A cardboard filter is rolled and placed on one end of it. His pocket is evidently out of pre-balled papers.

X: You seem to prefer the jumbos, why? Unless I’m with a crew they’re far too big.

Y: They’re uh, called king-sized papers. For us kings. [smirks sardonically[

X: Of course, King.

[beat]

Y: Don't think of them as king-sized papers. Think of them as cut-to-size papers. They can be any size you want. [makes snipping gesture with fingers, begins picking the last remains of bud off the stems and dropping them into a grinder.]

X: You know how Pynch always talks about picking the stems and seeds n’shit out of pot. I remember in IV, a lot.

Y: Right, I always thought that was fake, talking about sifting out pot. And then I see this stuff.

X: I thought the same thing.

Y: Brick boys.

X: Brick boys!!

A long pause; now, near the end of the pot-picking procedure—

X [trying to say it casually— more making idle conversation, less trying to control]: You’re pickin’ meat from bone.

[Y says nothing, drops the bud onto the paper, tucks paper and licks glue, seals.]

X: You lick the glue after the tuck?

Y: After, always after.

X: Yeah. That’s what I think I should be doing.

Y: Do you do before?

X: Well, I think I might, I can’t remember, but I think I’m changing now.

Y tries to light the rolled joint in vain. The flint isn’t working.

Y: This lighter’s shit.

X: Lemme try. [X tries.] Shit.

Y takes the lighter back, shakes it next to his ear, listens while making his “thoughtful” face.

X [defeated]: I’ll ask someone. [Gets up, asks around the party/audience in vain]

Y: No one smokes anymore.

 

[sus]

this one's for @Corpsey

 

[Corpsey]

You've got to write the whole thing,

I think you could be onto something marketable here, btw. Sort of like Pride and Prejudice with Zombies but for obsessive stoners.

 

[sus]

X gets a light from Z on the condition that Z joins to smoke with them.

X: Lighter?

Z: I have matches, is that like, chill?

Y: Jesus christ.

X: Y, do you think matches burn hotter than lighters? Because sometimes I notice it’s easier to light a spliff, it burns more consistently.

Y: I have no idea.

Z: I got them at a bar. The matchbook has a sweet design, check it out.

Y [doesn’t look]: Ahuh. [grabs matches from hand, pulls one out without glancing]

X: I wonder why they’re called matchbooks.

Z: Maybe because you… get… knowledge from smoking pot..?

Y: [pause] I don’t think so. Lights, brings to mouth.

A status choreography plays out: Z comes in fronting, eventually has to resort to asking for help (3-second rule)

Z: [takes first hit. holds joint up to face, looking closely and investigatorily at it] What’s the name of the strand?

Y: Guava kush.

Z: Oh yeah, solid. That's a good one. [takes second hit]

Y: I'm fuckin I just made that up.

Z: Oh, ha, yeah, I’m just high, don’t listen to me. Inhales. Holds. Waits. Blows out.

X: Don't troll the boy.

Z takes a third hit. Y looks at him with brows raised. X shakes his head, sighs.

 

[sus]

I'll do it for you Corpsey

 

[sus]

alright that's the cliffhanger it'll take some time before the next batch is ready

luckily I don't need to mess with a plot arc given it's a Godot mimicry

 

[Corpsey]

Crime and Punishment but Raskalinkov is too blitzed to commit the crime.

 

[sus]

that's a great idea

 

[sus]

Raskolnikov [deliberating to himself]: But why did I want to commit the crime? Now that I'm blitzed I see my fellow man er woman in a new light... [beat] What was I saying again? Right, something about appetites... [a homoerotic shiver runs down his spine] who says I can't appease those some other way? No, but I am already committed... Do you think she thinks I'm acting all weird just standing here not saying anything? I better say something

Raskolnikov: Hello.

[pawnbroker looks up, continues tidying the shop]

Raskolnikov: Say, do you... by chance...

Pawnbroker: Well spit it out

Raskolnikov: I should... well... I better... I was just going home [turns, exits]

 

[woops]

repulsive stuff

 

[Corpsey]

You've got a gift

 

[Corpsey]

The best thing I ever wrote on here was a parody of Blake on the subject of mr tea absolutely loving a sausage casserole under the influence of DMT

 

[version]

Is this GPT-3 again?

 

[Corpsey]

To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Casserole
Hold a sausage in the palm of your pan
And Eternity in a Bowl

 

[sus]

They pass the joint around again. Z again take a third hit.

Y: X says true friendship is puff-puff-puff-pass— but we barely know you buddy so it’s coming off rude.

Z: Oh, I— shit—

X: You’re good, ignore him.

Z: How often you guys smoke?

Y: I smoke the way people drink coffee.

Z: For bravery?

Y: What?

Z: I think people drink coffee for the bravery. To start the day.

X: Huh.

Y: Weed for me’s a way to be a coward.

Z [looks at X]: You?

X: I just like pot.

Z: Do you smoke regularly? Is there a reason?

X: Uh…

Z: Like, are you like, addicted, do you think?

Y: X’s worst quality is he’s a slobbery joint smoker. Otherwise he’s an angel so you better leave him alone; I won’t sit here and let you hassle him.

X: I’m not a slobbery smoker.

Y: You’re kinda a slobbery smoker. I’m not complaining, but you usually pass it wet.

X [ignoring Y, to Z]: What you don’t get is first of all, pot works differently with a tolerance. Sometimes it just feels like putting grease on a bicycle chain.

Y: When’d you know?

X: When’d I know…? [Thinks.] You know, I think it was when I had a lighter actually run out on me. Like, I didn’t use it twice and then lose it after six months, all the gas ran out.

Z quickly inhales, blows out. Repeats again. Only two puffs this time.

They pass around again.

Z: Do you really have to hold in?

Y: Nope.

X: I’ve heard three seconds is about the length. Anything more is overkill, anything less is waste.

Z: Says who?

X: Studies.

Y: I dunno, I think it’s just gotta pass the trachea, THC absorbs pretty quick.

 

[sus]

Y [to X]: You ever smoke bacca outta a bowl? Raw-dog it, you know, like a spliff except in a pipe?

X: Never, that sounds bad.

Y: Naw. It’s not bad. I mean except the bacca part.

[Long pause. Z feeling he’s overstayed his welcome: X & Y are talking among themselves.]

Y: I shouldn’t smoke all this. You put too much bacca in. You know it gives me headaches.

X: I didn’t put that much in.

Y: You know I’m sensitive. Oh, I’m already dizzy now. It’s good I’m sitting down or I’d have to sit. Oh, wow. Oh man.

X [gestures with spliff]: Are you good?

Y: Uh… Uhm… I’ll have one more and then call it.

X: We could clip.

Y: No, no, if you’re not gonna finish it I’m gonna finish it. [Gestures for spliff, slumps.] Oh, god. I can’t.

X: I’ll clip it.

Y: …Okay.

[Y sits for a while, fidgets trying to get comfortable. At last seems to rest, then twitches again, readjusting himself in on the couch. Puts his head down, appears to sleep for a minute, then jerks his head up and looks at X.]

Y: Is Gordon coming back?

X: What?

Y: Is Gordon coming back?

X: He should be. The hostel’s not far.

Z: Hostel?

X: Every hostel’s got weed. That’s a known fact.

Y: We should ask somebody.

X: Let’s!

Y: Well, you should ask somebody.

X: Why don’t we ask somebody when we see someone who we know knows Gordon? That way we don’t waste our time.

Z [feeling he’s overstayed his welcome]: Alright well I’m gonna…

[X & Y ignore him. He leaves while they chat.]

 

[Corpsey]

Who's the more talented comic playwright wasting their talents on here - suspended reason or mvuent?