First They Smoked And Pondered Pastries...

[ViolentMedic]

((Travis Webster continued from We Rule The School. Joe Carrasco continued from Daily Exam.))

((Co-written with Delroy.))

"Seriously, Mike Myers was waaaaay scarier before Rob Zombie started giving reasons for his behavior. Freudian excuses make people seem more human and less monstrous, which in turn makes a villain less scary. If the villain has no motive, he is far more terrifying."

Travis was sitting in his room together with Joe, who was sprawled out on the floor, as he complained about the remake of Halloween. On his desk were all the necessary components for an excellent afternoon; a pack of rolling paper, and a small plastic bag of marijuana.

Joe nodded in response to Travis' rambling about the scariness of Mike Myers. Truth be told, he wasn't really into horror films and knew next-to-nothing about the difference between the original and the Rob Zombie remake. Or who Mike Myers was.

"So... it's scarier if it's just 'there's a creepy guy called Mike who is going to slash your face with his long fingernails?'" Joe raised his arms and wiggled his fingers to mimic said fingernails.

"That's Freddie Krueger, you dumb," Travis laughed.

"How was I supposed to know? I don't keep up with horror films. It's not my thing. I bet you don't keep up with the names of the main characters in, say... romantic comedies?"

With feigned disgust, Travis said, "Ugh, don't get me started on shitty romantic comedies, dude. I mean, they're okay as long as they have tits, but... c'mon now."

Joe snorted and shook his head. "That's not shallow at all, Trav."

Joe wouldn't have been able to manage that extremely light jab at anyone else. He was normally so afraid of offending people, even his friends, that he stayed quiet when thoughts like that came to mind. Travis was different, though. They went back all the way to the second grade.

"Also, you seriously have to stop talking to me about horror movies and all that 'buckets of blood and mothers ranting about dusty blankets' stuff."

"Dirty pillows, Joe! Dusty blankets is a terrible euphemism for tits, they'd be so weird-shaped."

"That isn't the point. I kept thinking this guy yesterday was going to throw pig's blood at me. Horror movies don't mix well with my imagination!"

Getting high in Travis' room had become a regular tradition. For Travis, it had already been a quite natural to smoke in his room (it was his room, after all), but Joe usually stuck to smoking in Travis' room as well because it was safer than trying to smoke in his own room, due to his mother being home near-constantly.

Also, getting high together was much more fun.

While Travis and Joe were discussing the topic of movie villains (though it would be closer to the truth to say it was Travis who talked and Joe who pretended to know what he was talking about), Travis had begun to carefully rip off two small pieces of the rolling paper pack, rolling them into two perfect roaches. It was all very much routine by now. He'd rolled so many joints, filled so many pipes, and smoked up from so many bongs. There had been a time when rolling a joint was full of fiddling and extremely troublesome, and usually took a couple of tries to get right. Those days were long gone.

Travis opened the bag and smelled the contents of it. That sickly sweet smell was something he could never get enough of. He took out a bud and put it on his table, and then held out the bag to Joe.

"Hey, Joe, man. Smell this shit. Smells good, right?"

Joe sat up and took the bag, breathing in the scent. The smell was pretty good. Especially since he knew the smell meant he'd soon be able to forget about any stressful things. No thinking about his father and all his 'Why did you get a B, do you want to be a working-class bum like your aunt' comments.

"Yeah. S'good."

Joe put the bag down carefully as Travis sorted out the useless seeds and stems from the contents on the table, before he pulled out a pack of Lucky Strikes and dutifully began pouring out a bit of tobacco from one of the cigarettes in his hand. Travis always put just a tad of tobacco in their joints to keep them from burning too fast. Once he had a sufficient mixture of weed and tobacco on the table, he put down the two rolling papers and the two roaches on the table and cracked his knuckles.

He quickly brushed the mixture of weed and tobacco into his open palm, and then began spreading it out in an even line throughout the two soon-to-be joints on the table. Once he was happy with how it looked, he brazenly brushed off the last contents off his hand in a random direction and began rolling.

Joe just watched quietly, chin propped on his hands. Travis was always the one who did the rolling, because Joe wasn't very good at it and he usually tore the paper or dropped bits everywhere. Even when he did it right he couldn't get it into those perfect cones. Maybe he needed more practice, although he wasn't getting it by letting Travis always do the rolling.

In a matter of seconds, both the flat papers had been curled into perfect cones. Travis licked the edges with a grin of delight, and handed one of the two joints over to Joe. It took him a couple of moments to realize he was missing something.

"Do you have a lighter, my friend?"

Joe raised an eyebrow before laughing. "Seriously? You have everything else, but no lighter? Hang on, I got one..."

Joe pulled his cheap, green lighter out of his pocket. He lit his own joint and inhaled, feeling the thick smoke rolling down into his lungs, before tossing the lighter over to Travis.

Travis skillfully caught the green lighter mid-air, using only one hand. Travis had never really been into sports, it just wasn't his thing, but he had always been athletic, which was helpful for everyday things like running to the bus, or in this case, catching lighters.

He lit the tightly rolled bundle of joy in his hands, and took a deep breath. Finally! He needed this, almost as much as Joe did. Travis was aware of the problems his friend faced at home, with demanding parents and enormous pressure put on him. Travis on the other hand barely saw his parents these days. Joe smoked to forget the ever-watchful eye of his parents. Travis smoked to forget the lack of watchful eyes from his own parents, who barely had time to say hello to him during the mornings these days. Him and Joe were truly polar opposites in many ways, yet they were still very good friends. Either way, when Joe had come to him for guidance, he had happily shown his friend an easy source of relaxation, one which he partook in regularly.

It was quiet for a couple of minutes, as both of them smoked. Joe eventually broke the silence.

"What about petty villains? Which kind's that? Like... like Eris. She's a chaos goddess, I think. She started the Trojan War because she wasn't invited to a party. Like the evil witch in Sleeping Beauty, except instead of curses she threw fruit."

Travis didn't know that much about Greek mythology, so he was willing to take Joe's word for it.

"But that's what I'm saying, man. I mean, sure. A guy waving a gun around is scary in any scenario. But if he's doing it for a reason, he's easier to identify with. Like... for revenge or robbing banks for his wife's medical bills or some shit."

Travis took another long toke from his joint. As he was holding the smoke in, he took a minute to ponder his next few words. He began talking before even unleashing the smoke, leading to his words sounding like he was holding his breath.

"However, if the killer does it for no proper reason. Like that goddess, what was her name? Eris?"

He closed his eyes, and finally let the smoke out of his lungs, just before he was about to begin coughing. Aaaaah, that hit the spot.

"Yeah, she begins a war for something as petty as a party invitation. That is absolutely terrifying. She's absolutely insane!"

"Of course Eris is insane. She's the goddess of chaos," Joe mumbled. "Chaos is insanity."

Travis grumbled and scratched his head. "Chaos isn't always insanity, man. Sometimes, it's refreshing to cause some chaos in all of this boring day-to-day bullshit. Ahahahahah, remember that time in 8th grade when I pulled the fire alarm and we got out of math class?"

He began laughing as he reminisced about that day. He'd almost gotten suspended for it. His parents had been too busy to come pick him up from the principal's office that day, so his uncle had done so instead.

"Oh yeah, I remember that." Joe pulled a face at Travis. "Could have waited until I'd gotten that week's homework. Papa was furious." While Joe would never had dared doing something like this in the normal state of mind, he now put on a stern voice, complete with heavy Chilean accent, at the same time attempting to straighten his back and pose in what he thought was a doctorly way, though it just made him look like he was about to have a seizure. "'Joe Carrasco, where is your homework? What do you mean, the fire alarm went off? That's no excuse! You should have stormed right back in and acquired it before leaving. Who will treat the first-degree burns from such fires if you mess up your degree in medicine? Now go to your room and don't come out until you've memorized the periodic table of elements, young man.'"

Travis began laughing, sticking his joint back in his mouth. Joe waited until he'd exhaled another cloud of smoke before he added, "Okay, so chaos isn't always insanity. But it is a lot of the time. That's why it's... it's chaos and stuff. Because it doesn't, y'know... make sense."

Travis wiped a tear from his eye, still chuckling, and nodded. "Fair enough, my friend. Fair enough. That wasn't a bad Mr. Carrasco impression though, my man. I almost thought he was in the room." Travis chuckled again.

Joe went slightly red, waving his hand. "Don't even bring up the idea of Papa being in the room right now. Just the thought is terrifying."

Travis grinned and looked up on his clean, white wood paneled roof. He was starting to feel a bit lightheaded, so collecting his thoughts wasn't that easy.

"So yeah, I saw this, er... this Jackie Chan movie called "New Police Story". The villains in that movie are a bunch of, y'know... these like... um... these rich, fuckin'... extreme sporting brats, who are, like, obsessed with computer games and shit. They rob banks, kill cops, and shoot at random civilians, just for fun. No goal, no excuse... just..."

Travis raised his hand and shaped it like a pistol.

"Bam bam bam... for no reason."

Travis stretched himself out in the chair and yawned, with his trustworthy joint still in his hand.

"I mean... uh... when you compare that to something like, er... like that 'The Survival of the--"

Until that point, Joe had gotten distracted by gazing out the window at the sunshine, and at a bird that was relaxing on a tree branch outside. However, at this point Joe raised his hand, giving Travis a stern look and for a moment looking even more disturbingly similar to his father than when he'd been trying to imitate him a minute ago.

"No. Don't bring that up. Just... don't."

Travis looked surprised. "I didn't watch it or anything, I just... y'know, wiki'ed it and stuff..."

"Don't. Bring. It. Up. Ruins the... y'know..." Joe waved his fingers around his head. "The buzz."

"Alright, alright."

Joe nodded before flopping backwards onto the floor, looking more relaxed again. After a moment, he added, "And... there's no 'the' at the beginning." It was instinct to correct any grammar mistakes, especially in the titles of things. Once he'd forgotten to cross one of the t's when writing about 'The Great Gatsby' and his father had read it and given him an earful. 'Proof-read, proof-read, proof-read, a typo can cause the death of a patient.'

And now he was grumpy again, but luckily the weed was certainly catching up to his brain now and was helping him quickly distract himself from the fact. For example, the fact that the word buzz was really fun to say. Buzzzzzzzz.

Travis, meanwhile, was talking again, though significantly less on track than he had been. He waved his half-finished joint around a bit as he talked.

"I mean, villains with no motivation are... y'know... that word for when people are... empty... something... Uh... Hollow! Hollow, they're so damn hollow, y'know!? But in a good way, because it's, like.. ooh." He wiggled his fingers. "Like that. Scary and shit. They don't have anything to... er... to lose, y'know, because they don't have shit to begin with. Something like that."

Travis began rubbing his eyes. They felt tingly and ached a little bit, in that nice way they usually did when he was high. His eyes were probably really red. God, maybe they should've shared one instead of having one each? He could see Joe was feeling the effects as well, and they were barely half finished.

"What d'you think?"

"...Eh?" Joe had gotten distracted by the bird outside the window again. "What? Er, uh... villains. Right, uh... yeah." Joe rubbed his face (was his face always so soft-feeling?) and tried to piece together a coherent respon--why was he staring at the ceiling lamp? Dammit, distractions...

"Right, uh... villains and... and stuff. ...Ooh!" Joe waved his arms around madly for a moment, jumping right field in terms of topic. "We should watch Reefer Madness! It's... I haven't seen it or anything, but it's... uh, it's... right, it's this old pro-pa-ga-nada--" Joe had to slow down at the long word, "--this film, it's an anti-pot thing. It's... it's supposed to be so... freaking... hilarious... when stoned. Get this, get this, get this..." Joe flailed his hands around again, accidentally sending some ash from the end of his joint flying off onto the carpet, before lowering his voice as if he were sharing the most serious of secrets. "It thinks... that pot... makes you violent."

Travis was just laughing his ass off. My god, Joe was so high. God, he was rambling worse than Travis himself had been. Then he realized he was still laughing. Wait, maybe he was high too? Then he realized he had problems breathing. How could this be? It was an automatic thing the body did! Shortness of breath wasn't normal! Oh god, what if he died!? Wait... Weed wasn't lethal. He was an experienced pot smoker, why was he freaking out? And more importantly:  WHY WAS HE STILL LAUGHING!?

Oh fuck. This was some strong shit. His dealer had told him the truth about that. Obviously! He was STILL laughing. And holy shit, his joint was almost finished! He didn't even remember taking the last few puffs of smoke now streaming out of his mouth and nostrils as he began coughing, whilst still laughing.

After finally stopping, he took a deep breath. He still let out a couple of snorts, but he tried to keep himself calm. After a few more deep breaths to regain his composure he looked up at Joe again.

"Eheh... Reefer Madness... Yeeeeaheheh, I've heard of it. Never watched it though... eheh... Maybe I should... uh... download it so we can check it out."

He closed his eyes and waved his hand around.

"Pfft... Violent pot smokers. Stupidest thing I've ever heard."

They looked at each other for a couple of seconds. They stared into each other's eyes. Travis was shocked at how dark and brown and deep Joe's eyes were. They were like darkened pools of hazel, and he felt compelled to keep looking at their beautiful-...

Then they both burst out laughing. Just as Joe was about to stop laughing, Travis lost his balance and fell out of his chair. And then they were at it again. They spent about a minute, just rolling around of the floor laughing. Travis had trouble breathing.

Jesus, this was some strong stuff.

After calming down a bit, they were both lying on the floor, looking up at the white roof. Outside there was birdsong. Travis could literally feel his intercostal muscles moving as he was breathing in and out. His entire body was buzzing. Then he looked over at his friend next to him and met his (clearly clouded) gaze and let up a huge grin.

"What's up, man? How you feelin'?"

"On the very top of the mountain," Joe said, grinning back. Any worries about schoolwork or explaining his probably red eyes to his father were gone from his mind. Or at least submerged under the pleasant fog that was now occupying it.

Joe squinted at Travis' eyes again and added, "You know those... those gold ringy thingies that you have in your eyes? The, er... you know, they're like halos if people had halos in their eyes? ...I need... to... to look up what those are called. And the medical term for nosebleeding and stuff. Anyway..." Joe recalled the subject of conversation before the eye contact. "We shouldn't watch Reefer Madness now because we need... we need snacks." Joe nodded seriously. "We need pancakes."

Travis let out another laugh. "Pancakes... those are like... for breakfast, dude. It's not a snack! You silly goose!"

"Pancakes are always good," Joe insisted. "Time doesn't matter... And who says 'silly goose' anymore?"

Travis rubbed his eyes. God, they were just stinging. But in a really good way. He had trouble keeping them open. His eyes were like small slits. Was slit a word? Slitty slit slit. Slit? What was he on about!? And why was he so hungry?

Maybe it was because they were talking about pancakes.

"Nah, man. For snacks, you... you... you know what we need? Oreos. A shitton of fuckin' Oreos. It is the FUCKING snack of kings, and the munchie food of gods, my brother."

He quickly rose to his feet. His muscles were still functioning, even if it felt like he was carrying a backpack of rocks on his back.

"TO ARMS! FOLLOW ME, MEN! LET US HUNT FOR OREOS!"

He ran off towards the Webster kitchen, Joe following at a slower, less agile pace. They came back with two large packages of Oreos. The first cookie was already in his mouth. It felt warm and chocolaty, almost like it was burning his tongue. And yet he was already working on getting a second one out of the package.

"See, Joe? Oreos! Delicious!"

He pondered for a second.

"Though pancakes would be pretty damn nice about now, wouldn't it? But I still want my Oreos."

The two friends looked at each other, as if they managed to get the same idea, at the exact same time.

"OREO PANCAKES."

"That is the best idea since the discovery of peniccki... pennycee... penicillin," Joe said, after fumbling over the word. "Oreo pancakes. ...Pancakeos."

That sounded so delicious.  Why had he never thought of it before? It felt like the most brilliant and obvious thing in the world.

"We should open a store. One that is dedicated to foods for the sophie-stee-caked stoner. With the specialty being pancakeos."

Travis nodded excitedly before giggling at Joe's horrendous pronunciation. He managed to collect himself and nod before saying, "Yeeeah, man. That would be fucking great."

Joe nodded. "We would be... millionaires."

Travis, who since their return from the kitchen had been lying down on the floor up until then, munching away at his Oreos, quickly sat up. He tried to give Joe a shocked expression, which failed miserably because he could hardly open his eyes anymore. He giggled and fell back on his back.

"Miiiiillliiiiooooonaaaairreessssssss!!!!"

Joe cracked up again at Travis' outburst and they both rolled around on the floor, laughing.

Papa would never let you go into the pastry business, said a small voice in Joe's head that wasn't quite suppressed by the happy marijuana cloud. You aren't allowed to be a chef. Joe frowned for a moment, the laughter fading, but otherwise ignored the voice. He could dream. At least for now.

After a few seconds of being sprawled out on the floor, Travis opened his mouth like he meant to speak. After several grunts and other sounds, he finally, with severe effort, spoke.

"Hey, Joe... We should... uhm... go out and... Uh... What was I sayi--OH YEAH! We should get the ingredients... for that... for this... Uh... Like, dude, we should... right now, dude..."

Travis rubbed his eyes again.

"Let's go!"

The small part of Joe's common sense that wasn't entirely submerged by fog, the same part who had told him off for his impromptu dreams of making pancakeos for a living, violently protested against this idea. Though not in any coherent, reasonable way. Just a vague sense of 'terrible, terrible idea,' even though he couldn't remember why.

"Errgh, I dunno..."

Travis sat up and stared straight into Joe's brown eyes again. He smiled innocently.

"...Pwetty pwease?"

The common sense part of Joe's brain decided that fighting through the happy cloud of pot smoke wasn't worth the effort.

"Okay. Just... never do that again. Ever."

((Travis Webster and Joe Carrasco continued in ...And Then They Poked At Cushions.))