Bong McGee and the Case of the Disappearing Weed
The phone rang. Bong McGee - a tall, lanky private detective - fell out of his beanbag in shock. The waterpipe he had been using to solve some side cases spilled onto the shag rug as he crawled on all fours over to the telephone that sat in the corner.
Grabbing the receiver, he slowly lifted it to his ear, mustering only a simple "...Hello?"
"Hello. This is President Obama," the voice on the other side stated, "we have a national emergency. All the weed is gone. All of it."
McGee couldn't believe his ears.
"Is this some kind of joke?" he asked. President Obama was not the sort to make casual calls for drug hookups with the likes of him. "No. The nation's weed supply has been decimated. We're receiving reports of riots at Phish concerts and Grateful Dead cover bands that refuse to go on," said Obama, "Without weed, this nation is likely to devolve into chaos."
Obama secretly knew that the wealth in America would buy him stability. While the greed in the Middle East resulted in cheap sales of illegal substances to the US, the region could only stabilize itself with meager sobriety. The revolutions in Egypt and Libya were nearly planned by an increase in demand catalyzed by the Feds.
"Dude, that's harsh. Give me a moment to finish my bowl and I'll get on it," replied Bong.
Several days had passed since the phone call with the president. McGee lay on the floor of his office, staring at the ceiling with utmost importance. He could not recall the sense of urgency just days prior. Suddenly, he was out of weed. Confused, he stood up and looked around, his memories of the entire past month erased.
He picked up his phone and rang his connect. Or tried to, anyway, but was greeted only by a series of rising tones and a female voice speaking, "This number is not in service."
Just then, his fax sprung to life. "Hi Bong, this is the President," it read. "You might have forgotten by now, but you have to go find all the weed. We have agreed to your payment of 2 tons of fine White Widow. Thank you and god speed."
Not two seconds later, another fax came through. It was a picture of Dickbutt. Confused, Bong pulled out his oversized magnifying glass and carefully examined the childish illustration that was sent to him. Examining the lines along the shaft, a small message could be seen through the glass. "TUNNEL SNAKES RULE" read the tiny print. McGee was sure he had heard the phrase before, somewhere in his past. Now sober, he recalled exactly where he had heard it...
"The library!" he exclaimed. Digging through his stacks of papers and blotter, he tried to find his library card so he could go there and check out a book on tunnel snakes. Dewey decimal system 605.2.
About 4 hours later, Bong arrived at the Library. He was lucky to arrive only 20 minutes before the library closed, delayed by the 3-hour marathon of The Golden Girls. He stepped inside.
No one was there but old men looking at porn on the public computers. He walked up to one such geezer and remarked unfathomables to him. An old man in a leather jacket pulled him by the arm. "I have been expecting you, boy. Take a look at this."
The man handed him an envelope and disappeared into the shadows of the library. Bong opened it up. The letter read: "The president has lied. His birth certificate is false. His real name is Barack Bongama." McGee stared in amazement. After two minutes, then man interrupted him.
"Also, there's this." He turned the real certificate over to display another glorious portrait of Dickbutt. McGee's jaw dropped. Several minutes later, he recovered his wits enough to pull his oversized magnifying glass out of his all natural hemp fiber trenchcoat, and examined the illustration. On it, he found another inscription on the shaft. "It's 4'20" somewhere."
Let me put this into my laptop. "Zoom! Enhance!" Screamed McGee. The picture revealed that there was more than met the eye. He'd seen these symbols before, accompanied by hushed whispers and awkward bong rips. This was the logo of the secretive Illumiweednati. Some might argue that there's probably a better portmanteau of "weed" and Illuminati than "Illumiweednati", but hey what are you going to do? Gods! whispered Bong. He glanced around the library, careful not to look to suspicious. You know what this means? The man gave him a knowing glance.
"Yo, Bongs!" a scream came from a distant stack. "Shit" thought Bong. It was his old buddy, Pipes. He still owed him for ditching Pipes the last time they were pulled over by the state troopers. "Fuck, uh, long time no see dude. Kinda' busy right now."
"No worries, man. You got any weed on ya? I haven't been able to find a source in days." Pipes begged. The old man felt neglected. "Soz dude, I'm dry. Everyone is dry. Except for this bro here." Pipes gestured at the old geezer who was still looking at crude ponography through the security screen. "Hey, don't look at me like that. Can't you see I'm busy? Have you kids not been show how to respect your elders? In my day we would spank the shit out of kids like...." "you are a bong" Interrupted McGee. "No, you are a bong" "Look, Pipes" said Bong grabbing his old friend by the shoulders. I'm into something big...real big" He sniffed. "Wait a second, I know that smell. That's weed...not just any weed. You've been smoking White Widow, Pipes".
"I dunno what you're on about, man" said Pipes, holding up his hands and backing away from the pornography consoles. Bong continued screaming, "Don't hold out on me man!"
Pipes shouted back, "Fine man, I'll fucking do it!" He produced a desert eagle, shooting the other man in the head and clocking Bong over the head, blacking him out.
Pipes was on a roll, living the dream. He hadn't expected the troopers to offer him a bowl in the backseat of the cruiser, much less display the inscription of the illumiweednati openly on their uniform. Nor had he expected to be offered a job: Corner America's weed supply, and sell it to the Saudis. Working for the man, beating his friend with a firearm, shit, Pipes never thought he would be doing this back in the day. But after all, it was Julius Caesar who once said, "with great power comes great responsibility" and Pipes believed the same thing about Weed. Now it was time to divide the weed market much like Winston Churchill did with Gaul. Pipes reflected on this and blew a long plume of smoke out the back of the weedcruiser. Bong awoke in a dark place, but he could tell he was moving. The motion and lack of weed had made him nauseous. Next to him was the corpse of the man he had been talking to earlier. Oddly enough, he felt okay next to the cadaver.
Bumps littered the motion as McGee and the equisite cadaver rolled about in the trunk of Pipes' weedmobile. The weedmobile, a '73 Chevelle with a ganja green flake paint job, rolled up in front of a large Chateau out in the countryside. Pipes pounded on the trunk.
"Everybody out!" The weedtroopers pull Bong out the back of the trunk and threw him to the ground. Blinded by the sun, Bong squinted to see Pipes standing over him with his handgun. "This weed market ain't big enough for the two of us" said Pipes and blew a cloud of weedsmoke in Bong's face
The weedtroopers grabbed McGee by the shoulders and hauled him inside the building. All around were fantastical works of art, with the common theme being cannabis. McGee thought he would die, then and there. Suddenly, he heard a super secret stealth chopper hovering above the mansion.
In a blaze of glory, the roof fell in on itself.
"GET IN THE CHOPPA!" shouted Arnold, extending a ladder to McGee. Not one to question fate, McGee ran towards the rope ladder and grabbed on for dear life. But not before snatching an O of OG Kush from the display case the chopper conveniently broke open.
"You think it will be so easy to escape McGee?" Shouted Pipes. "As Julius Caesar once said, with great weed comes great power." Pipes pulled a triple joint out of his pocket and started laughing like a maniac.
"Fuck you, Pipes!" shouted Bong from the helicopter and waving his pipe. As he buckled into the chopper, Arnold tossed him a heavy metal briefcase. "What is this?" Asked Bong. Arnold responded, yelling over the chopper noise, "This, my darling, is a device . A device that many men, and many women, have died to see., to understand, and to own. This, my darling, is the cannabinomitron." Bong could see that at the rate Pipes was smoking reefer he would blast right through the helicopter into space. Perhaps, he thought, it was time to use the cannabinomitron.
"But be careful. If you use this now, you will become addicted to weed. Impossible, I know--but alas, I, myself..."
Bong thought. And thought. And thought some more. And smoked a quarter of his OG Kush. Finally, he decided that the correct course of action was to point the helicopter's machine gun at Pipes instead.
"Eat lead, dickbutt!" he exclaimed.
The bullets flew towards Pipes. He took a huge rip of his joint and blew as hard as he could. The bullets stopped in mid air. "Whoa" ejaculated Pipes, as the bullets fell to the floor.
"There's nothing you can do!" screamed Arnold. "He's just too high!" You're absolutely right" muttered Bong . He whipped out a dubsack of Purple Haze, took a nug, and shoved it up his nose while lighting it. The fumes let Bong float down to where Pipes was standing. Frustrated that Bong was refusing his help, Arnold grabbed the lonely cannabinomitron and fired it at the both of them.
Bong sensed it's intoxicating powers and quickly reacted. "This weed belongs to all!" he screamed.
Raising his crystal bowl to the sky, he refracted it's beam into a rainbow of cannibemetric agents. Suddenly, a rain of weed started pouring. "No!" Shouted Pipes. "And there's one more thing, said MgGee" "The old man in the library? That was me"
"I feel like I'm taking crazy pills!" raged the distraught Pipes. "Don't you idiots understand how the weedmarket works!? You can't do this to me! You can't just rain weed all willy-nilly across the country!" Green clouds started to form up high, precipitating dank buds and fat nugs across the nation. McGee had ensured that every home had free access to cannabis everywhere. Meanwhile, Arnold shook his head and flew away. When would these kids learn? 'THINK ABOUT THE CHILDREN' he shouted to himself. 'ASGSIDFHSKFHSJKDF'
With a puff of green smoke amd rage, the kindergarden cop vanished. Bong hung his head.
"That man did a great job for society today. In honor of his sacrifice, we must erect him a statue.
Behind McGee appeared Barack Bongama. "Well done, boy. Now I have another mystery for you. What if, like, the blue that you see is not the same blue that I see? What if your blue is my red?" Bong shook his head. "It's finished, Obama." The weed is free. "And in the end, that's all that really matters. To everyone, all around the world. The weed is free, and I think we can all agree on that"
"Agreed on what?" asked Barack.
Bong had just been talking to himself, not really speaking any words out loud. Pipes began to giggle. "Weed was meant to be free. Like the slaves in Africa and the coffee in the breakroom, nobody can lock it up and call it their own."
Obama took a long rip from his white house bong. Maybe you're right, after all. A tear rolled down his cheek, as he thought of everyone around the world, all getting free weed. A sherpa atop mount everest, taking a huge rip from a traditional high altitude bong. Witch doctors elebrating the weed harvest in the amazon rain forest. "Maybe I really have done a good thing", thought Obama.
Bong is back in his office. Months had gone by since the mystery was solved, and tonight was the 2012election night. After taking a bong rip, the phone rang. it was Obama. "Hey, we're having a victory party tonight, you comin'?"
"Naw man, Jersey Shore is on. I want to watch these kids be mad, and figure out why they're so mad. I don't get it man. But yeah good job with your election thing, lemme know how that works out for you." Bong replied.
"We won, man, we won. And it was all thanks to your progressive stance on mary jane. I owe you, bro."
And with that, Obama hung up and turned to face the waiting crowd to deliver his victory speech. He promptly forgot the speech and made farting sounds with his hands to distract the crowd. Suddenly there was a great shaking and booming sound. His head feeling like greased jello, he started running for his bicycle. Giant tits everywhere were falling from the sky.
Suddenly, it hit the President; he had committed the greatest mistake of his entire administration. What he had done, was not to legalize weed, but something more sinister. All the weed, all of it, had disappeared and in its stead, was something far, far worse. Bong had not truly succeeded in his mission, but only played into the hands of the enemy. To make matters worse, throughout the campaign, all the while exposed to this new and more dastardly compound, the President had begun to suffer the adverse side effects its creator intended. Then, something very queer occurred. Everyone across the country, nay, the world, simultaneously came to the realization that smoking weed was some faggot shit. Gay little bitches everywhere dropped their bongs and decided that basing their lives around the inhalation of smoke produced by burning a plant was fucking retarded. With a newfound lust for their previously squandered lives, these dumbass pieces of shit left their basements with a newfound resolve to get laid.
"I must... warn... Bong...." the President trailed off, as his own disgust to the word Bong bubbled up inside him. He was transforming, beginning to hate Weed, and all drugs, and seek only to get laid.
"No... I musn't warn him," said the President, much more resolute, as he put down the phone.
"Get me.... John Ashcroft," said the President into the white house phone, smiling and beginning to chuckle maniacally. Months later, Obama strode into Michelle's room, five cock rings strewn about the ten feet of his glistening cock. "Eat this cock, bitch" he growled, deethroating her. "My throat!" cried Michelle, as it was torn apart by the Presiden't enormous wang.
"Oops... cock-a-doodle...did," slyly remarked the President.
"I.. cannot be stopped, even Bong could not defeat me! This new weed... no, it is not weed, but something better, has transformed me and my followers... into glorious sex machines!" bellowed the President.
The President surveyed the devestation laid by his cock upon his wife, and read his morning memo. Riots had initially broke out throughout Humboldt county after the reversal of his weed legalization initiative, but his followers exposed to the new drug had quickly pacified the revolt. These superhumans, imbibed with the unholy concoction and massive cocks, terrorized the population.
They all had to die. "Execute, executive order 991134. Exterminate all the stoners, once and for all," said the President into his intercom.
"Oh, and tell the boss, his plan is complete"
From behind President Obama, a cold, white hand grasped his shoulder. It was Mr. Peanut, dressed in his ever popular top hat and monocle. An additional feature Obama didn't notice before was his massive red codpiece. "Mr. President you've got to get a hold of yourself and... and smoke this jay!", said Mr. Peanut.
Grabbing the receiver, he slowly lifted it to his ear, mustering only a simple "...Hello?"
"Hello. This is President Obama," the voice on the other side stated, "we have a national emergency. All the weed is gone. All of it."
McGee couldn't believe his ears.
"Is this some kind of joke?" he asked. President Obama was not the sort to make casual calls for drug hookups with the likes of him. "No. The nation's weed supply has been decimated. We're receiving reports of riots at Phish concerts and Grateful Dead cover bands that refuse to go on," said Obama, "Without weed, this nation is likely to devolve into chaos."
Obama secretly knew that the wealth in America would buy him stability. While the greed in the Middle East resulted in cheap sales of illegal substances to the US, the region could only stabilize itself with meager sobriety. The revolutions in Egypt and Libya were nearly planned by an increase in demand catalyzed by the Feds.
"Dude, that's harsh. Give me a moment to finish my bowl and I'll get on it," replied Bong.
Several days had passed since the phone call with the president. McGee lay on the floor of his office, staring at the ceiling with utmost importance. He could not recall the sense of urgency just days prior. Suddenly, he was out of weed. Confused, he stood up and looked around, his memories of the entire past month erased.
He picked up his phone and rang his connect. Or tried to, anyway, but was greeted only by a series of rising tones and a female voice speaking, "This number is not in service."
Just then, his fax sprung to life. "Hi Bong, this is the President," it read. "You might have forgotten by now, but you have to go find all the weed. We have agreed to your payment of 2 tons of fine White Widow. Thank you and god speed."
Not two seconds later, another fax came through. It was a picture of Dickbutt. Confused, Bong pulled out his oversized magnifying glass and carefully examined the childish illustration that was sent to him. Examining the lines along the shaft, a small message could be seen through the glass. "TUNNEL SNAKES RULE" read the tiny print. McGee was sure he had heard the phrase before, somewhere in his past. Now sober, he recalled exactly where he had heard it...
"The library!" he exclaimed. Digging through his stacks of papers and blotter, he tried to find his library card so he could go there and check out a book on tunnel snakes. Dewey decimal system 605.2.
About 4 hours later, Bong arrived at the Library. He was lucky to arrive only 20 minutes before the library closed, delayed by the 3-hour marathon of The Golden Girls. He stepped inside.
No one was there but old men looking at porn on the public computers. He walked up to one such geezer and remarked unfathomables to him. An old man in a leather jacket pulled him by the arm. "I have been expecting you, boy. Take a look at this."
The man handed him an envelope and disappeared into the shadows of the library. Bong opened it up. The letter read: "The president has lied. His birth certificate is false. His real name is Barack Bongama." McGee stared in amazement. After two minutes, then man interrupted him.
"Also, there's this." He turned the real certificate over to display another glorious portrait of Dickbutt. McGee's jaw dropped. Several minutes later, he recovered his wits enough to pull his oversized magnifying glass out of his all natural hemp fiber trenchcoat, and examined the illustration. On it, he found another inscription on the shaft. "It's 4'20" somewhere."
Let me put this into my laptop. "Zoom! Enhance!" Screamed McGee. The picture revealed that there was more than met the eye. He'd seen these symbols before, accompanied by hushed whispers and awkward bong rips. This was the logo of the secretive Illumiweednati. Some might argue that there's probably a better portmanteau of "weed" and Illuminati than "Illumiweednati", but hey what are you going to do? Gods! whispered Bong. He glanced around the library, careful not to look to suspicious. You know what this means? The man gave him a knowing glance.
"Yo, Bongs!" a scream came from a distant stack. "Shit" thought Bong. It was his old buddy, Pipes. He still owed him for ditching Pipes the last time they were pulled over by the state troopers. "Fuck, uh, long time no see dude. Kinda' busy right now."
"No worries, man. You got any weed on ya? I haven't been able to find a source in days." Pipes begged. The old man felt neglected. "Soz dude, I'm dry. Everyone is dry. Except for this bro here." Pipes gestured at the old geezer who was still looking at crude ponography through the security screen. "Hey, don't look at me like that. Can't you see I'm busy? Have you kids not been show how to respect your elders? In my day we would spank the shit out of kids like...." "you are a bong" Interrupted McGee. "No, you are a bong" "Look, Pipes" said Bong grabbing his old friend by the shoulders. I'm into something big...real big" He sniffed. "Wait a second, I know that smell. That's weed...not just any weed. You've been smoking White Widow, Pipes".
"I dunno what you're on about, man" said Pipes, holding up his hands and backing away from the pornography consoles. Bong continued screaming, "Don't hold out on me man!"
Pipes shouted back, "Fine man, I'll fucking do it!" He produced a desert eagle, shooting the other man in the head and clocking Bong over the head, blacking him out.
Pipes was on a roll, living the dream. He hadn't expected the troopers to offer him a bowl in the backseat of the cruiser, much less display the inscription of the illumiweednati openly on their uniform. Nor had he expected to be offered a job: Corner America's weed supply, and sell it to the Saudis. Working for the man, beating his friend with a firearm, shit, Pipes never thought he would be doing this back in the day. But after all, it was Julius Caesar who once said, "with great power comes great responsibility" and Pipes believed the same thing about Weed. Now it was time to divide the weed market much like Winston Churchill did with Gaul. Pipes reflected on this and blew a long plume of smoke out the back of the weedcruiser. Bong awoke in a dark place, but he could tell he was moving. The motion and lack of weed had made him nauseous. Next to him was the corpse of the man he had been talking to earlier. Oddly enough, he felt okay next to the cadaver.
Bumps littered the motion as McGee and the equisite cadaver rolled about in the trunk of Pipes' weedmobile. The weedmobile, a '73 Chevelle with a ganja green flake paint job, rolled up in front of a large Chateau out in the countryside. Pipes pounded on the trunk.
"Everybody out!" The weedtroopers pull Bong out the back of the trunk and threw him to the ground. Blinded by the sun, Bong squinted to see Pipes standing over him with his handgun. "This weed market ain't big enough for the two of us" said Pipes and blew a cloud of weedsmoke in Bong's face
The weedtroopers grabbed McGee by the shoulders and hauled him inside the building. All around were fantastical works of art, with the common theme being cannabis. McGee thought he would die, then and there. Suddenly, he heard a super secret stealth chopper hovering above the mansion.
In a blaze of glory, the roof fell in on itself.
"GET IN THE CHOPPA!" shouted Arnold, extending a ladder to McGee. Not one to question fate, McGee ran towards the rope ladder and grabbed on for dear life. But not before snatching an O of OG Kush from the display case the chopper conveniently broke open.
"You think it will be so easy to escape McGee?" Shouted Pipes. "As Julius Caesar once said, with great weed comes great power." Pipes pulled a triple joint out of his pocket and started laughing like a maniac.
"Fuck you, Pipes!" shouted Bong from the helicopter and waving his pipe. As he buckled into the chopper, Arnold tossed him a heavy metal briefcase. "What is this?" Asked Bong. Arnold responded, yelling over the chopper noise, "This, my darling, is a device . A device that many men, and many women, have died to see., to understand, and to own. This, my darling, is the cannabinomitron." Bong could see that at the rate Pipes was smoking reefer he would blast right through the helicopter into space. Perhaps, he thought, it was time to use the cannabinomitron.
"But be careful. If you use this now, you will become addicted to weed. Impossible, I know--but alas, I, myself..."
Bong thought. And thought. And thought some more. And smoked a quarter of his OG Kush. Finally, he decided that the correct course of action was to point the helicopter's machine gun at Pipes instead.
"Eat lead, dickbutt!" he exclaimed.
The bullets flew towards Pipes. He took a huge rip of his joint and blew as hard as he could. The bullets stopped in mid air. "Whoa" ejaculated Pipes, as the bullets fell to the floor.
"There's nothing you can do!" screamed Arnold. "He's just too high!" You're absolutely right" muttered Bong . He whipped out a dubsack of Purple Haze, took a nug, and shoved it up his nose while lighting it. The fumes let Bong float down to where Pipes was standing. Frustrated that Bong was refusing his help, Arnold grabbed the lonely cannabinomitron and fired it at the both of them.
Bong sensed it's intoxicating powers and quickly reacted. "This weed belongs to all!" he screamed.
Raising his crystal bowl to the sky, he refracted it's beam into a rainbow of cannibemetric agents. Suddenly, a rain of weed started pouring. "No!" Shouted Pipes. "And there's one more thing, said MgGee" "The old man in the library? That was me"
"I feel like I'm taking crazy pills!" raged the distraught Pipes. "Don't you idiots understand how the weedmarket works!? You can't do this to me! You can't just rain weed all willy-nilly across the country!" Green clouds started to form up high, precipitating dank buds and fat nugs across the nation. McGee had ensured that every home had free access to cannabis everywhere. Meanwhile, Arnold shook his head and flew away. When would these kids learn? 'THINK ABOUT THE CHILDREN' he shouted to himself. 'ASGSIDFHSKFHSJKDF'
With a puff of green smoke amd rage, the kindergarden cop vanished. Bong hung his head.
"That man did a great job for society today. In honor of his sacrifice, we must erect him a statue.
Behind McGee appeared Barack Bongama. "Well done, boy. Now I have another mystery for you. What if, like, the blue that you see is not the same blue that I see? What if your blue is my red?" Bong shook his head. "It's finished, Obama." The weed is free. "And in the end, that's all that really matters. To everyone, all around the world. The weed is free, and I think we can all agree on that"
"Agreed on what?" asked Barack.
Bong had just been talking to himself, not really speaking any words out loud. Pipes began to giggle. "Weed was meant to be free. Like the slaves in Africa and the coffee in the breakroom, nobody can lock it up and call it their own."
Obama took a long rip from his white house bong. Maybe you're right, after all. A tear rolled down his cheek, as he thought of everyone around the world, all getting free weed. A sherpa atop mount everest, taking a huge rip from a traditional high altitude bong. Witch doctors elebrating the weed harvest in the amazon rain forest. "Maybe I really have done a good thing", thought Obama.
Bong is back in his office. Months had gone by since the mystery was solved, and tonight was the 2012election night. After taking a bong rip, the phone rang. it was Obama. "Hey, we're having a victory party tonight, you comin'?"
"Naw man, Jersey Shore is on. I want to watch these kids be mad, and figure out why they're so mad. I don't get it man. But yeah good job with your election thing, lemme know how that works out for you." Bong replied.
"We won, man, we won. And it was all thanks to your progressive stance on mary jane. I owe you, bro."
And with that, Obama hung up and turned to face the waiting crowd to deliver his victory speech. He promptly forgot the speech and made farting sounds with his hands to distract the crowd. Suddenly there was a great shaking and booming sound. His head feeling like greased jello, he started running for his bicycle. Giant tits everywhere were falling from the sky.
Suddenly, it hit the President; he had committed the greatest mistake of his entire administration. What he had done, was not to legalize weed, but something more sinister. All the weed, all of it, had disappeared and in its stead, was something far, far worse. Bong had not truly succeeded in his mission, but only played into the hands of the enemy. To make matters worse, throughout the campaign, all the while exposed to this new and more dastardly compound, the President had begun to suffer the adverse side effects its creator intended. Then, something very queer occurred. Everyone across the country, nay, the world, simultaneously came to the realization that smoking weed was some faggot shit. Gay little bitches everywhere dropped their bongs and decided that basing their lives around the inhalation of smoke produced by burning a plant was fucking retarded. With a newfound lust for their previously squandered lives, these dumbass pieces of shit left their basements with a newfound resolve to get laid.
"I must... warn... Bong...." the President trailed off, as his own disgust to the word Bong bubbled up inside him. He was transforming, beginning to hate Weed, and all drugs, and seek only to get laid.
"No... I musn't warn him," said the President, much more resolute, as he put down the phone.
"Get me.... John Ashcroft," said the President into the white house phone, smiling and beginning to chuckle maniacally. Months later, Obama strode into Michelle's room, five cock rings strewn about the ten feet of his glistening cock. "Eat this cock, bitch" he growled, deethroating her. "My throat!" cried Michelle, as it was torn apart by the Presiden't enormous wang.
"Oops... cock-a-doodle...did," slyly remarked the President.
"I.. cannot be stopped, even Bong could not defeat me! This new weed... no, it is not weed, but something better, has transformed me and my followers... into glorious sex machines!" bellowed the President.
The President surveyed the devestation laid by his cock upon his wife, and read his morning memo. Riots had initially broke out throughout Humboldt county after the reversal of his weed legalization initiative, but his followers exposed to the new drug had quickly pacified the revolt. These superhumans, imbibed with the unholy concoction and massive cocks, terrorized the population.
They all had to die. "Execute, executive order 991134. Exterminate all the stoners, once and for all," said the President into his intercom.
"Oh, and tell the boss, his plan is complete"
From behind President Obama, a cold, white hand grasped his shoulder. It was Mr. Peanut, dressed in his ever popular top hat and monocle. An additional feature Obama didn't notice before was his massive red codpiece. "Mr. President you've got to get a hold of yourself and... and smoke this jay!", said Mr. Peanut.
~Page x~
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