How I spent my 4/20, by Voice - aged 21. (Text)

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN YOU’RE OUT OF WEED!?!” I screamed, spitting over Roman’s jacket in the process “YOU TOLD ME YOU HAD THIRTY GRAMS YESTERDAY!”

“That’s true” he responded, nonchalantly, as though he hadn’t just smoked all my 4/20 celebratory dope “but I had a bong last night and used it all up”.


My Good friend Roman - the Cunt.

“You smoked an ounce and a quarter in one bong?” I asked, figuring he must just be messing with me.

“actually, there are 1.7 grams in an ounce, not 1.5, so technically I only smoked 1.1 ounces...”



Unfortunaltely, Roman is not this kind of Maths Genius.


“YOU SPANISH CUNT!” I bellowed, casually smashing Benny’s keyboard in the process, forgetting we weren’t in Roman’s room any more “I NEEDED THAT WEED! HOW THE FUCK ARE WE GONNA CELEBRATE 4/20 NOW?”

“Beats me.” He responded “But since it was past midnight when I had the bong yesterday, technically I’ve already had my 4/20 blaze...”

“Great” I replied, so mad I could feel the erection pressing against my jeans “I guess I’ll just have to go buy some elsewhere!”



Though admittedly, anger isn't the only cause of erections...

I stormed out, kicking Benny’s poodle on the way out. It hardly made a sound – I figured Roman must have breathed some of his second-hand weed smoke up its nose again. I left the house via the window, just so I wouldn’t have to walk past Paul’s room. He had just started seeing Tulisa from N-DUBZ without telling me, and ever since that article I posted a couple of days ago, she wasn’t too happy with me. So, I pulled on the parachute I had bought specifically for this purpose from Camouflage, the local Army Surplus store, and bailed out of the second-storey window.


Think this, but from the 2nd floor, and in heterosexual clothes...

I hit the ground with an almighty crash, and heard bones shattering.

“Sorry” I said, getting off the guy I had landed on “My parachute didn’t deploy.”

He glared at me with a disdaining look – or was it a look of immense pain? Whatever, I thought. It’s Portsmouth – if you can’t handle having a 220lb white guy jump on your head from 2 storeys up you shouldn’t even bother getting out of bed in the morning.


220lb white guy - yes, I have put on 10 pounds since October, thank you for noticing...

I walked around for about an hour, looking for a weed dealer. Nothing. You would have thought at least one of the fourteen prostitutes I spoke to in Somers town would be holding weed, but apparently not. Fucking Jacqui Smith, putting Cannabis up to a Class B. What a cunt.


Even Gordon Brown's giving her Evils, the whore.

Eventually, I decided to head down to the head-shop on Albert Road, figuring that would be my best bet for finding weed at this hour. I walked through the door, and marched straight up to the counter.

“I want to buy some weed. Here’s 20 quid” I said, laying a grotty note on the counter. The Cop standing next to me didn’t look happy.

“Excuse me?” He said. I looked him up and down, weighing him up.

“Look, buddy, I don’t know how they do things where you’re from, but in my town only suckers wait in queues. Real men walk to the front!”

“I meant what are you doing trying to buy weed?” He replied, clearly covering up for the fact he’s one of those queuing pussies “can’t you tell I’m a cop, or something?”

“Well, duh.” I responded “Of course you’re a cop, but you’re in a head-shop, so you’re obviously not gonna arrest me for wanting to blaze up!”

“I’m investigating this store!” he responded, getting tetchy. “We’ve had reports that this establishment has been selling Meow-Meow illegally.”


Meow-Meow, apparently. Fucking Google...

“Meow-Meow?” I asked, intrigued. “Isn’t that the drug that makes you want to rub your scent all over things you want to claim ownership to?”

“I... don’t think so...” he responded, clearly having never used the drug before. “Its chemical name is mephadrone”.

“Oh yeah, I saw that in House.” I stated, knowledgably.


It's not gay for a guy to fancy Hugh Laurie... Trust me.

“I think that was methadone” he replied, lazily. I looked at him suspiciously.

“What did you say before?” I enquired.

“Mephedrone” he responded. It comes from Khat.

“It comes from cats?”


Listen to him, he has a masters in psychology and sociology.


“No, Khat. It’s a powerful herb that grows in Somalia – it’s mainly a stimulant, but has some hallucinogenic properties to boot”

“sounds good” I responded “I’ll take a gram.”

“You can’t” he replied, sounding agitated “It’s a class C drug”. He was clearly just as angry about this as I was.

“Government Fuckers!” I growled, angrily, “always trying to fuck over the little guy”


Fucking over the little guy.

“I don’t... I’m sorry, what?” he asked, and I remembered that he was one of them.

“Oh, sorry” I said “I forgot you work for the government. That must be hard, having to work for the people trying to close your store.”

“I don’t own this place...” he said, giving me a funny look. “Didn’t you hear what I was saying before?”

“About the Government being cunts? Sure, I heard that.”

“No, you said that!”

“Why would I have said it? You’re the one who works for them. You don’t complain about other people’s bosses, do you? It wouldn’t make sense!”

“It would make more sense than this conversation” he muttered.

Just then, an old guy in a brown suit walked out the stockroom door.


This guy, in fact.

The guy I was talking to turned to face him.

“Find anything?” he asked.

“Not yet, no.” The guy in the suit replied “But we’ve got to roll on out of here – division just got a call about a serious assault in Montogomery. Apparently some maniac jumped out a window on some poor sucker’s head – damn near killed him. All of CID’s been called over.”

“Right. Let’s roll!” My new friend responded, and they both walked out the door. A few seconds later, a white guy with dreadlocks who wasn’t Roman walked out the store-room, and came over to the counter.

“You looking for anything in particular?” He asked.

“As a matter of fact I am” I responded “I’m after some Purr-Purr”.

“I’m sorry?”

“You know, Purr-Purr, it comes from pussy.”

“I’m not sure you’re in the right place for that – you might wanna try Anne Summers...”


Anne Summers - I can't imagine a world without her...

“Methadone, Damn it!” I shouted, annoyed by this ignorant square. Why do non-stoners try and run head-shops? It just ruins it for those of us who do enjoy a good blaze.

“Oh right! You want methadrone?” He asked.

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

“We don’t have that, either. You want some SCD instead?”

“STD?” I asked. “What’s that?”

“Sub Coca Dragon” he replied, sounding bored “it’s like cocaine, but legal. £20 a gram”


A typical Sub-Coca Dragon... probably.

“Ok, I’ll take it!” I said “But you’d better have Purr-Purr the next time I come in here, or so help me God, you’ll be eating teeth for a month!”

“I’m not you’ve got that metaphor quite right...” he said as he disappeared into the back room. I stood there at the counter, trying to ignore the Easter Island head that was staring at me from across the store. He returned about 2 minutes later, whilst I was trying to work out my best route of escape in case the head came after me. I figured my best bet would be to jump out the window and climb up the guttering, because Easter Island heads can’t climb, but I wasn’t sure I could outrun it to the window, so was looking for a weapon on the counter that I could use. I settled on the cash register, because Easter Island is Polynesian, and I’ve heard they’re all money hungry thieves, like gypsies. Or is that Australians? Whatever, I wasn’t fussed, just so long as it stopped the head.


This is all that comes up when you search for "stopping head" on Google.

“Ok, here you go” the head spoke. I jumped back in fright, then realised that loser from behind the counter had returned with my STD.

“About time” I said, grabbing it off him. “That Head over there just spoke to me.”
“What head?” He asked. The fool – he’d be eaten before the night was out.

“Forget it” I said “Have a good time being crushed slowly to death and devoured, pal...”

I walked out into the street, clutching my Sub-Coca Dragon, and headed towards Gunwharf.



*************************************************************************************


“I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t go up the Spinnaker tower just now.”

“WHY THE FUCK NOT?!?!?!” I screamed, enraged by the injustice of it all.

“Because we’re on a ferry to the Isle of Wight” he responded “It’s physically impossible.”

Fucking Navy squares, I thought, always trying to tell you what is and isn’t possible. The SCD had opened my mind, and I could see reality for what it truly was. Time isn’t linear – it’s ball-shaped. We can either move round the circumference, like a closed minded person, or we can cut across the diameter, or across a sector – I knew that if they just let me climb to the top of the mast, I could make it to the Spinnaker tower, and then on to Jupiter.

“That’s not a mast, sir” a voice said, and I realised that either I had been speaking out loud, or I was a schizophrenic.

“I’M NOT A SCHIZOPHRENIC!” I screamed, adamant that I wasn’t going to end up in a mental hospital just for trying to achieve what no man has done before – rollerskate from Jupiter to Neptune without an oxygen mask.


Imagine this, but in Space.

“Farraday didn’t make it!” I shouted “He only got half way before one of his rollerskates fell off! Not even Tesla made it on only one tank of oxygen – he had a tank of Argon as well!”

“Ok, sir – that’s good to know. Would you mind taking a seat for a minute whilst I call the doctor?”

“ROBOTNIK?” I screamed, terrified of what he would do to me if he got his hands on me, creating a four-handed monster. “You’ll never take me alive!” I bellowed, and with that I dived into the sea. Just before I hit the water, however, I realised what a foolish thing this had been to do, because there are Tigers on the Isle of Wight, and Tigers can swim.


See????


“I don’t want to become Tiger food!” I yelled, and swam as fast as I could in the opposite direction to the ferry.



*************************************************************************************


“Hey, wake up, we’re closing!” A voice said.

“Hey voice” I said, still half-asleep “You know, I have a blog called ‘Voice From the Pillow’. We’re both voices. But mine’s German...”

“Whatever, man – come on, outside”.

I felt hands grab me, and I lashed out, fighting them off.

“No! I won’t be zombie food! Ash! AAAAAAASSSSHHHH!!!!!!!!”

“Right! Outside, now!”

The hands grabbed me and threw me out in the street. I came round, and looked up to see I was outside the Casino in Southampton. I must have swam all the way up the river – thank God a Tiger didn’t pick up my scent as I swam. I walked across the street and into MacDonalds.

“Hiya” I said “I’ll have a Whopper meal, please.”

“I’m sorry, sir – we don’t serve Whoppers here.”

“WHAT?!?!?!” I shouted “Southampton doesn’t have Whopper meals?”

“Nowhere does, sir – you have to go to Burger King for a Whopper meal...”

“Ok” I said, calming down slightly “Just just me a 10 piece Colonel’s bargain bucket.”

“We don’t sell those, either” the cashier responded. I don’t remember what happened next, but when I woke up, I was on the floor by the fryer covered in chicken, with an empty fire extinguisher next to me.

“Is my chicken done yet?” I asked the dark figure looming over me.

“He’s drunk” the figure said. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

As he bent down into the light, I saw it was a queer in a fireman’s outfit.


Don't search for 'Queer fireman' on Google. Unless you're into that sort of thing...

“I don’t want to get bummed by the Village People!” I screamed, then realised what I had said, and quickly added “Not that I’m a homophobe, or anything.”

“That’s ok, son” said the fireman “I get that a lot”.


Hardly surprising, really...

I passed out again.



*************************************************************************************


“Are you sure that’s the guy?” I heard a high pitched, whiney voice asking.

“Yeah, that’s him” a familiar voice responded. I opened my eyes to see the cop I had met earlier.

“Hey Andy!” I said, smiling at him.

“It’s Steve.” He said. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“I had to swim away from a Tiger, and a fireman tried to bum me” I said, thinking that encapsulated the most important elements of the story, adding “I’m not a Schizophrenic.”


It's true, you know?

“Of course not” Andy replied. “Shall I take you home?”

“No thanks” I said “The fireman already took me home. I think I’ll have a shower...” I started to take off my trousers, but Andy stopped me.

“Fuck off, Andy!” I shouted “I need a shower, or the Tigers will smell my scent!”

“There Are no Tigers!” he answered, and I looked at him, horrified.

“They’re extinct?” I asked “How did it happen? Tell me!”

“For God’s sake...”

“We have to avenge the Tigers!” I shouted, standing up, and pulling off one of my shoes. "To the White house!"


This guy works for Obama now. SERIOUSLY.

Just as I went to run out, a hand grabbed my arm. It was the guy in the suit from the head shop. He looked at my shoe.

“Size 11 Timberlands, huh?” He asked.

“That’s right” I replied.

“Come with me” he said, and dragged me into the adjacent room, moving me further from the white house, and away from Tiger liberation. When we got in the room, I saw Roman and Benny sitting on a bench in handcuffs. They looked up.

“Is this the guy?” The detective asked.

“Yes it is” I replied “that’s the guy who smoked all my 4/20 weed!”

“Not you, moron” he replied. “Is this the guy who jumped out your window earlier?”
“Yes” said Benny, not looking at me. I hated him for that – you should look at a man you are condemning for not doing a cool enough trick when jumping.

“That’s settled, then” said the cop, putting handcuffs on me. “You’re under arrest for causing GBH and fleeing the scene of a crime. Do you want us to call a lawyer for you?”

“Yes, call Sebastian Stark, please.” I asked. He looked at me long and hard.

“The character James Woods plays in ‘Shark’?”

“Yeah, him. Thanks.”

The detective walked off. I sat next to Roman.

“Got any weed on you?” I asked. He looked at me.

“It’s 2 past midnight, man. 4/20’s over.”

“ah well” I replied “there’s always next year.”

“well, that or we get on a plane and get into the next time-zone before the hour’s up” Roman replied. I looked up at him.

“You know what, you could be on to something...” I said.

“GUARD!” I shouted. Andy came in.

“What is it?” he sighed.

“Can you take us to Iceland?” I asked.


On second thoughts...

“Not with this Volcano going off, I can’t” he replied “in fact, even if it wasn’t, I still couldn’t...” He walked out. I looked at Roman, shocked.

“Of course!” I said “The volcano is the answer! It all makes sense now! We make a sacrifice to the volcano, and the Gods will bring the Tigers back, and we might get some weed before the day is out!”

“ok” said Roman “but how do we get to the volcano?”

“easy” I replied, “space isn’t linear, right? We simply have to get to the roof and jump, and we’ll end up wherever we’re picturing as we hit the ground!”

“ok” said Roman, “But how do we get to the roof?”

“leave that to me” I said, and with that, I got up and charged through the door, knocking Andy off his feet in the process, and I ran up the stairs. I ran and ran as hard as I could, till my muscles burned and my veins pumped battery acid, and then I ran some more. I reached the roof, and ran to the edge, just as a group of cops burst through the doorway behind me, and surrounded me.

“Don’t jump!” one of them said “it’s not worth it!”

“I’m sorry” I said “but it’s not my choice – the Tigers need me!”
And with that, I leaped.


Like this, but in colour, and less Artsy...



*************************************************************************************


I woke up in Hospital to see light shining through the window.

“Does this mean I missed 4/20?” I asked.

“I’m afraid so" said Andy, who was standing over me, looking stern.

“What am I doing here?” I asked.

“You jumped off the prison roof and fell 9 floors” he responded. “You would have died, but luckily you landed on Dappy from N-DUBZ’s head. In light of this, the CPS asked me to come round and tell you that all charges against you are being dropped for services to the country.”

“that’s good news” I replied “but what about the Tigers?”

“They’re fine” Andy said “they always were.”

“So this was all just part of your plan, then? Make me think the Tigers were murdered so I would jump off that building just as Dappy was walking in the door and kill him?” I asked.

“That’s pretty convoluted” he replied “even The Dark Knight made more sense than that.”

“matter of opinion, Andy” I replied.

“It’s Steve” he said, and walked out. Just before he left, he turned back to face me. “Take care of yourself, huh?”

“Yeah, you too, Andy” I said. And with that, he was gone. I sat and thought to myself for a moment. Sure, I didn’t get to smoke any weed, but it was still the best 4/20 I had ever had. I went back to sleep, and that was the end of my adventure. The Tigers were fine, I was more stoned than I had ever been, and the world was safe from really shitty British rap music once again...


Voice