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This Novel is a work of fiction and should be read as one. Whereas it is true that the author
smokes Cannabis, it is not the intention of this Novel to encourage anyone to do so. If, however the
reader chooses to smoke Cannabis either for medical use or recreation that is their choice.
The author has been smoking Cannabis for relief of Chronic Sleep Apnoea for years, and has
found that when Cannabis is used Sleep Apnoea does not occur. This is anecdotal, but is
supported by the medical professions in countries where medical Cannabis is being used legally,
may this happen here soon!
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HARRY J ANSLINGER
Commissioner of the US Bureau of Narcotics 1930-
1962
WOODENBONGBONGWATER
Complimentary Chapter 2
2. The Miracle
They were about 2 hours into the days’ work when Pete leaned on his hoe and took his
hat off. He got that far away look in his eyes like Jenny, his last girlfriend was stroking
his feet on the sloppy couch in front of the telly. Pete was a sucker for any girl who’d tickle his
feet. His friends all thought that was the best part of his and Jennys’ relationship. They’d
met surfing. She was small, compact and sexy as. She was a fighter. She loved to argue and fight
“Feisty”,
he used to say with pride about her. Until the novelty wore off and he just wanted quiet
nights watching Trek. She was in England for a few months travelling with her sister, they’d actually
split before she left which everyone thought was for the best.
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Pete was out cotton chipping with two mates, the other Pete, and Quiet Terry, as he was now known.
It was six weeks since they’d hit the surf at Boulders. Six long hot grimy weeks of cotton
chipping near Gravesend, sixty clicks from Moree. The sound of crows crying was their
alarm in the morning greyness, as the heat squeezed into the workers hut and infiltrated
their dreams. The morning sounds of other workers and predawn clatter lifted them
out of bed long before work time. The work wasn’t hard, just monotonous and fucking
hot. (If you’ve never been out to Moree you have no fucking concept of what hot really
means. Think I’m joking. Well fuck you. Get in your car, leave off the a/c and drive out there
in summer. You’ll think you’ve sprung a leak.) The surfing withdrawals started after a week,
Cotton chipping attracts weirdos, let’s face it. Anyone willing to stand in the sun removing
weeds from between one of the most heavily sprayed crops on the planet, had to be fucked in the
head. However, Pete loved the assortment of characters that congregated each season on the fields.
One guy, Ted Amore had used his cotton chipping seasons to hone his staff fighting skills during
the day with the hoe and the hot nights to perfect his Arnis stick fighting with the tough shearer
lads from the next mega property. He went on to compete in the world stick fighting titles and
came fourth. All the visiting boys wanted Ted on their side when a fight broke out at the
Royal Hotel in Warialda or the other pubs in the area where generally regular fights occurred.
Ted could snap a pool cue like nobodys business and swing it like a helicopter
propeller. He was awe inspiring, and egg inspiring on the heads of any challenger. He had a
secret weapon as well. He drank water all night and pissed idiots were easy targets. It’s a funny
thing but no one ever got really damaged, I mean… dead. Ted always pulled his blows, ‘cause he
knew his awesome power. When the cops arrived no one said a thing, and no
Ted copped a beating however from two girls from Sweden one night. Ted had wrapped
his sticks around the noggin’ of a good friend of theirs at the Imperial in Moree one
night and so the girls in true revenge form, waited three months and then seduced Ted back to a
motel room in Moree on the grounds that they were both going to fuck him sore. Ted saw most
things coming, fists, bottles, pool cues and the like. He didn’t see this. The girls assured him of
some truly kinky goings on, and tied him to the bed securely. They then proceeded to flog him
with an assortment of belts with cowboy buckles, and whips, but not in a kinky sexual kind of
way. When they had completed their revenge Ted was jelly. He woke up in a pool of his own
blood some days later, dehydrated and near death. It seems the girls booked and paid for the
room for a week. By the time Ted was being rushed to Moree hospital, they were in the south of
France somewhere, laughing in Swedish over croissants and mocha coffee with Iko their big
blond mate.
Ted recovered of course and was back chipping the next season after his near win in Germany at
the titles. He came home via Stockholm and said he’d managed to catch up with Iko and the girls for a
bit of a party. He never elaborated, and no one asked any questions. It was only when the Federal
Police turned up with an Interpol agent and Ted was arrested and sent to Sweden for the murder trial
that everyone found out what had really happened. Ted was gaoled for life for the triple murder and was
last seen on late night TV on the news. Word was heard the next year that Ted had managed to work his
way quickly to a non secure prison under the lax Swedish prison regulations. From there he escaped and
Pete, the one leaning on the hoe, was a drummer. A fucking good one too. He’d been at it
since he was seven. After two years of lessons he got a place in a military band, and by
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twelve, used to hammer away in triplets to the standards on Australia day in the
Turramurra Pipe Band. His first real band at Uni was called the Toothbrush Family and played a
mix of Pop/Reggae/Ambient sounds a little too far ahead of their time. They’re still gigging.
The other Pete, “Piercing Pete” is a body piercer extraordinaire. His favourite is
his “initiation” pierces. No clamps, no pain relief, on a log in the bush somewhere, like an
ancient ritual, except for the gloves and hospital lances. He pierced Terrys’ left nipple and Michael
Ashmore as well on a mens camp out in the river wilds of the Macquarie -Turon basin. Nine men for
six days, hunting, fishing and music. A wild tribal thing to do. Michael and Terry had submerged
themselves in the icy waters of the Macquarie for half an hour prior to their piercing so there wasn’t
much blood. The photos of Terry taken by Frenchie Marco show him spitting and writhing in agony.
The photos of Michael Ashmore have him the calm meditative genius.
“Pierce me deep “he’d said to piercing Pete (PeteP), and PeteP obliged. Weird fucker.
Piercing Petes’ skills were in demand in those days before you had to have a licence to pierce. He
always said the best part about clitoral and labial piercing wasn’t the piercing itself, but his
fortnight after checkup that all was well at the jade gates. And that was how the rule of three started,
but….for later.
PeteP is originally from the Blue Mountains and he doesn’t play music but he
dances like a bastard when he fills up on disco bikkies and does this jittery Afro
Cuban variation on a theme all night and way after the band at the Moree Pub
has finished.
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“You know Pete, there’s a shop in Nimbin that sell all kinds of alternative legal herbal highs. You don’t
have to keep putting that shit in your body you know. Like they’ve got this stuff called Cherry Pop and
it’s a bit like MDMA. Also BUZZ….a bit like Coke. Why don’t you give it a try?” drummer Pete
(PeteD) asked one night after PeteP came off a two hour dancing frenzy at the pub.
“You know Pete, I really love you and the way you care so much about me …in fact I think you need a
big Petey hug right now.” Replied PeteP and proceeded to hug the other Pete and affirm his mately love
Terry is the odd one out, or more consistently the odd one in the threesome. Short,
stocky and quiet. He only speaks about 5 times a day, but when he does people
he just sings these loopy, intelligent verses that have you thinking about them
for hours. And sometimes it’s just one word…. like SENSITIVITY, or
COURAGE, like his mind has dipped randomly into some great cosmic bowl of Positive
Affirmations or Angel Cards. Some people can’t look Terry in the eyes. One girl they met last season
said the reason was that people, (like her), were frightened of the immediate reflection of
themselves that they see. Terry has done some major drugging also in his time and paid the price.
Everyone thinks he is really weird, out on the fields. Not so in Byron or Nimbin where he
is seen as a bit of a guru, mainly because when he can he removes snakes from peoples
houses. George the Snakeman taught him and it is like he has come to his rightful place in life. At
the pubs the three frequent in Moree, where admittedly things are real country conservative, he
is seen as a nutter. But none of the shearers, cowboys, or other chippers ever picks him for a fight.
Even Ted Amore said he was happy Terry was a friend and not a foe.
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The only time it happened was on their first cotton season. A big fella, six foot four called Dame,
eyeballed Terry after he had just transfixed the whole bar at the Royal in Warialda with one of his song
interludes.
“I saw the sun rise over the city orange like a fire, smell of rotting carcass taking my senses higher
Why would you want to be there it’s the belly of the beast?
Waiting for the birds and animals to eat you in the feast…yeah yeah yeah
I saw a sign drawn so clearly like writing on the wall all the indications of an empire about to fall
Why would you want to be there it’s the belly of the beast waiting for the spirit in a place where
It was obvious that Dame wanted trouble and it was obvious that Terry was only half this monsters’
size, but something in Terry’s’ eyes, something in his intonation and the way he said forcefully
made the big fella back right off and leave the pub. He crashed into a creek bed about twenty minutes
later and died before anyone found him. Terry was left alone after that. Even out west they recognise
KISMET.
It wasn’t the first or last time that Terry had concerned his mates with his strangeness. He regularly
had dreams that came true. Before India he was always telling the others about his psycho
dreaming when he’d have a break from smoking dope. And lo and behold, many of the dreams
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actually happened. It was freaky. Julie was shit scared of his dreaming. The others just hoped he
never had a bad dream about them. Terry said the dreaming came from his Maternal great
grandmother who was a gypsy, and from his paternal grandmother who was struck twice by
lightning. Wherever the source it was real and used to freak the person dreamed about out like
nothing else.
They knew where the look in drummerPetes’ eyes would take them. It was
Friday, eight a.m. If they drove straight there with only one stop for fuel at Woodenbong, they
would be in the surf by 2 o’clock. PeteD just dropped his hoe in the dirt and headed like a
magnet for the van. The other two looked at each other with nearly a hint of “fuck him, let
him go” and then dropped their hoes too and ran after him. The foreman heard the van
start and just shrugged. He knew they’d be back within a week, there was no work in the
Lennox area for three surf bums and they wouldn’t work for $15 an hour in a
They always kept a spare bag each in the van for such inevitably spontaneous departures and
decisions. Their boards were strapped on top all the time like a defining signature to the
people on the cotton farms of who they were, and their stash was in the glove box for
lunchtime festivities. The pot they grew last year was killer weed. Seeds traded with a
surfer called Rob some years earlier were a cross strain of Durban Poison and Maui
Wowee, the legacy of Robs’ time on the World Pro Surfing Circuit; a potent little
combination that yields a euphoric, mildly tripping experience that has left many
wishing they’d not dared and others gladly seeing god. Each year they devoted one plant
to seed and with great joy spread it around for the enlightenment of the
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masses.
This stash was some of the dregs of about a pound of heads kept for emergencies.
It was all hair and bite. Pungent and smoky and feral like the armpits of some of those
unshaven Nimbin girls with dreads they sexed last year at the Nimbin Mardi Grass.
The 2008 Mardi Grass was a cracker, in spite of the ridiculous and over the top police presence.
It had started with the April Fool’s Day Raid on the Nimbin Hemp Embassy, Hemp Bar next door, and
The Nimbin Hemp Museum across the road. Over seventy heavily armed police, some in full riot gear,
had descended on the peaceful town and terrorised it. It just got worse from there on.
A good friend of the Pete’s said he sold more pot during MG 2008 than he had the year before
even with the paramilitary dressed cops in toe. Terry saw a cookie fairy selling mull cookies for three
dollars or two for five and she said she sold a thousand cookies on Saturday and Sunday. There were
some awfully stoned punters walking around evading capture that weekend.
Thousands turned out in support of the Law Reform Rally on the Sunday and everyone who wanted to
was still able to sneak off somewhere the cops weren’t for a joint or pipe. Terry saw three cops wrestle a
fella to the ground and then subdue him with capsicum spray and then cuff him so he couldn’t wipe his
eyes. Just when he and everyone standing around thought that his eyes were going to fully
melt, an angel called Rainbow wafted through the crowd and started splashing water in his eyes.
A cop stepped forward to restrain her. As she turned and looked at him it was like the cop got stabbed
in the chest. He just stopped in his tracks with his hand outstretched and the other one loosening his top
button. Terry saw the look in her eyes and she saw him. Later that night after a few pots of Sassafras
tea Terry and Rainbow Kama Sutra’ed the night away in the back of the Beddy. This is also where the
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PeteP and PeteD met a couple of really feral girls that night, it was dreadful…ha-ha….both girls
had really wild and long dreads, hairy armpits and unshaved legs and bushes. They went back
to Lillyfield community where the girls shared a cabin and fucked the night away. A fly on
the wall would have noticed both Pete’s obscured by large amounts of hair.
“Well that did me the world of good” PeteP said as they hitched back into town in the morning.
“Yes me too, and the funny thing is that Parvati was actually forty years old.”
“No shit Sherlock. You must have been stoned to not have known that. Or maybe you need your eyes
tested!”
“What so you knew she was ten years older….why didn’t you say something?”
“Yeah.”
“Then shut up and get that finger working, I want to get another one of those dark chocolate filled
organic donuts”.
Terry is the only one prone to bouts of paranoia, so he drove home, while the other two
climbed into the rear of the Bedford and started packing cones. PeteP had fitted a really hip
CD player to the rear bench with a Terry-invented bump dampener made out of recording
studio sound insulation and so there were never any scratchy tunes. Terry said forcefully
“ARMADA”. They knew what he meant and soon, Sex and The City remix on an old
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Groove Armada CD is crackling over their respective skins and helping the THC to
pull the 2 Pete’s into a trippy kind of lethargy out on the road to Inverell. The Bedford
whined loudly up through 120kmph and Terry got that look on his face like he was staring into
the face of Hell and just planted his foot and motored on. No one can sense it, but Terry feels the subtle
changes in the land as he is whizzing along deep in thought…or feel. Someone once told him that what
he was feeling were the changes in spirit as he crossed old borders between aboriginal nations’ land.
Really Ripped
The 2 Pete’s are known for their ability to pack away the mull. Even the nasty boonda
weed that is known as Mullumbimby Madness didn’t deter them. Billy’s’ Creek Bite Back,
Robs’ Revenge and Saul’s Outdoor Japonica did not produce a flinch.
Some people like to get just stoned. Others like to be a little more gone but still in
control, and hate stepping over the line where reality warps a bit. But both the Pete’s loved
to just fuck themselves completely on the wildest shit that was available……..
eckies, was dead against hydro due to the chemical and nutrient saturation that gives it a
definite heavy drug feel. Drummer Pete just loved anything organic and only smoked “real bud”
as he calls it.
“Maybe after the shit goes down and we’re livin’ underground, “he said. But in any case
these two lads can out smoke the most dedicated pothead. They talked about it a lot… The
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inevitable breakdown of modern society. PeteD was working in Sydney in 1993 when the
combined Transport Workers, Oil Refinery Workers, Public Transport Workers strikes occurred. He
saw how quickly the supermarket shelves emptied (four days), and he saw the army trucks
dispensing S-26 milk formula to nursing mothers. He packed up the following week, when petrol
was again available and left the city for good. PeteD now said…
“Two days mates, two days. It’s fifteen years later and there’s only ever two days food on the
shelves in Sydney. That means five million people are only six meals away from total anarchy. I
will never go back there. And I don’t want to be where those people have to go to get food when
they inevitably do. It will happen; you know it will, Terry dreamed it”
PeteP had read everything he could on climate change and peak oil over the last two years and was
convinced that trouble, big fucking trouble was looming just over the horizon.
So here they were in the back of the Beddy totally fuckin’ gone when Drummer Pete
(PeteD) said to Pete the Piercer (PeteP) “I’m going to shave all my hair off”. PeteP looked up
out of his navel fascination and saw PeteD pulling on a swimming cap they had accidentally
found on the road to Moree some days back. It made him look bald. “What do you REALLY
think?” PeteP giggled a bit and then went back to his navel. So PeteD pulled out his
shaving kit, and started cutting his short dreads off with a pair of scissors.
Terry looked in the rear vision mirror and smiled his BIG smile.
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PeteD was going for broke with his tube of No Soap Shave and his Mach 3 until he
looked like a fucking Hare Krishna in a car accident. Blood oozed out of 20 odd nicks
and made him look like a scene from the Crucifixion. The Mel Gibson version.
“Hosanna in the vannest, Fuck mate, you look sick….give me the razor and shit” other Pete said.
By the time the trio were pulling into the BP at Woodenbong, PeteD was driving and PeteP
and Terry were looking like Nazi Skins in the back. Terry had rolled a cigar sized joint and
was puffing away like there was no tomorrow, while singing a high octave version of a song he made up
And it was. This particular pot put you in touch with every subtle nuance in the short term mind.
You could not escape it, you had to just hang on for the ride and assure yourself that
schizophrenia was not setting in. It was just a very mentally active form of THC. Some smoko was
like that. You wouldn’t give it to any of your bi-polar friends as it could see them needing some
serious psychological re-evaluation…..like in a strait jacket on lithium! The big mistake that a lot
of the population make is in thinking that pot is just a herb. It’s not. It is a magical herb that can take
you out of this realm of reality and plant you in the realm of your greatest fear. They call it
paranoia. It hits every smoker at times, usually when you least expect it, and can last for hours. It is
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the worst of the smoking mirrors, but it can be a great therapeutic tool if you know how to
approach it and can separate the fear in the short term mind from the peace in the long term mind.
Then it just doesn’t matter and you can observe the process of your own fear. This is easy to say
and harder to do, and even harder to master. The boys had all tried and not succeeded. But they
were willing to give it another go. They called it woomphing. The paranoia. That was the way they could
“I’m woomphing” one would say to the other, reaching out for support.
“Don’t bring me down you cunt” would reply the other, intensifying the firsts’ fear.
The remedy was easy, albeit possibly a placebo. Get as much orange juice or fresh oranges into the
victim as quickly as possible to settle the mental state. Many hard core potheads know this age
old remedy for paranoia, but if you are reading this and don’t, well there you go, something for
free. Also another weird thing that they all knew. If you were prone to depression, it wasn’t good to
smoke pot. But if you had a one off bout, pot could help you immensely. The dual nature of things. As
with Schizophrenia. If you were genetically disposed to it, pot could trigger it. If you had it, pot could
The old bloke who came out to driveway service them looked about 90 in the shade. He had
apparently owned the servo for 60 years. The BP was locally known as Woody’s’ Garage.
His name was Dennis Wood. He’d been in the Navy in the second war and was 80 not 90,
but he must have had a real hard life because he looked like shit. Woody just did that tut (or
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Cluck) sound with his tongue and roof of mouth when he saw the three escapees. They
always made this petrol stop when running away for a surf.
“Yeah how are ya mate? Got the sand itch again have ya?” Woody joked with a big smile.
“Ah you know Woody, got to get me fix every few weeks”
“Smells like you’ve already had that young fella” he said screwing up his nose.
“You know Woody, it’s like……me beer if you know what I mean”
“Would you like a beer son….got some home brew inside….it’s a bloody hot day…?”
The three boys followed the old man inside after he’d refilled the tank and paid him cash and
then waited while he shuffled off to get some ale and glasses out of an ancient fridge
parked in the corner of the shop. While he was doing this Terry started to look
around at the odd assortment of stuff for sale on the eye level shelving that went almost
all the way around the four walls. His Hell View eyes stopped on the nicest looking bong
“ ANGELIC” he said and the two Pete’s followed his gaze to the Bong.
There were actually about a dozen of them. They were made out of a really finely sanded
pale coloured wood and had been partially wrapped in copper wire. The stem and bowls
“Hey Woody, when did ya start selling this shit?” PeteD asked.
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“Oh…that,..well this new fella in town asked me if I would and well I just though I’d
help him out….he had a couple of young kids and he’s weird but kinda nice…..no
missus.”
”Shit not this again Woody…I just want to pay what they’re worth”
“Shit…I feel like I’m back in India….Okay I’ll give you $30.00 for one or $50 for two.”
“Righto mate, pick the ones you want.” Woody said quickly.
“The bloke said to take the offer people gave and that anyone who saw them would know
The beer was a Coopers brew and was as cold as charity and as cleansing on a hot day as
alpine creek water,…. almost. They had too many of course…, except Terry who had two and stopped.
Before leaving, PeteP filled one of the new bongs with tap water and filled up the spare
Terry drove and the other two pulled cones and then slept on the double bed in the back.
At two thirty they arrived at Boulders and got off the rocks into the water. The swell was not
big but they caught waves and then sat out the back just soaking in the salty beauty until
fried and rooted. Dolphins were jumping waves near them and large rays were bottom scooting
under them.
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The boys loved to surf. They were a bit adventurous, but only PeteD was up for really big waves. He’d
tackle anything the coast could throw. Other Pete and Terry had seen him in fifteen footers over the
headland at the northern break. He’d wipe out a bit but usually got a couple. He’d drown a bit and then
Survey Street looked out towards Boulders Beach and after the Ballina traffic died down you
could hear the ocean as an aural sounds cape, except when the backdrop of kitchen sounds &
Terry playing opera on the stereo, smashing about the kitchen in time to the orchestra, blocked it out.
That night he brewed up the hottest fucking chilli chicken dish this side of Pattaya. The house
was a settlers cottage kit home and after dinner is cooked they headed upstairs to the
loft to veg’ out on Trek DVDs, to get more stoned and drink a couple of good reds
from the “cellar”, an old tin garden shed in the backyard that was covered by rainforest
Just as dinner was surfacing from the steam and burn around Terry, and as Fourplays Gypsy
tirade belted from a CD, PeteP entered the kitchen with a 1994 St. Henri Shiraz and a
Green Valley Cabernet Sauvignon with half the labels ripped off. “Can’t fucking work
this one out….but I think I delabelled it so I would have to guess its’ vintage. Fuck
knows…..” he said.
The boys loved their red wine. They put up a fair bit of their wages to shop online for wine deals and
they were in an exclusive wine club. All together they had ended up with a collection of terrific popular
“And why the fuck shouldn’t we?” PeteP said as he popped a crisp cork out of the beautiful Penfolds St.
Henri Shiraz and sniffed it lovingly. “We should enjoy the fruit of our labour…or the fruit of the
They drooled over the Chilli Chicken, “as hot as Elle” as they are wont to say and
pulled cones in the new bongs until PeteD’s eyes rolled back in his head…a sure sign
that he was in the Wowie euphoria that he loved and PeteP ended up in foetal wunderland
under the coffee table. The Coffee table was ringed with stains and the carpet stunk. It
was the only place in the house that was outside the jurisdiction of Terry’s’ cleaning
frenzies, and both Pete’s’ had threatened him with certain death by Punji if he tried to
liberate the battle scars of the area around “ground zero” as it had been called for years.
The house is co-owned by the three mates. Terry and PeteD grew up in Deni together and they met
PeteP on really good cookies at Village Fair at CSU Mitchell in Bathurst about six years before and
when they finished Uni they all moved to Lennox together. Houses in Lennox were expensive
to rent then & buying any kind of real estate up north near the beach out of the
grasp of all three separately, so they decided to buy one together. PeteD’s grandfather had
died and left him $30,000 in inheritance, so they signed a mutual contract in front of
a solicitor and hit the Moree cotton fields. With two years employment records each and a
letter from the Union of Cotton Farmers of guaranteed employment each season, they purchased
47 Survey St. from another surfer called PeteH…..and moved in twelve weeks later. Terry had actually
PeteH was Julies’ ex-boyfriends’ brother. Terry and Julie had stayed with him a few years before on a
holiday to the Byron area and had witnessed PeteH’s marriage breakup. Terry had said then that he’d
love to buy the house if it was ever on the market. He had no idea how he’d have done that, and no
idea that he’d eventually purchase it with the other two. It’s funny what you put out there in the
ether. It was five years until it happened, just perfectly timed. PeteH had been forced into selling by
the ex, the three boys were ready and it was a match made in heaven, even more so because no fucking
At 2am PeteD woke with a start and kicked the coffee table. Both bongs’ water capacity
was way above your average; “to assist cooling water & to give you an afternoon sea
breeze feeling” the blurb with the bong said. The water from the now lying down
bongs dribbled off the coffee table on to the carpet. PeteD didn’t notice, he would have
but he got distracted by the piercing eyes of Terry that were locked on him. “Fuck Terry
don’t do that, “he said. Terry then moved as if he is coming out of a deep trance and
To purchase a copy of the novel “Woodenbong Bongwater” – The New Marijuana novel 2010 by R.J.