I've got it all figured out.

Friday, August 20, 2010

Forget Smokey the Bear, Team CHEWBACCA assemble!

Did you hear about the woman in B.C. that had a marijuana grow-op.  guarded by bears?

B. T. the Bear

See now this is news. This is what I want to see when I open my newspaper every day. This is what I’m all about.

And this.

Now I’m no criminal but if I were to grow marijuana, you better believe no one is taking my future stash. First I’d have it hidden so no one could spot it from the air. Like that fake pool that Cheech and Chong had in Nice Dreams.

Or better yet I’d hide it in an inactive Volcano like Blofeld had in You Only Live Twice where James Bond gets in that little helicopter and tries to find it but then the SPECTRE guys come in their helicopters and then there’s a helicopter fight and James Bond’s helicopter fires missiles and all the little buttons on his helicopter are labeled with an old label maker and Sean Connery looks ridiculous and cool all at once and it’s awesome.

First zapped and now this. Why aren’t movie posters cool anymore?

Except I’d be the one flying the little helicopter to and from my grow-op. and if I catch you trying to steal any of my plants you’re going to get the flamethrower. Only it won’t be fire that comes out because I don’t want to burn down my plants so instead it will just hose you with methhead puke. And trust me, you don’t want that.

Fill ‘er up with premium, dude.

Only I can’t be flying around guarding my weed plants all day. I’m a rich drug dealer now. I have things to do. I’ve got to sit by my pool and watch bikini girls swim, get flames painted on the side of my little helicopter, buy oversized gold rope chains and let Hightimes take pictures of my weed for hippies to jerk off to.

So I need some sort of guards. Not bears though, that’s been done. Maybe I could get some of those radioactive boars radoactive boars from Germany. Or better yet bigfoots! Yes, bigfoots. A team of them to patrol my volcano base. And they’d all have crossbows.

Silent and deadly. You’d only catch a whiff of their stink and then thud, a crossbow bolt would be in your head. I’d have nine of them. Nine bigfoots and they’d all have names and they’d all wear a special hats so I can tell them apart and they’d all have specialties and the first letter of each of their names would spell out CHEWBACCA.

Roll call!

Name: Charlie.

Special Hat: One of those wicker Vietcong hats.

Specialty: Booby-traps.

Favorite food: Pizza.

Name: Hector.

Special Hat: Giant Sombrero .

Specialty: Knives.

Favorite food: Meatball sub.

Name: Eli.

Special Hat: Von Dutch Trucker Hat.

Specialty: Invisibility.

Favorite food: Garbage.

Name: Willy.

Special Hat: Solar Powered Fan Hat.

Specialty: Demolitions.

Favorite food: Foot long corndog .

Name: Barry.

Special Hat: Buffalo Wing Hat.

Specialty: Smashing things with a big rock.

Favorite food: Pizza.

Name: Albert.

Special Hat: Ferrari Hat.

Specialty: Completely shaved for extra creepiness.

Favorite food: Popcorn Shrimp.

Name: The Chads.

Special Hats: They share a Pith helmet.

Specialty: Gymkata.

Favorie Food: One likes Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups the other likes Pizza.

Name: Arnold

Special Hat: Got Poker visor (to show off his pompadore).

Specialty: Communications/Demolitions

Favorite food: Chunky Beefburger Soup

There. Try to steal my weed. Try it. I dare you. In fact I want you to try. Team CHEWBACCA, if you need me, I’ll be in the tub.

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