Everyone was gathered around the big table in the middle of the Grounds for Divorce when this thing drove by. Well, if it wasn’t this one, it was one just like it. Sunny Sommerville drives it, and has for more years than anyone can remember. Sunny sticks out like a turd in the punchbowl in Fort Stockton, even without the 1965 Volkswagen Type 2 is a single-cab pickup he drives. Add in the green and white canvas covered single cab, and you can see him coming from a mile away.
Sunny has a place out on Brown Dirt Road. It’s a known fact he grows marijuana out there. He’s been known to sell it out of the back of the VW Type 2, along with a variety of organic parsnips, hotter-n-hell jalapeños, and heirloom tomatoes to make the whole thing look legitimate. The vegetables are damn good, not like the strip-mined variety you find at the grocery store, but honest-to-God produce like they had back in the Garden of Eden. Or maybe the marijuana just makes them taste that way. Hard to say.
I know that there would be an uproar all over town if the law ever came down on the weed side of Sunny’s business. The “free samples” and 10% of gross right off the top for Mayor Goodman makes sure that would never happen. Folks have gotten used to the medicinal properties of the fine product Sunny grows. When folks hear the air-cooled flat-four that utilizes a Brazilian-market (UF) engine case and is fed by a single downdraft carburetor rumble into town, a line starts forming behind the Rusty Hammer Hardware Store to buy a few jalapeños and baggies of relief from the times we live in. Most of the time the jalapeños don’t even get eaten.
Delgado was out of the kitchen and refilling the CMC mugs around the table while Lucinda seated a couple customers that had just walked in. “Marijuana and coffee are my favorite combination,” he said. “They’re the reason ice mocha lot of weed.” Sister Thelma chuckled, but not everybody got the joke.
“If you masturbate after smoking marijuana, is it high-jacking or weed whacking?” Rusty asked. Sister Thelma didn’t snicker at that one, even though everyone got it.
Rex, who being the town pharmacist should have known better, joined in. “I’m fine with alcohol, cigarettes, and marijuana. But cocaine is where I draw the line.” All of a sudden there seemed to be a competition around the table of weed-inspired humor.
“I just watched a documentary on marijuana,” Brother Bob from Second Baptist casually mentioned. “I think all documentaries should be watched that way.” That raised some eyebrows, even Lucinda’s.
“Apparently there is bi-partisan agreement in Congress that medicinal marijuana should be allowed for the purpose of relieving arthritis pain…” New Guy mentioned. “In other words, there is joint support for joint support for joint support.” Not a bad effort. Better than his regular contribution.
Chad, on break from his duties as Acting Manager at the Piggly Wiggly, said, “I heard that the cows over at the Starr Ranch, next to Sunny’s place, broke through the fence to get to the weed crop.” We all looked at him. “The pot was calling the cattle back.”
“The steaks were high,” Delgado added. By now he’d pulled up a chair at the table.
“By previously legalizing same-sex marriage and now Marijuana, Canada has finally interpreted the bible correctly,” Pastor Peterson noted while he read over the menu trying to decide if he was going to go with a late breakfast or an early lunch. He looked up from the menu long enough to finish the thought, “Leviticus 20:13 clearly states, ‘If a man lies with another man he should be stoned.’”
“If smoking marijuana causes short-term memory loss,” Delgado asked, “what does smoking marijuana do?”
“If Fort Stockton would just go ahead and legalize marijuana,” Chad said, “we’d have a lot higher turnout.” Everyone was chuckling at this point.
Chief Martin, who’d been sitting in the booth over in the corner, had been listening to the whole thing apparently. He normally doesn’t attempt to engage in any humor related to illegal activities, although that can be tough working for Mayor Goodman. “Did you see the flock of birds out at Sunny’s place, eating the seeds?” he said over his shoulder. “He left no tern unstoned!”
I personally felt like things had gotten out of hand. The conversation should have been about how well restored the ’65 Type 2 was. Focus on the canvas covering the bed, not the canibus in it, as it were. I mean the quality of the interior was stunning. The split front bench seat trimmed in brown vinyl and joined by a color-coordinated kick panel, door panels, and headliner made the thing look brand new. Folks who’d studied the inside, rather than just waiting in line for their fix, said that interior elements include a heel protector for the throttle pedal, sliding side windows, lap belts, and an inoperative Sapphire I push-button AM radio. Pretty damn nice package, if you ask me.
I tried to point that out, but Lucinda cut me off. “Scientists have recently discovered that 3 out of 5 habitual marijuana users developed over-productive saliva glands,” she said. When asked if anything can be done, she said, “Yes, you can either spit, or get off the pot”.
It was obvious folks at the roundtable were a lot more focused on making dad-jokes about pot than discussing the benefits of Sunny’s VW. I decided to join in on the fun, rather than be a stick in the mud flaps. “I could tell you marijuana is best used as a suppository,” I told the assembled group. “But I’d just be blowing smoke up your ass.”
Nobody laughed. But all of a sudden people wanted to talk about Sunny’s 1965 Volkswagen Type 2 Single Cab Pickup.
5 responses to “ONE TOKE OVER THE LINE”
OOPS! Your last joke was a little above my head….too high.
Terrence: “Tears in my eyes. You tell the best (and longest) dad jokes.”
The Captain: “Ya like that? Hold my beer!”
I assume that the lunch special anth the GFD was Hash.
“Free” samples for the Mayor?
I would’ve thought his source would be the “executive privilege” he exerted with the FSPD evidence locker room.
I really like dad jokes. Sometimes I think I am from another age, living in a too-new reality. Then I realize I AM the reality, that the world needs to back off, get a grip, and be able to laugh at itself. These weed jokes/dad jokes are clever, requiring thought, both to plan, and sometimes to fully appreciate. Some are funny or just downright punny. Either way I’m chuckling over my Folgers, And about to refill my CMC mug. our place looks reasonably neat because the grass was cut a few days ago.
Many years ago up in Jersey, when dad was a firefighter, his crew responded to a warehouse fire where it turns out there were burning bales of marijuana. Dad responded to the newspaper, cub reporter that there had been an indoor grass fire.