(Bud)dies

Wrote this everyday in your class

 

Head to the shed

A Gram in time saves nine

A Gram Is Better Than A Damn

Hide it in my sock

Hide in my sock oooo

Sellin that re-rock

First i shoot the op oo

Im a wok star

Im a rock star

Im a pop star

Mow the dough

Till the pill

Spark the lark

Mash the hash

Stunt with the blunt

Toss the cross

Deal the meal

Coil the foil

Hog the fog

Spud with the bud

Spot the pot

pass the grass

Chief the leaf

Appoint the joint

Share the flare

Choke on smoke

Shred the bread

Poach the roach

Pass that Fast!

Roll the bowl

Inhale you frail!

Guzzle the puzzle

Hug the nug

Respect the specs

Damn the gram

Gain the mary jane

A dime’s not a crime

Weigh the hay

Mead the weed

Toke the smoke

Marry the cherry

Hype to pipe

Gulp the pulp

Slurp the purp

Grow the show

Blame the flame

Tame the flame

Dare to share

Yield the field

Don't cough sneeze it off

Spice to entice

Bake the cake

Wrap that crap

Dab in the lab

Huff and puff it's never enough

Beware of the the dare

Hail the khale

Throttle the bottle

Finesse the address

Sing a song to the bong

THC is for ME!!!!

caught with pot

Pay your bail to smoke khale

I DREAM ABOUT THE SCHEME!

Savor the flavor

Bake the flake

Hope for dope

Don’t drool keep your cool

Blackledge that Cartridge

Scratch that let’s match

Taste to see if it’s laced

I’m hype to pipe

I’ll match your batch

Screw the crew drink a brew

Smoke fast don't be last

Quick! Lets smoke a brick!

Honcho is looking for some poncho

 

Special Thanks

This book was written by my dear friend Kianoosh moghadassi and I. I would like to thank all my friends and family for giving me inspiration to write this tale. Only Kianoosh and I will understand the true meaning of each excerpt but that is the fun of it. It’s a playful book full of secrets. So a big thanks to Colten Hagadus, John Reichenbach, Trey Fenstermaker, Brendan Miller, and Lucas Reichard for all the silly memories we’ve shared. I would also like to take my time to give a round of applause to the bud that helped me and my mate write this spectacular novel. I’m so hype to pipe!! :p

(P.S. this book started off as a google doc of banterous terminology and phrases… gradually becoming a Novel and instant all time classic)

 

Prologue

Their dreams lie in the untold truth of humanitarianism. Of course, one may question the resemblance that Honcho and Motghman have together. However, the uncanny period of deception lies in their period of awakening.

 

The Banter Bible: Undertaking

 

Chapter 1- Introduction

“It’s Johnny Honcho yo.” “It’s Moghman yo, we love that bud yo.” Once upon a time the duo had a dream. A dream of Inspiration. They wanted to make an investment with the little money they had. The money was scrounged. The dark periods had stopped. They had quit their jobs as merchants. Honcho and Moghman had roughly 10 golden trinkets.. Enough to gamble in an unforeseen journey. A journey that could change even the faintest of souls.

With the little bud they had, Honcho persuaded his brother Moghman, their crew, and their 3 uncles Felipe, Freshaw, and Dushmo to go on a lifelong journey. From Persia they decided to paraglide over to the unknown lands with their 3 uncles Felipe, Dushmo,and  Freshaw to follow in their relatives path, Cyrus.

Cyrus was man of many ambitions. He left his family in order to attain stardom in the dangerous outside world. He believed he would find wealth, prosperity, and peace along his journey. As a believer of foreign tradition, Cyrus was seduced by the superfluous ways of  hemp smokers.

Chapter 2-

Moghman was enraged at first. They knew there was never enough bud to be passed around. Honcho’s scrounging methods were useless and foreign to the brethren. Honcho was downtrodden when he heard the news, he never wanted it to come to this. He never wanted savvy ideas to come between the sacred brotherhood and their journey. His arse was freezing in the sanctuary. With the little currency they had, they invested in a petite cottage which they named, The Sanctuary. Everyday they worked on their crafts and shared their knowledges throughout the lands. They slept in the cold sanctuary. Moghman believed that the cold was getting them stronger.

After 3 years of agony the uncles had abandoned their cause. The analytical thinking created an endeavor that inspired them. Spirits communicated with their feminine sides. Inspiration sailed in the paths of their aged ancestors. A last, something happened. After a revolutionary moment in the sanctuary, Felipe pondered the situation. He felt a growth forming. It was like a tumor, small in stature, but grand in schemes.

Felipe found himself alone one night in the sanctuary. He was slumbering when he heard a faint whisper in his left ear lobe. He thought to himself,  “Shall I speak to the tumor?” He proceeded to speak and yearned a response. The tumor stated “I am not in existence without the element of time.” Felipe questioned the tumor which was enlarging at a steady rate in his frontal lobe.

Communicating with the tumor was a chore. A casual encounter with the tumor was never enough to satisfy the whimsical urges of felipe.

Felipe was in dire need of his fruitful uncle Freshaw. His senses were tingling. The aurora was presenting itself. He knew where he needed to travel. The tumor told Felipe that his uncle Freshaw lived in the seventh century of time on planet Poopes. The tumor also warned Felipe of Freshaws ghastly tricks. He was a bamboozler. Short in height but very clever and whittful. Freshaw felt the vibrations. Something was giving him correlations within the nebula of time. The patterns were off, the atmosphere was changing, a tumor was present…

 

Freshaw spoke to the tumor within Felipe's brain and tried to tell it to skedaddle, it failed. The tumor refused to flee and Freshaw was Jealous. He wanted the tumor and Felipe never pondered the thought of how helpful the tumor might be. The thought of a friendly and helpful buddy never passed his mind. Felipe thought of all the adventures that awaited him and his tumor. However, he kept himself aware that evil dwellers like Freshaw were out to mandate his good fortune. Felipe left Poopes and went on with Moghman, Honcho, and Felipe.

Honcho, Felipe, and Mogh wanted to create a reality of their own. Their dream lied in becoming an independent chaser. If income was steady, they could leave their tied fates of surviving in the sanctuary.

Chapter 2- Illusion

“ The destruction of one's beliefs lead’s one to rise from the ashes. The individuals questioned their reality. Throughout the maze of time, pondering leads to reflection, and reflection becomes the art”.

Art of the sanctuary.. It consisted of Soccer paint, tin foil, and malignant but always sturdy water bottles. The water was old. It sat, waiting in the sanctuary for centuries. Pondering the thought of being drank. When Felipe discovered the sacred shed of foreign origin, it was a classic sight to see. Ancient, new, and old. The previous uses of the sanctuary were unknown, but as Felipe had stated earlier, and Moghman knew it too, the shed was damned. It was all an illusion.

Moghman believed in an illusion. His thoughts revolved around the misinterpretation of emotions. Emotions are formed by propaganda. Who is to say when you are suppose to be happy. “Shhhhhh,” sounded the bell. It demands a sacrifice. Bring me… Fungus. The deterioration of the cerebral cortex of Moghman and Honcho created a dare devil approach to history. The bell spoke again. “ I will grant ye sight, however Honcho must.. Swig the potion.”

That night, Honcho started to panic. “MOGHMAN”! he shouted. Did I swig?? Moghman believed that it would be alright. The sacrifice was made, and now the misconceptions were forged into an alternative reality. A different way to perceive the life given to us from above. It was the shelter that sanctified us. The shelter was our savior. It was our sanctuary. It protected us from the winds and rain, the snow and prowling eyes.

Who in their right mind would devote himself to something so sacrilegious. It was unfair for all 3 uncles. They knew tides were turning. They knew time was running out. They knew they had to save themselves from the horrible misogyny that awaited their cold, cold hearts. They knew a dark fate awaited their timelines of hope.

Chapter 3- ill

Dushmo was ill. He had contracted the mumps a week prior. It was over. Without bud nothing could save him. Destiny kept him alive and well, but not for long. The aspect of time could no longer interfere with the realm he was present in. The vortex was pulling him in. That vortex of death. Honcho and freshaw began to set aside their bud and food rations for their dying uncle, Dushmo. Moghman was enraged and screamed out “What has your mothers taught you!” He made them ponder the situation. He made them aware of the situation and they came to realize the crucial situation. It was over for Dushmo. He had passed away after the predicament and smoked the last rations of bud as well. “No bud, no food!” yelped Felipe.

Chapter 4- Tis the Season

The uncles ran. They kept running. “Up and back!”. This was suicide. Freshaw was merciless. He had turned into a redcoat. Harsh in words, weird in stare. After the death of Dushmo, Freshaw went insane. Freshaw began to believe in the system. The only way to make it was to work it, work the system. 1 scorn, 3 years, 1 decade was what he believed would work. Honcho, Moghman, and Felipe mourned thy brother but could not bring themselves to believe in the deceptive and unworthy proclamation called The System. The System had the power to alter a man’s mind. It could change the way your mind is powered. Fight or Flight is eliminated. The context of flight is diminished. “FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT!” chanted Freshaw. “Fight for your your brethren Silly Man and Shubella.” Felipe tried to be creative throughout the altercation but his hopes were lost. He found himself wandering amongst the endless passageways of the now extracted sanctuary. Freshaw had brainwashed Felipe and Moghman and Honcho knew it. They finally worked up their courage to go to the Factory and took a stab at Freshaw. They stabbed him with words of the sacred sanctuary committee members.

Chapter 5- Quit

Mogh and Honcho walked into the factory. They looked in the eyes of their fellow co- workers. One of their friends, Rake, was confused. “Where are your gloves, your shoes, your paint?” asked Rake. Honcho looked him in the eyes and said, “It’s over, we are quitting.”

Freshaw was plotting what was in store for that day. Sale production was down. He wanted to push the uncles and workers even harder.

What he found to his surprise, the duo was not prepared for work. He knew what was happening. He escaped into the forest to consult with the Baze and Old man. The duo confronted him when he returned.

It was over. The factories hopes for production were lost. The duo had become the leaders of the workers, even though thou did not understand yet.

In the upcoming weeks, the workers would follow in the footsteps in the duo. The duo had become leaders.

At the start of the journey, nothing was working out. They kept falling. Fall after, fall, the uncles were starting to lose their fire. Honcho was confused to how he was only taking meager steps. He had flashbacks from the “Ranger Age”. He was dominant in steps, and rarely fell. However, over the ages, he slowly became a cripple, falling at the sight of opposition.

Moghman, on the other hand, was in the 5th dimension. He was baked all day, every day, and questioned his reality. He questioned if he even wanted to stay on the journey.

One day, while taking a break from the journey, Moghman and Honcho went to the sanctuary. They were the only ones there, as the uncles were busy believing in the system. This was their destiny and they both knew it. They could never abandon thy brother and thy sister. The brotherhood was absent in cause and impactful at heart. It made them aware. They sat in the sanctuary discussing their lives. Boredom struck and moghman calmly stated, ‘Let’s schmoke”, Honcho giggled and smoothly agreed with the broad statement but was aware it was a paradox. He caught moghman slipping in character, but he led it slide. After all, they had been best mates since grade school.

Honcho’s craft was simple. He was an engineer, a craftsman. A jack of all trades. The way he sculpted the bottle couldn't be explained by the demigods of life. It was a gift. Cherished by the high priests. Enabling Honcho to get a good smoke whenever he pleased. Moghman embraced Honchos talent and was fully aware of the powers it entailed.

The master could construct from anything. Even the fruits were used to get shmacked. Honcho was delirious from the smoke. He yelled “Smoke, choke, that's all we know, toke”! Moghman was inspired by the Elite life. They were both ready to pursue.

Chapter 6- Training

They had plenty of bud that would span out through the course of thy womb. It was enough to last a fortnight. They were hype. Excited. Conceded. Honcho winced at the dank smell of mary jane when moghman pulled out the sack of fat juicy nugs. But shakes were the new wave. Shakes were unexplainable. The thc levels could tame a honey badger if given the proper proportions. Shakes also allotted the merchandise to be dealt to other craftsman.

Profit was always key. If the profit margin was too slim the journey would be over. The bud would stop flowing and the mind would be yanked of awareness. Their powers would be gone.

Moghman created a salary cap. It was creative and spontaneous. The Miscellaneous proximity of the bud that was allotted to the 2 mates was terrible. To see a man smoke that little bud would have been a dreadful sight to see, but they made it work. Day after day they schmoked tiny bowls to get the buzz that they needed to proceed through the realm of Noah’s ark. They knew if they rationed correctly they would have plenty of juicy nugs for the fornites that followed. And the best part... they were grateful.

 

Chapter 7- Tamaqua

“He doesn’t live here anymore!”, screamed BlackJack. BlackJack was the king of the seas. The father of a wealthy noble, he believed Honcho had betrayed him. Honcho pleaded his cause but it was no use. MuMu was infuriated by the profanity. Moghman and Honcho had found themselves in a preliminary set by the spirits. They were caught red handed in the act of scheming. The Robot barged in and yelled for honcho. “I want all of it out!” Exclaimed the Robot. Moghman was greatly angered by the soulless robot. “Shut up”, he thought to himself. MuMu saw Moghman’s lips quiver and yelled “How dare you defy your faith.” The fruit was ripe. But Moghman’s time was up on this impactful Journey. The almighty Ruler MuMu sent him back to Persia to think about his defying actions. Moghman did not want to be in time out while in the prime of his life. He no longer wanted to govern Blackjack and MuMu’s faith. The worst of all was Mustapha Mond.

She was goofy in posture and unordinary in perplexion. The way she controlled her region was unfathomable. This was Honchos greatest feat. Propaganda led him to the forsaken lands and skill shall get him out. “You shall be besieged!” cried out Honcho. As he knew he would face many hardships in the months to come.

Time seemed to take its time in this dimension, and Honcho found crafty ways to use it to his advantage. He trained his mind, body, and soul while trapped in the Realm of Forsaken Knowledge. If he wanted to survive this nightmare of a reality, then he would need his mind to be starstruck with urges of might. He knew he needed the will power.

Honcho was saddened when he heard the news of Moghman returning to Persia. MuMu was known throughout the realms as a Demigod, so he could not be schemed upon. But the Journey was far from over. While away from Moghman, Honcho knew he had to continue training his dedicated mentality. He learned how to scheme while under the close watch of Mustapha mond. He found nooks and crannies to hide the priceless treasure. He treated the weeds like gold. Scrounging the shakes that fell. The 5 second rule doesn't come into existence in this realm as for time is endless. Myriad dreams of pleasant valleys preyed upon Honchos dreams. He was paranoid constantly. Yearning for a sign that he was following the right path.

One night while watching paint dry, Honcho heard a tap at his window. It was Freshaw. Honcho was startled and let out a gasp of fear. “Leave my corridor” honcho firmly stated. “I want my nephew back” cried out freshaw as he lunged at honcho. Honcho threw bud at freshaw and he took it and left. Disappearing into the nebula, never to be heard from again.

Flashbacks- Moghman remembered. That day that the Robot had come to Almonds car. She was lusting in her spite. “I will find out what's going on! I have to! I love ya boys!”

MuMu was happily bathing in the dopamine. HAHA, I caught you Mogh and Honcho.

Moghman was hysterically laughing inside. “These imbeciles, their view of life is so meager” “The Iq of these peeps is intoxicated by propaganda.” He thought to himself, “How are they even happy in life”

He was cheerful inside until he saw the ashes of his actions. His beloved mother Saint Germain, was in sorrow. He quickly thought differently about the situation. “Damn the Scheme, It’s time to Dream” The streaming of tears made him even more determined to prove all those who doubted him wrong.

 

Chapter 8- Isolation

They are not allowed to see each other anymore. Moghman looked into Honcho’s eyes. “I guess we’ll have to train by ourselves” Honcho replied, “yes Mogh, we will soon be dominating”

BlackJack sent Honch to Solitary Confinement. Moghman went overseas to the settlement of Persia. As Moghman entered the settlement, he saw the huge stone towers guiding him to safety. He saw flashbacks of the past. The spirits had sent him here to be in isolation to train for the coming event. Moghman and Honcho were like the Phoenix, rising from the ashes and the fires of destruction.

Honcho checked on Moghman by sending him via crow if he had trained that day.

Boom! Barged in the Mad Scientist. “How are your studies”, He interrogated Moghman. “So I heard that you and your fellow neighbor wanted to scheme. Well let me tell you, in Parthia, we do not scheme until we are of age” “Of course I myself am allowed to scheme, but you my child must learn the ways of physics.”

This Scientist, was Mohammad. An unordinary creation. He was optimistic and rule abiding in life, yet schemeful until the end. He hid his schemes from Moghman, but Moghman knew.

It was time. Mogh knew it. His birth name Kianoosh was who he was going to follow in. The aristocracy was falling. It was time.

Kia stepped into the glacier. The icicles formed around his waist. He was calm. It was ok. He saw the 2 worlds, reality and alternate reality, forging. Becoming one. As the goats say, “Only time will tell what crimes will ring a bell”. Kia understood that crime was fueled by propaganda. “Who is to say what is a crime?” Thought the philosopher Mogh. “Is a dime really a crime”?

However the majority of the population is in favor of war, destruction, and agony. The wars fueled by the greeds of the nobles and the antichrist. The people were alluded, and Moghman knew it was his job to open the eyes and ears of the people. However, these same people were against any form of growth, training, and alien beliefs.

Flashbacks- Moghman remembers. Nobody believed in him. Nobody except Honcho. And vice versa. He told his loved ones he would one day claim the world and all his dreams. He was scoffed at, and believed to be a fool. It was time to use to alternate reality to his advantage.

Suddenly everything went black.

Chapter 9 Harmony

Honcho awoke from a vivid dream and realized it was reality. He saw a pleasant looking young lady seated on a log under an abundant apple tree. She had short black hair and looked to be a widow. She was crying and looked as if she needed some comfort or care. Honcho approached her, made his name known and asked for hers. The widow said, “my name is Martha.” “My husband died when i was born.” Honcho was saddened by the story and took her back to his cottage in Lumberjack forest. Lumberjack forest was full of men with beards who loved to chop down trees and eat flapjacks.

Honcho’s cottage was not big nor small. It was square in shape and 2 stories tall. The cellar was a place of worship. A room designed for a good sesh. In the cottage along with Honcho lived Dimmit, Rey, Moghman, and Deen. Dimmit was a mastermind at heart. He lived off the adrenaline of schemes and enjoyed the quiet. Rey was a fiend for adventure. Always getting his eyes caught on a journey. And Deen.. well let’s just leave it at that.

When Honcho brought Martha back to the other’s he bragged. “Check out my new lady friend” said honcho. Rey snickered to himself, “Looks like the hunchback of Notre dame.” Dimmit drooled in aw as he saw the magnificent creature. To dimmit, Martha was a piece of art. A statue on a pedestal. A gold medallion ready to be won. She reminded him of a women he knew once before in a previous life.

Honcho showed Martha around and made sure she was comfortable. He looked after her for months and pretty soon everyone accepted her as their own. But things took a change for the worst.

 

Chapter 10 The Change

Martha began to change in character. It was like a monster unmasking itself. She became wicked and jealous of the schemes of the brotherhood. “STOP SMOKING IN HERE!” she would scream. “The smell is too dank for me.” Everyone snarled at her and took another hit. “THAT DOES IT!” “NO MORE SCHEMES!” Martha took their treasured devil’s lettuce and hucked it out the window into the cold breeze of the arctic night. The men whimpered as Martha sent them off to bed. “I’m only slightly buzzed.” Honcho whispered to the group. Rey started crying because he had not even taken a hit from the long bong yet. Dimmit tried to put in his 2 cents but his mind was numb. He had gotten shmacked off crumbs, finally perfecting the art of the scrounger.

Moghman pulled Honcho aside and they both knew what they needed to do. They strolled downstairs to talk to Martha who was calmly seated on the Sofa in the Living room. They both asked politely if they could spark up a doobie. Martha allowed them to do so but only if it was in the sanctuary. Honcho and Moghman agreed and were extremely excited. They had schemed again.

Chapter 11 Martha's gone

“You scoundrels are the darkness to my life at the end of the tunnel of sorrowful pungent distaste.” That quote replayed in dimmits mind for days after Martha had left the cottage. The continuity of his his soul would not rest until Dimmit had found his mistress. The way he chased after his bride reflected his true love for her. His fate was set. His bags were packed. He was finally ready for his journey. He pillaged through Lumberjack forest. Engulfing his love for martha. “Oh, The way she tampers with words” Dimmit said. He was determined to find his mate.

Dimmit Began to approach a landmark. A staple of the land. It showed a ressemelence of a golden axe. It portrayed numbers engraved onto the handle. 5-5-5-5-5 Dimmit let out a horaah. “I’m a jack of all trades! He exclaimed. He knew that if he divided mass by the speed of life, multiplied it by the circumference of the planet Earth, and put it into the quadratic formula. He knew the coordinates of Martha could be found. All dimmit wanted to do was give Martha a smooch. He yearned her presence. “Gotta head to the shed” dimmit remarked. And so he did.

 

Dimmit approached the childhood shed of Honcho and Moghman. It had always made Dimmit whimper when he drove by. Always seeing Honcho and Moghman heading to it to spark a cig. He yearned for the taste of a dry cig. He needed to something to sooth his addiction. He scouted for a bud. Parading around the field. It was no use. The ground was wet. The estate was saturated. He gave up.

Dimmit drooped his head and went into the shed. He sat on a box in the far right right corner and cried. He wept tears of sadness. Mournful sounds to another’s ear. Dimmit had given up on his search. He had no bud, he had no food, and he had no hope. No energy left to spare his woman of desire.

Suddenly he heard a whisper, “hello dimmit,” whispered the voice. Dimmit trembled in fear, shaking in his boots. “Thou shall not be ith afraid of thy neighbor.” the voice preached. Dimmit found a soothing comfort in the voice. Like the way he took refuge when he played with toy automotive vehicles. He asked the voice to reveal itself. The voice announced, “My name is thou name of thy neighbor.” Dimmit was alarmed. It was a riddle. A specimen he had never seen before. Of course nothing he himself couldn't solve. After all, he is a rifler.

Dimmit approached the situation with caution, but also with wonder. If he stayed focused on the task at hand he knew he might be able to sooth his emptiness. Dimmit walked through a path in the brush and made his way onto a road. He noticed a house darker than the rest. He questioned the house. Thinking, “why is the shade of that house dark?” He knew it should have been yellow, like the others. The voice whispered in a narrative sounding humn, “That’s the one.” He climbed through the window stealthily and undetected. He gasped in perseverance.

Martha was seated at round table in her kitchen. He was excited to see her figure gleaming in the bright rays of the strobe light. Martha turned to her left and blew him a kiss fluttering over to him like a butterfly. He caught the kiss and sniffed it with pride.

He charged over to his madam. Embracing her with warmth. Overwhelming her with the wisdom he bestowed upon her. Then everything stopped. Time Freezed before his eyes. His spidey senses were tingling. He Knew what was happening. “Reveal yourself!” Dimmit cried out. There was no response. Need not matter. He knew the voice was freshaw.

Honcho and Moghman had warned him about his goofy schemes. Freshaw was a trickster by trade and a conductor at heart. He always believed in the system that never worked. Only in his eyes did his so called program rack up the numbers that were true to a real hero. DImmit was aware of the stereotype that was upon him so he ignored it.

Chapter 12 A confusing setting

Dimmit mated with martha that night. Easing the restlessness that spread across his lips. The smell of love filled the air. An Auromo enough to fill the heart of a mongol warrior.

8 acres of land Martha owned. She had only been gone 3 days from the cottage. Dimmit pondered the thought and worked up the courage to ask Martha. It was 8am and Martha was still asleep. He patted her broad shoulder and asked her something peculiar, “Does your husband have a name?” he asked. Martha bursted out into sadness, weeping away tears of hatred for her abusive husband.

The doorbell suddenly rung. “Hide!” martha screeched. DImmit shuffled into the kitchen closet and turned off the light. Martha opened the front door and greeted a man in a white shirt and blue tie with a hug. It was Freshaw.

Alarm filled Dimmit’s eyes. “It can't be” he thought. Honcho and Moghman were right. Freshaw latches onto you like a leach. Sucking all the happiness from you. Bursting your bubble in every which way. He kept finding himself into his life no matter what dimmit tried. Ever since Dushmo died. He never again wanted to see the wishful thinker that Freshaw was. How could a man of that age have the audacity to mock a provocative situation such as death. How could he create such a false narrative right after the death of his brother. He hated pondering a thought like that but when such a thought becomes reality, and nothing else is acceptable.

Being the eldest of Honcho’s 4 uncles, Freshaw took on the father figure approach in his 3 uncles lives. Always enforcing strict punishments and useless chores. He basically turned their household into a boy scout troop. The activities were useless. He based The System off similar designs.

DImmit barged out of the closet charging at his fellow brother Freshaw, spooking him in the process. Freshaw galloped out the door leaving his briefcase behind.

 

Chapter 13- Fools gold

Back at the cottage, Honcho, Moghman, Rey, and Deen partied extravagantly every night. Men and women howled at the dawn of dusk.

Ever since Moghman and Honcho had lived out their dream to scheme. The tides were turning however, In the midst of the party; the deceiver was biding his time.

“We struck gold!”, Shouted Moghman. Honcho exclaimed, “The knowledge is beckoning us, we must keep on trail.”

BOOOM! MuMu barged in. “Thou hast breakest our sacred code of honour. “Moghman, how hast thou traveled back?”

Moghman started to giggle. He remembered the flashbacks.

-- Flashbacks- Moghman was in the arctic sea, paddling with his sacred crew to get back to the sanctuary. The journey of 10,000 miles started with the first stroke of a paddle. He had endured enough of the mad scientist, and it was time to scheme once more. The eye of the storm engulfed his boat. The storm was merciless. For 40 days and 40 nights Moghman and his crew paddled their way to the sanctuary. 4 good men were lost to the hurricane.

“LAND!” shouted Moghman! The crew was beyond relieved. As they reached the coast there was something sinister in the air. “Draw your swords and be ready”, whispered Mogh. As they made way they were awestruck by the nature. The nature of the forest was bewildering them. What was thou ambition? Why were they here?

A man, skin like bronze, made an appearance out of the trees. Moghman was delighted to see someone new. “Who art thou?”.

The man spoke, “You have entered sacred ground.” “Surrender and die.”

“Bite me”, exclaimed Moghman.

With the sound of a trumpet, Moghman and his crew were surrounded by the fearsome warriors.

“Archers!”, yelled Moghman. The archers picked off the surrounding garrison of attackers.

“Retreat!”, Exclaimed the bronze man.

“We must get to the sanctuary. I have been without bud for so long. It’s been 30 days Moghman!”, weeped Moghman’s bodyguard.

As they made their way through the jungle, Moghman’s scouts reported they had seen a beast in the horizon. Their energy was depleted, as no bud was there to comfort them. The rations of cornmeal were distributed evenly by the campfire.

Moghman looked at the map. The only way to reach the safe haven was to trudge through the perriless forest. “Get ready, say your prayers, and hope for the best”, said Moghman.

The murky swamp created an aura of mischief. They made their way through the land until they encountered a grand tree.

The tree spoke “Great Moghman, i have waited centuries for you”

“Who art thou?” “How do thee speak?”, thought Moghman

“There is no time Moghman.” “You are destined for greatness thou hast not imagined.” “Thou are needed to free the shackled souls from the program.”

“What?”, questioned Moghman.

She continued, “In the beginning, your humankind was free. Thou believed in the self, and in others. Love was true, and beauty was true. But… Man had one weakness. This weakness drew blood, created poverty, and encouraged separation.”

“What am I to do? What is this weakness?”, responded the confused Moghman.

She spoke, “This weakness inflamed the world, devouring the deceived souls. The vortex increased and increased, increased and increased. The vortex created other vortexes, and theses vortexes branched off into other vortexes.”

“My lord, the beast is near, I can feel it”, said the bodyguard Oregno.

“Moghman!, free this beautiful creation of yours, don’t be deceived into the vortex. These vortexes are but an illusion, for we are all one, and the one is all. It’s all a lie. But before you go, I give you the gift of foresight, to see any deceiver, or any distraction. Go!”

Moghman’s body radiated with energy. He believed.

 

Chapter 13- Free

The beast came out of the shrubbery. It started to speak, and flames were dancing on it’s tongue. “Thou know who I am”. “Thou know who thou are. But do thou know why thou art?”

Moghman answered, “Yes, I am the destined, the believer.”

“Hahahaha haaa.” The beast crawled closer. “I am not your enemy, for I am you. I am the deceiver. I created the systems that man believeth in. Religion, Money, Power, Lust.”

“Why?”, said Oregno

“Quiet, let him speak.”, said Moghman.

“He is right, why? I’ll tell you. Creation is created. But who created creation? Most think of the creator. But if the creator created the creation, who created the creator? And if someone created the creators creator, who created that creator’s creator? The paradox is endless.”

“Makes sense.”, said Kianoosh, “But then how can creation be explained?”

“How can love be explained?” swallowed the beast, “How can hate be explained?”

Moghman’s scout shouted “The bronze army is approaching, they are near!”

“Shhh”, said the beast. “That is the only way to win. For in this secret lies creation. Creation is nothing, creation is imagination. Just like the fairytales we are told, but fairy tales are more real than creation.”

“Freedom has no boundaries, freedom has no pain, rules are what rule the world. Being free of rules means being free of the deception.”

 

Chapter 14- Countrymen

“Art thou going to answer me?”, exclaimed Mumu. Honcho started laughing hysterically, “Bud… that’s how we got here. Bud gave us the imagination, bud gave us the release of pain. For my real name is Blackledge, and I banish you from my sanctuary.”

The enraged Mumu shouted, “I will not protect you!”

“We don’t need you.”, exclaimed Kianoosh. We are of age, and we banish you.

Dimmit woke up from his slumber and yelled “I’m gonna freak out, LEAVE MUMU!”

And in a flash, Mumu disappeared.

 

Chapter 15- The grand flashback

 

They rolled another one. “Do you remember?” said Moghman.

Blackledge lit the beauty and laughed “ Remember what?”

“the past.” said Kia. As blackledge passed the blunt.

“What about the past? I can barely remember what strain this herb is.”

“When we left our training in favor of becoming a noble. I was tired with working with the hands and prefered working with the feet. Or when we miraculously stumbled upon the Den, and found our first bud.”

Blackledge choked on the smoke, “Yeah I remember, but that's of the past, and i’m not fond of these flashbacks, It hurts my nasal cavity.”

Moghman was silent. “Wait” he whispered. “Do you remember the grand scheme?”

chapterThe Scheme of the 3 Disciples

“Of course i remember the grand scheme.” Blackledge replied. “The scheme of the 3 Disciples”

Back in the day moghman, honcho, and dimmit were fearless warriors. Satisfied hunters, with the ruthless, yet timid approach to any conflict. They were established men within their troop. Very collaborative individuals.

They were on a mission in the land of Sanctioned lines. Goals were set for each soldier. Battle was amongst them. They were at war.

Living near the Mongol tribe was terrifying. Honcho and moghman didn't speak the language. They didn't know the customs. Honcho was unfamiliar with his surroundings for the first time in his life. As a child he had only known 3 things: The Sanctuary, rituals, and bud.

Getting shipped out to mongol territory had a huge impact on him and his mates.

That night moghman had a plan. An idea. A scheme that would save them all. He pulled honcho aside and said, “Honcho, we need to scheme.” “We can burrow into the Mongol village with our spoons.”

The navies spoons were lethal weapons, with dual uses and harmful procedures. Built to entact damage upon any force.

Honcho agreed with the pondering image in his brain and followed Moghman that night into the forest.

The darkness pulled them in. The fog pulled them closer. Snores of the mongols could be heard from a mile away. The warriors snickered and were on their way.

They walked towards the village, arms linked and chests puffed. They were marching men walking towards their ticket to glory. One more scheme and they would be awarded a badge of great pride and honor. The Badge of Might.

4 hours had passed and they began to see the campfires inside the village. It was silent. Not a soul to be heard.

The men casted their spoons and plunged them into the soil beneath. They scooped and scooped. They tunneled under ground for hours and began to burrow upwards.

Honcho gasped and fell to his knees. “What is it Honcho?” “What is wrong!” Moghman yelled. “I am weak.” “The swine flu is taking its toll.” “My time is done.”

“NO!” Shouted Moghman. “It cannot be!” “I'm afraid so my dear friend.” Said honcho. “I won't let this happen.” said moghman.

Moghman was determined to find the cure for his dying friend. He knew the mongols had potions. Liquids of pestilence that could cure the illest of men. The drug had a peculiar smell. It stank of spoiled wildebeest milk, very recognizable from a distance.

He knew where he needed to look. He climbed out of tunnel he had dug and began his search for the magical substance.

Moghman started to walk. He smelled something familiar in the air. Bud? He glided towards the smell.

By the campfire, the Mongols were passing the herb tube. Moghman, forgetting Honcho in the moment, introduced himself to the Mongols. They knew not his tongue and drew swords, but Mogh was clever. From his backside, he pulled a dime of bud.

The Mongols became excited. They sheathed their swords and offered a chair to Mogh. They passed and passed the herb tube until night became dawn and dawn became morning.

Fried was Mogh, understanding that he understood nothing. He was in the parallel dimension. Then he remembered, HONCHO!

He raced back to the site where Honcho had fallen. He began to weep. It was finished. His brethren was lost.

When he got there, he saw Honcho alive and well. “But How?”, exclaimed joyful moghman.

Honcho sighed, “While ye were goofing off, I met a fellow wizard upon my travels. He gave me a potion, disgusting in taste, but strong in vitality. However, if you had gotten here sooner with the required potion, I wouldn’t have lost my beloved golden blunt I was saving for the hour of my deathbed.”

They both laughed. “Time to go home mate”, they both thought. As they were wandering home, they found a pit, large in size, which was used by the Mongols for special occasions. They wandered into the pit. Not a soul was alive in the premises.

“LOOK MOGHMAN!”, exclaimed Honcho. “BUD!” The ground was filled with pennies of bud. Small and scattered, but numerous when collected. They both started working on the crafts. Moghman collected the fallen bud whilst Honcho used his engineering capabilities to craft a smoking utensil. “Phhh”, exhaled Moghman. They had finished their spinach and were off to explore.

Miles later, they encountered a dwarf. The dwarf was wobbly, and exclaimed, “Hello fellow travelers, art thou up for a game?”

“What kind of game?”, questioned Honcho

“Just a small game of fun. That's all”, He pulled out his trusty rifle.

“I see where this is going!”, said Moghman

“First to shoot ten birds wins!” yelled the drunken dwarf

Moghman and Honcho were baked. They drew their bows and started shooting at any flying species they could find. Suddenly, they both heard a noise from thousands of kilometers away. “HONCHO, WHERE ART THOU!”

“It can’t be”, stated Honcho. “Mustapha Mond… she’s looking for me. The dwarf was still shooting his rifle in the air. He had only shot 3 birds so far.

Moghman looked at Honcho, “We have to tell Felipe”

Felipe was of course, in his feather bed enduring some trouble. The crow broke through his window and delivered the message.

Felipe realized… his brethren were in danger. He quickly mounted his air balloon, Betsy, and went to the Himalayas.

Moghman and Honcho were still playing their game with the dwarf. 9-8 was the score, they were down.

Felipe called out, “brethren, get in” But they did not hear, they played for some time before they saw the balloon preparing to leave.

They ran to it, “Felipe!”

“Dammit you fools, ye had me waiting here for 2 hours for your arses, what were ye doing?”

Whilst in the air, Moghman killed the last bird with the string of his bow. They waved to the dwarf, who had accepted his defeat.

Mustapha Mond was happy to see her slave. “Ye are back I hear. 5 whips shalt do it for you. As ye were late to confession.”

Honcho knew it was worth it, those whips, which he endured daily. He thought about the scheme he had accomplished, as Mustapha started to whip and interrogate again.

Moghman on the other hand, had survived the scheme also. But Mumu was starting to question his illusive disciple…

 

(Separate chapter. Don't know where it'll fit in)

Dimmit went to open the briefcase. Martha cried out, “No Dimmit!.”She smacked his hand away and blew him another kiss. He sniffed it in disbelief and asked what was wrong. “The briefcase contains energy” Martha replied. “Energy that fuels the system”

“yessss.” Thought Dimmit. As he picked up the briefcase and opened it up. Wind gusts shot out and flooded the room. Lightning struck. Tornadoes formed. Freshaw was angry.

He teleported Dimmit to The North Pole. Dimmit was in the middle of a frozen ocean. “Food shelter, hydration” The memories of his childhood played in his head. Thoughts of scrounging food from street stands as a young body.his Pop had taught him well.

The traits of a scrounger were simple. They were stealthy, slick, and clever. Masters of their craft. However they were considered scum of the land. If you were caught nabbing an apple off a cart, an officer would club you until you were deceased.

Remembering his craft. He snorted the air particles. Sniffing for a trace of smoke. His heart filled with joy and pride. He sensed a campfire beyond the horizon. He was delighted but then realized it was over. There was no device of travel.

 

Dimmit turned to his right, ready to burst into tears, when he spotted a penguin in his peripheral vision. He barked at it and told it too get lost. It honked at him and jumped on its belly and slid away.

An idea emerged. He ran after the penguin and began to plead with it. “Sorry.”Dimmit replied. “I had no intention on conflicting your character.” The penguin honked again and continued sliding on its stomach.

Dimmit repeated, “Penguin, I am sorry.” The penguin got up, snarled at Dimmit, and lunged at his neck with it’s sharp beak. Dimmit ducked in the nick of time and fisted the bird in the back of the head.

He realized what he had done and said, “I am sorry bird.” “All I wanted was to learn the art of the belly slide”

Suddenly energy leaked out of the dead penguin and was beginning to be absorbed by Dimmit. Dimmit knew what was happening. He knew what this meant. The power of a new craft began to unleash throughout his body. The urge to slide on his stomach overwhelmed him. He leaped on his stomach and began to slide. Tears of happiness filled his eyes. He had mastered a new trait.

He slid on his stomach towards the smell of smoke and began to approach a large wooden cabin. It wreaked of dank bud. Flooding a man’s nostrils with each breath. He walked to the door and gave it a firm knock. A gnome answered the door and baptized Dimmit with a gourd filled with water. Amen said Dimmit as he knew what was before him.

 

The gnome ushered him in and both individuals sat on a couch with a table in front of them. The table was filled with hemp stems, matches, and a wooden pipe. A bowl was already loaded from when the gnome was using it earlier.

“May I have a bowl?” Asked Dimmit. “Certainly,” said the gnome with a chuckle.” “My name is Cyrus.” Continued the gnome. “I inherited these grounds as a young boy when my father Dushmo had passed.

“Dushmo?” Asked Dimmit. He sensed something strange. A notion that gave him chills. He ignored it and continued to banter and smoke with Cyrus. It was grand bud. Finest of the land.

Dimmit began to get very shmacked. He lost the sense of urge to move. He became a couch potato. Frozen with contentedness to be nothing.

He saw Cyrus get up and noticed a snarky grin upon his face. Cyrus walked over to Dimmit and closed his eyes.

Dimmits head began to spin and the pressure of Cyrus’ fingers over his eyelids had vanished. He opened his eyes and his vision was blurry and his head was spinning.

As his vision began to clear up he realized he was laying on the cold floor in the kitchen of Martha’s house. “Dammit!” Yelled a man’s voice. It was Freshaw yet again. He got up from his meal and tossed his handkerchief to the side. “I thought I killed you.” Freshaw stated as he scurried over to the lying Dimmit.

Dimmit sprung to his feet and fled the house, weeping tears of sorrow for his lost bride. Freshaw had won. The battle was lost but the war was still there to be fought for Dimmit.

Dimmit walked back to the sanctuary that was nearby. He needed a place of comfort in his time of mourning.

Holy cherub’s could be heard singing in the distance. Dimmit was at peace in the ancient sanctuary, smoking scraps of bud he had scrounged off of the floor

He yearned for the taste of hemp that gnome had given him before realizing it had been a dream. Putting him down in the dumps. “No bud, no bride, no hemp.” Repeated hauntingly in his mind.

He was fed up. “Dushmo!” Dimmit cried out. “DUSHMO!” He screamed once more. Dimmit waited frantically for a response. Nothing. Silence swallowed Dimmit in the dark shed.

A spirited suddenly established its appearance on the shed. An eye was watching, and Dimmit hadn't known it. A watchful creature, even though his death was among him. It was Dushmo.

“My disciple, my apostle, my grandson.” Said Dushmo as he coddled his grandson Dimmit. Dimmit questioned Dushmo. “You are my Grandfather?” He asked.

 

“Dimmit… I am the father of your father… Cyrus.” Said Dushmo. “Cyrus?” Asked Dimmit in aw. “Yes Dimmit.” Repeated Dushmo.

Dushmo told dimmit of all the foretold events he had lived through with honcho and moghman. Oh the memories they had shared.

Dushmo had been chosen along with his 3 other uncles, Felipe, moghman, Freshaw, and their nephew Honcho to be thy disciples of the lands. The kingdoms foreshadowed by the tales of the stories yet to be spoken. The journeys of medieval warriors scourging at the pillars of mercilessness. Death bestowed upon the lands and these 5 men were chosen to make the land thrive with nourishment.

Silence carried over to the next conversation of Dimmit and Dushmo. Dimmit spoke, “How is my mother, Nina?” Dushmo looked at Dimmit and said, “No Dimmit, your mother is Martha.” Dimmit stuttered, “MA-, MA-, Martha?”“Yes Dimmit, Martha.” Replied Dushmo.

Dimmit stared in shock into Dushmo’s dead eyes. Memories of disgust laid before him. Years of thy sin had fallen upon his heart.

When suddenly Dushmo laughed and said, “i played a prank on yee fool” “Your mother Nina is fine.” Dimmit had been pranked. He had been outwitted. Dimit needed vengeance.

He swung at Dushmo but it went through the ghastly apparition. Dimmit yelled, “What are you, a genie or something?” “No dimmit.” chuckled Dushmo. “I am one of the fallen disciples of your childhood friends Honcho and Moghman. Continued Dushmo. “So you're dead?” Dimmit questioned.”

Dushmo explained to Dimmit the time of his death. He, Honcho, Moghman, Felipe, and Freshaw had set out on a Journey to Find the 5th uncle… Cyrus. Cyrus was a goofy gnome. Chill at heart and high in spirit. He was an isolated guy and liked his alone time. He lived with his Son Dimmit on a farm. They lived in a cottage and enjoyed tending the animals and picking the apples from the orchard.

One day the two had an argument over bud. “Hemp stems are better!” Cyrus yelled. “You idiot!” Dimmit screamed. “Bud is best!”

Cyrus was enraged at the inappropriate remarks and smacked him, walking out the door in the process, never to be heard from again.

On the Journey to find Cyrus. The 5 men were huddled together in the sanctuary. Dushmo had fallen ill to the swine flu. They also had noticed a change in Freshaw’s character. A more sly approach to his fantasies.

It weirded the others out but they thought it was just from the low supply of bud. So they ignored it, and thats where it ended.

One night whilst the others were sleeping. Freshaw injected poison with souringe into Dushmo’s small sack of bud. Dushmo awoke that night and needed a quick smoke. He grabbed his sack and began. Lighting each bowl with pleasure. He set the pipe aside, put his feet up and fell back asleep, drifting off into the vortex of death. Freshaw had killed Dushmo. However it did not stop him from achieving his goal.

Chapter

The 5 disciples were on a journey to free Cyrus from the evil’s of the darkside. Hemp stems were frowned upon. Users were mocked and mimicked. It gave the community a huge shock when Cyrus decided to move out to the North pole to smoke hemp stems freely, and fathomly.

 

“Bud is best” was the saying of the community. It was preached by the high priest, worshipped amongst the villagers. Prayed upon across the lands. After Dushmo had passed. Freshaw needed to be stopped.

Dushmo gave Dimmit bud and 1 goal. To get the others, find Cyrus, and defeat Freshaw once and for all. He told Dimmit to get Honcho, Moghman, Felipe, Rey, and Deen. With them he told Dimmit to forge an army and defeat the darkside and end the reign of hemp stems.

Since their names both had 6 letters in them Dimmit was allowed to take the place of Dushmo in the brotherhood. He set out, back to the cottage, the home of his once dear father.

Dimmit needed the others help. Freeing a man from hemp was a hard task and he began to feel disgusted in himself for smoking it in his sleep. Hemp had a mystical power, a strange mind altering property. Powerful to snatch any traveler into the secrets of the darkside.

When dimmit got back to the cottage he walked in and saw his fellow friends smoking a fat bowl of bud by the chimney. “What a soothing sight to see.” Thought Dimmit. He was very proud to see that all the hemp stems had been thrown away in the nearby trash bin.

He approached the others and when they had seen that their companion had returned, they greeted him with praise. Dimmit was offered bud and a bowl and the 6 friends chatted and had a nice smoke.

Dimmit had gotten sidetracked. He told his baked mates of the horrible schemes of Dushmo. The terror he was bestowing to the land. They needed to stop Freshaw before it was too late.

The System was hard to crack. The codes were foreign impossible to transcript. Dimmit had noticed symbols on the side of the briefcase whilst playing a game of die with freshaw a few years back. “What did the symbols mean?” Though Dimmit.

Chapter

(Bro you can choose how Dimmit, honcho, rey, felipe, moghman, and deen defeat Freshaw and the system.)

 

The witch had it’s victim in sight. Stalking her pray with each step. She began to craft a trail of bud for the lad, Dimmit, as he had wandered off from the others in search of more firewood.

He stumbled upon the trail of bud and began his practices. His hand crafted pipe was no match for the sacred bud. It was bewitched.

Dimmit had realized the trap that laid before him. His head flustered, his lungs inhaled, bud was absorbed.

The witch swooped in on her broom, cackling her arse off. Dimmit was startled but remained calm. He asked politely for a light but was denied. “Nay!” The witch cried out. “I'll be taken yee arse to Davy Jones's Locker!”

“Unless yee can beat me in a little game of course.” Snarled the witch. The witch told Dimmit the game, “First to find 3 hemp stems wins.” “But they are forbidden!” Dimmit exclaimed.

“Do ye want your arse or not?” Asked the wicked witch. Dimmit agreed and began his quest for the 3 stems of hemp. He was looking against his will. He no longer withheld compassion for hemp users. All he wanted was his arse.

It was no use, Dimmit had been defeated. The witch was an experienced stem searcher and knew the craft well. The witch cackled and cackled and cackled. She reached for his arse in triumph when suddenly a yell of might could be heard in the distance, “BAG THE BUD, HUCK THE HEMP!” It was Cyrus.

Dimmit knew what this meant. He knew his father had left the brutality of the dark side in his dust. Dimmit began to bag bud from the trail the witch had left him. “Not so fast laddy, ye owe me your arse!” The witch demanded.

Cyrus approached from beyond the horizon and spoke out “His arse is his own as it shall be left.” The witch explained to Cyrus how she had beaten Dimmit in a game of collecting hemp stems. As she was explaining the predicament, Dimmit had snuck into her napsack and smoked the hemp stems she had found. “NOOO!” Cried the witch as her arse was taken to the locker of Davy Jones.

This is hilarious.

 

Twitch

Moghman courageously believed. Suddenly, he encountered a great warrior. This warrior was dexterous and ambitious. He wanted the fame and glory for himself. He believed that through tribulation and honor he may attain his desires. The great warrior extended his sword to the thousands of believers. He proclaimed, “Thou fought valiantly! Thou may relish in the spoils of war!”

The warriors shouted a great shout of belief. The energy was created into the belief of a subatomic particle, that no man could see nor touch. This particle reigned over the physical manifestations of the warriors, which became war, death, destruction, honor, obedience, ferocity, and most important of all, a life code.

Moghman still believed. Suddenly, a high priest emerged out of the temple. This leader in calmness chanted the spirit of the book of his belief. He chanted, “With him we are, without him we are not. The destruction of those who anger the eternal is evident. Those who die without the grace of the eternal shall surely be banished from the fruits of the promised land.”

His believers softly uttered, “In the eternal we believe, our faith we put into these words”.

Again the subatomic particle was formed. The subatomic particle manifested good deeds, discipline, enforcing beliefs, doctrine, punishment, and most important of all, a life code.

Moghman was shaken. However, he still clung to his belief. Suddenly, a great leader of nations surmounted on top of the tower. He boasted a great boast, “We are the ones who will revolutionize history! We are the ones who will inspire order and justice! We are the ones who will reign over our enemies! We are the ones my countrymen, we are the one!

His citizens proclaimed,”We are the Hope! We are the Future! Chosen to do attain great height and power! Our nation will change the world!”.

Alas, the subatomic particle was formed. The subatomic particle manifested inspiration, greed, identity, power, order, ruthlessness, and most important of all, a life code.

Moghman’s heart was torn. He gripped tightly on the evervanishing belief. Suddenly, Moghman appeared in the clouds. He taught with his confident, yet soothing voice, “We are the ones who will shape this earth! We are the ones who will learn to love, teach, and accept our fellow earthlings. We are the ones who will colonize a new planet!”

The vortexes was unleashed. The particle was formed. The particle manifested creativity, acceptance, unfamiliarity, change, misinterpretation, and confusion.

Moghman fell to his knees. His eye started to twitch. He tried to regain his balance, but collapsed as his skull hammered the earth. Disoriented, Moghman started to vomit. As he looked up, his eyes met the figure of the Beast.

“Did I not tell you.”, swallowed the Beast, “Did I not warn you?”

“Leave me!”, cried Moghman

“Hahahaha haa. You still do not understand? I am you!! I am the deception of the system, the belief. No matter what thou believest in, ye are deceived. Only by the stillness of the waters, the stillness of belief, can thou be freed!

“I beg you, tell me how to defeat this foe!”, said Kia

“Shhh.”, exhaled the Beast. “That is the only way.”

 

 

The master scrounger

Mustapha Mond was coming. Honcho knew what he needed to master. He knew of which art to pursue. A tradesman? A craftsman? No, a scrounger.

Scroungers were unique and handy, always knowing where the crumbs lie. Beneath the ashes lay gold. A treasure chest ready to be claimed.

The mongols told Honcho and Moghman of the great fortunes that awaited them beyond the village. The tribe’s leader, a man of solidarity, polished the 2 explores spoons for them. He gave them back their redcoats, gave them a solute, and sent them on their way.

Honcho and Moghman owed Mustapha Hemp. Hemp was forbidden and pricey. 2 men living off the land like Honcho and Moghman could never afford the debt of hemp they owed to the greedy leader. She nagged and nagged the travelers, sending messenger crows to aware the men of their duty. The messages read the same each time “Where is my Hemp!?”

Honcho and Moghman knew they needed to scrounge in order to get enough Hemp Stems to pay back Mond. They knew of a man of great wisdom that lived deep in the Himalayas. Cob was his name. He would be able to teach them the craft.

They rode their goats for 4 days and 4 nights, eventually approaching the mountain range. It took days to scale the mountain. Journeying without bud was nearly an impossible feat but these noble men were determined to pay off their debts.

At the very top of the mountain was a campground and a motorhome. The smell of bud flooded the air which gave the travelers a sign of relief. “Once you go bud, you never go back.” chuckled the two. Cob heard the commotion and came out of his motorhome to speak to the men. “I knew ye were coming.” said Cob. “Where are yee offerings of praise for the great scrounger Cob?”

Honcho and Moghman were confused and didn’t respond. “Disrespecting my sanctums are yee?” questioned Cob. “No sire.” Said moghman as he offered Cob the emergency supply of bud he had always kept safely stored in his sock. “Nice save mate.” said the extremely Impressed Honcho.

Cob thanked Moghman and quickly sparked the nug of bud that was gifted to him. Dazed, he led Honcho and Moghman into his quarters to talk about the matter at hand. After hearing about the debts owed to the all mighty Mustapha Mond, Cob began thinking of a solution. “The only way yee men can repay your debts is by scrounging for hemp amongst the land.”

“Scrounging sire… I am afraid it is a skill we lack.” said Honcho. “I see.” said Cob. “ I will teach yee the mentality and the knowledge of a scrounger.”

“First yee must have eyesight of a sparrow.” “Yee must be able to spot bud or hemp from a mile away.” “Yee must be able to identify strains of bud from only scraps that lay in the soil.”

Through an intense experience of training, mindful meditation, and an indigenous diet, Moghman and Honcho learned the wisdom of the scrounger. For 40 days and 40 nights their will was tested. They read from the sacred texts which described the different strains of hemp. They had to learn to make their physique excellent by using a percentage of the hemp they found to increase their motivation and willpower to exercise. Using hemp for good was a hard task as for the darkside was always knocking at their door. Honcho and Moghman had to proclaim to the nomads, the wildebeests, and dwarfs to get permission to collect hemp. They even encountered a dragon, who traded his hemp stems for the forbidden knowledge of the jungles.

 

Cob stated after their great training, “The last lesson I gives is the art of the scheme. Thou must learneth to encounter each obstacle as a scheme. Trickery and deception I will teach you to waver over your enemies. So, Moghman and Honcho learned to twist facts, throw in miscellaneous information in arguments, and confuse their opponents.

They thanked the Cob, and were on their way. “We will meet again my friends!”, shouted Cob.

As they brought their debts to the Mond, Mond was happy. “My beloved, ye returneth. Thank you for the debt thee have repaid.” But Honcho was clever. He knew he could not repay the debt in full, as for hemp stems were rare gems along the foreign coast. Honcho used his trickery to deceive Mond to smoke some of the hemp. Mond became disoriented, and Honcho dashed into the brush snagging some spare bud and stem in the process.

 

The desert

 

Moghman was encompassed by the scorching yellow sands. As he hobbled with only an hour's ration of cornmeal and bud, he whispered to himself, “We are gonna die, we are surely gonna die. Only scrounges of bud and food left, my throat is numb, my hope is wounded.”

Moghman collapsed on his knees and opened the jar. He sprinkled the last bit of bud of bud onto his bowl. Just before he was about to spark, he saw an angel appear out of the heavens. He began to speak, “Moghman, ye must remain sober and vigilant. For in this hour ye are surrounded by danger. Remain sober and I promise there will be a light at the end of this suffering. Keep going!”

Moghman remained silent as the angel vanished. “Sober…” thought Moghman, “Why would I ever remain sober when I have this beautiful bud?” He put his pipe away, and got up again. His body was wounded from the fight, his mind delusional from the lack of water.

Hours later, just before his body was about to shut down, he found a well. Moghman’s eyes were widened by the joy he felt. He crawled to the well and lowered the bucket. The result of this drove Moghman to near insanity. There was not water, but sand in the bucket. Moghman cursed the angel and himself. He yelled out unto the heavens, “Curse you, who give me false hope, curse you!” “I will continue no longer! I will sit here till death taketh me! For I have lost hope! Curse you all!”

Moghman pulled out his pipe. He looked at it. He remembered what the beast had told him. Suddenly, Moghman was inspired. He threw his magnificent pipe into the well. And with the last of his energy, he crawled for a while, and collapsed. Moghman was awakened by the cool night. As he looked up, he saw a coconut beside him.

He was gracious for the gift, and cracked it open with his steel sword. The coconut gave him strength and soothed him. He drank from the plentiful coconut. And remembering the beast’s intuition, he got up and walked silently towards his journey.

 

The battle of Budhemp

The troops were gathering on both sides. The sun was starting to rise. It was almost time to start the battle. Freshaw shouted to his troops and uncles, “Fight, fight, fight, for there is no retreat, because there is no defeat!” Freshaw’s calvary assembled in the front, his infantry in the middle, and his generals in the back.

About a mile apart, Moghman was courageously inspiring his troops. They were outnumbered 3 to 1, but that didn’t faze Moghman. He knew the art of war, and how to use the battleground to his advantage. Moghman set his formation in the shape of a U. The infantry on top, the archers in the back, and his generals in the middle.

Moghman’s scouts returned with their reports. “Moghman, Freshaw outnumbers us greatly. We have no cavalry, and Freshaw has his 1,000 elite hempsman nobles. Their horses are wicked, and ready to fight for the hemp stem cause. The 3 headed ogres have also joined the fight with the hemp army. Their infantry consists of 10,000 headhunters, and 40,000 Qua Spearmen.”

“Thank you”, said Moghman, “You may be dismissed.” He saluted the scout, and gave a dime for his work. Moghman looked out at his army. The numbers were low, but the courage was radiating, he could feel it. His 750 budsman were a fearsome group of warriors, and he also understood his 2,000 marksman were going to do serious damage. He was prepared with 4 groups of artillery, each consisting of 9 trebuchets and 2 cannons. His group of 40 world class mages had come from all around the planet to support their bud beliefs. And last but not least his 11,000 wrath men were ready and steadfast.

“Honcho!”, shouted Moghman. “Are thou ready?”

Honcho replied, “More than ever.”

Moghman- “Before you go, we must get baked.” “Indeed!”, laughed Honcho.

They sat by the fire, and lit up their 4 headed joint. “Are you prepared for this scheme? It’s going to be a risky endeavor.”

“Stop worrying Moghman, you know I am the perfect spy, easily infiltrating behind enemy lines.”, exhaled Honcho. “Than you musn’t delay, for the battle will start soon. Go! And may the power of the bud be with you.”, said Moghman. Honcho took one last hit, and was off, more baked than ever, to assassinate Freshaw.

Freshaw and Moghman rode alone to the middle of the battlefield before the battle. “I see you have brought your bud believers to the forefront of death!”, Laughed Freeshaw. “Do you really think you have the numbers for my assault? Hemp will prevail this day.”

“You are so sure of victory that you have forgotten what we budsman have overcome. We are downtrodden scroungers who are ready to die for our beliefs. Even if we don’t have the numbers!”.

“I give ye one chance and one chance only. If thou bow to me and smoke me hemp, I shall spare all these poor troops lives. But ye must die, for ye are the one who started this revolution, thou are the one!”

Moghman remained silent for a moment. He replied, “I make the same offer to ye.” Freshaw snorted, turned around, and rode back to his army. Moghman had stalled, giving Honcho enough time to get behind enemy lines and figure out a scheme.

 

“My brothers!, yelled Moghman, “It is time, prepare to defend, for your honor, for your families, for your bud!”. The troops shouted a great shout of honor.

Suddenly, the dwarf came down a hill behind Moghman’s troops. “Did you think I was going to miss this?”, chuckled the dwarf, “Freshaw will not prevail this day!”.

“I am happy to see you again my brother.”, said the astonished Moghman.

Freshaw yelled, “Charge! Fight, fight, fight, there is no defeat, do not retreat!”

The troops charged.

“Quick units!”, smoke your last bowls before their charge meets our force! The troops hurriedly pulled out their bowls, many dropping their bud in the rush. They lit up quick, so fast that the Freshaw was confused as to how they had managed to get a smoke. The witch was the first to meet the clash of swords. She yelled, “I’m coming for you Dimmit!, Ye cannot hideth from me! For I spent 90 days in Davy’s Locker!”.

But Dimmit was not afraid, he charged into the frontlines, and with one hack of his sword, he decapitated the bewildered witch.

“Archers!”, yelled Moghman! The marksmen, baked, pulled their arrows out of their quivers, and began to fire at the endless hordes. The calvary was near. “Not yet, I will give ye the signal!”, yelled Moghman.

Oregno yelled, “We must scheme now!”.

Moghman waited until the cavalry was only seconds away, and screamed, “Scheme now!”.

With that the infantry dropped their swords and picked up the lances. The calvary charged straight into death.

“Poooop!”, yelled Moghman.

The trebuchets started to fire at the lagging soldiers behind the calvary. Freshaw continued yelling, “Fight fight fight!”

Thousands of Freshaw’s troops had died in only a matter of minutes. But they were starting to surround the defenders. “We must defend our garden of bud, our blissful plants, and our beautiful greens!”, yelled Moghman desperately trying to inspire his troops.

Midday came. Freshaw had unleashed his 3 headed ogres. The destruction they caused to Moghmans infantry was discouraging. “We need to retreat!”, yelled Oregno. “We have lost too many lives.“

“Fight on!”, yelled Moghman. He fondled his goatee. “Prepare our cannons! Make them aim for the ogres.”

Moghman saw many elite wizards fall to the King Ogre. The creature, standing over 9 feet tall, was bashing the skulls of his men in. Mogh dismounted his horse, and went off to face the King Ogre. Both sides of troops gathered around their wrangle. The ogres chanting the beloved name of their king, “Moho! Moho! Moho!!”

Moghman’s men did the same. They chanted, “Moooooogh! Mooooooogh! Prevail Moghman!”

The sweaty ogre threw his mace at Moghman. Moghman spun and jabbed his spear in the direction of the ogre. The spear went through the ogres hide armor, making a small wound in the lower abdomen. “Grr!”, snarled the ogre.” He pulled the spear causing Moghman to lose balance and fall. The ogre stomped on Moghman’s leg, crushing the bone.

Moghman screamed in agony, and rolled. He got up on one leg and started using the creative fighting style to fight the ogre. The ogre swung his arm, but Moghman rolled, and whilst in mid roll, picked up a nearby sword and sliced the ogre’s wood off. The ogre fell to his knees and cried, “It’s over, it is finished. My wood was my all, and I have lost my hope.”

Moghman put the sword by his neck. “Any last words?”

“If ye could grant me this small mercy, let me smoke my last bowl of hemp before my death. I have come to realize you are all my brothers, even though thou love bud.”, stated the ogre. Moghman knelt and gave the ogre his pipe. The ogre filled it with hemp, smoked, and passed it to Moghman. Moghman raised the bowl up for all to see, and took a hit. He stated, “Even enemies can show respect!” The ogres were inspired by Moghman’s move, and turned on their allies.

Moghman helped the ogre up saying, “Ye can be one of us now.” The ogre replied, “Yes, its always been my secret fantasy!”

 

Retreat

Oregno sent a crow from the other side of the battle to Moghman. The battle was too in favor of Freshaw, and they had to retreat to the higher ground. The plants were on this higher ground. They knew they couldn’t let Freshaw burn the plants.

“Retreat to the high ground!”, yelled Moghman.

The 4 generals, Moho, Oregno, Wangho, and Dimmit rushed their troops up to the higher ground. The marksman provided cover to the fleeing allies. Moghman looked back. He saw the ogres standing their ground against the horde. He called out to Moho, “Retreat! Save yourselves!”

Moho shouted, “You go! We will provide time for ye to set up a defense! It has been an honour fighting with you!” Moghman was struck by his new friends sacrifice. He yelled to the dwarf. “Shoot from afar, and make sure Moho does not die!” The dwarf, drunk with rum, nodded.

Moghman’s army had to scheme fast. Only 2,000 remained against the enemies remaining 30,000.

“Bring the barrels!”, shouted Mogh. Now Moghman had the high terrain. This hill was 30 meters to the top. The beautiful bud at the end of the hill was blissfully unaware of their danger. Moghman still had one secret weapon. These barrels were full of oil, and a fire arrow would detonate and kill hundreds of men.

“Moho! We are ready, bring your men up!” Moho charged up the hill and thanked the dwarf for his cover fire. “Okie dokie.”, replied the confused drunk dwarf. The dwarf walked up to Moghman. “Soon they will overtake this hill, your barrels will stop nothing. Drink some rum with me friend, and let us forget this pain”  Moghman shook his head, “Thou must have hope, for as the flowers have hope in the mid spring, so shall I on this midday.”

Suddenly a flying mechanism appear in the air. It was Felipe! Felipe shouted, “We shall prevail on this harsh day. The light shall outshine the dark, and the dark shall make retreat!”. He started dropping dusty orbs of fire from his balloon. Terror filled the ranks of the horde, as many were burning to ash.

Freshaw continued to shout, “Fight, fight, fight! No retreat or i’ll cut off your feet!” Freshaw’s horde knew not who to be more afraid of, the budsmen or their own Commander. They were out of breath and had not smoked their hemps for almost a day.

Moghman told his troops to quickly get a smoke, as it would lighten their morale. The troops quickly sparked their emergency supply joints, only 2 centimeters long. The buzz motivated them to continue on.

As the horde charged up the hill they were met by the huge barrels crashing into them. “Fire dwarf!”, cried Moghman. The dwarf, now on his knees from dizziness, mustered up the strength to raise his rifle. Before he shot he exclaimed, “Where is the barrel?”. The explosion was bigger than expected. Thousands of the Qua spearmen met their end.

Felipe was still booming. He sang to himself, “Boom goes to orb, and death to the horde!”

Moho became enraged, “I lost my wood because of Freshaw, and for that, Freshaw shall lose his!” He charged down the hill. Moghman saw this move, and yelled, “charge!!!” The 2000 charged against the 24,000. But the horde was tired, and many fell like the winter wheat. Dimmit was enraged, Moghman was enraged, Moho was enraged, and the dwarf was drunk. This quad slew 300 men in a span of minutes. The horde started to retreat.

“Back up the hill!”, yelled Moghman. The battle wasn’t over yet.

 

Honcho’s scheme

Honcho slithered away from the destructive battle. His keen eye spotted Freshaw seeking refuge at the rear of the fight. His henchman standing nearby to protect their cowering majesty.

Honcho, undetected, snuck behind an oak tree to stalk his victim. The scent of bud filled the air as he approached, giving away Honcho’s position. “REVEAL THYSELF!” yelled Freshaw. Honcho knew he was outnumbered. The craftsman needed a quick smoke to be able to defeat Freshaw and his 3 henchmen. He fried his joint in one resigalent puff and stepped into view of the evil creator.

Freshaw’s henchmen were buff and talented individuals. They were masters of protection, fearless creatures that would stop at nothing to protect their Commander and his Hemp.

Honcho eyed up Freshaw and his 3 Henchmen and spoke, “Is this thy land of thy bud, hemp? “You scoundrel!” He yelled.

Freshaw knew he was in the kingdom of Honcho and Moghman. Bud grew avast the region, not hemp. This angered the commanding officer, Freshaw. “Hemp will provail! Charge!” Roared Freshaw.

The henchmen charged at Honcho. Honcho was slick and agile easily darting off his springy knees into a nearby tree. The henchmen ran to the Sycamore. They were unable to scale the deranged obstacle, as for they had hooves. The 3 men looked up in disgust as Honcho tauntingly smoked his pipe packed with bud. “Honcho, you're a dead man! Do you hear me?!” Yelled one of the henchmen. Honcho snickered and puffed away.

Freshaw and the henchmen were keeping guard of one of the last hemp planetaries in existence. They were guarding it with their lives. Their platoon had been wiped clean by Felipe and his air balloon.

Honcho’s job was to assassinate Freshaw. Losing their lead commander would prove to be very detrimental to the hemp army.

Freshaw knew death awaited but losing the planetary would mean the end was near for hemp. So he scurried inside the green house with his henchman.

Honcho snickered to himself, “I can wait here all day. He continued to spark up his pipe and drifted to sleep.

They are coming

 

“They are coming!”, shouted Oregno. The tired yet numerous villains had started to make their march to the hill again.

“Fire!”, yelled Moghman. Nobody fired. “Fire!!”, yelled again Moghman.

“My friend, we are out of arrows…”, said Oregno.

Moghman responded, “Than we shall make arrows. Send 500 men to cut down some trees, and make them be back with finished arrows by the hour.”

“Moghman there is no time, we need to retreat. They will be here in minutes.”, stated Oregno

“Not if we slow them down. I will send another 200 men in search of rocks, we will roll them down the hill to create chaos and confusion. The ones that make it up the hill will die quick, for they shall have less support.

“Back to the scheming days, eh?”, barged in the dwarf. “I got another scheme we can use to. Before I came I encountered a flying eagle and befriended his arse. He told me if I ever needed something from him I was to build a fire, and to throw bud in it. This would attract him as he has a very keen sense of smell.”

“How drunk are you?” cringed Moghman. “You for real? Whatever there’s no time, do your scheme”.

The drunk dwarf went on to accomplish his scheme, the 200 men went in search of rocks, and the 500 new lumberjacks went on to cut and finish arrows.

“Now, Moghman please don’t tell me you think your schemes are enough”, laughed Moho. “We ogres have learned scheming since in the womb, but there is one in particular we master before the age of 4.”

Moho pointed to the catapult, “That could be of use.”

“We have no boulders my friend”, responded Moghman.

But ye do have a mind, and creativity! Moho began to squeeze his abdomen. He squeezed and squeezed until a pile of turd came out his arse.

“What in Boozles are ye doing?” Moghman started to cough, “Ye have stunk up the whole mountain”, cried Moghman.

Moho called his fellow ogres to do the same. He loaded his turd into the catapult.

“Wait until they are in range and fire. The turds shall dishearten and confuse the opponents.”

 

Checkmate

“Poop!’, yelled Moghman. The trebuchets started to fire agony. As the turds hit the remaining hoard, men started to barf, become lightheaded, and cry. The terrible poop disheartened the enemy so much that many rushed up the hill in anger. The horrible scent filled the hoard and chaos and confusion started to occur.

“Keep pooping!”, yelled Moghman. We shall win this battle!.

The chargers were now halfway up the hill.

“Rocks!”, shouted Moghman. Thousands of miscellaneous rocks, some pebbles, some huge, began to roll down the hill. The hoard started to stumble and fall. As many fell, the turds rained down on them, creating a discouraging atmosphere. The assaulters started to roll down the hill, crushing their limbs and bones.

“My lord, the arrows are ready!”, yelled Oregno.

“Shoot fast! And volleys! Shoot in volleys!”, responded Moghman.

As the hoard got up the hill, they were met with a volley of arrows. The feces, rocks, and piercing arrows obliterated the attackers morale. As the eagle swooped in, it dropped boulders from in talons. “Bud!”, it screeched.

Freshaws hoard started to retreat. This time it was for good, as many were covered from toe to eye in filth.

 

 

Change

Moghman and honchos schemes had finally caught up with them. They wreaked of aged bud collected and smoked by the 2 men across the lands.

Mustapha mond and MooMoo were at the heads of the table. “You putrid smelling individuals!” Shouted MooMoo. “I agree, ye lads have a musty scent.” Rambled Mustapha.

“Enough!” Yelled moghman and honcho. “This has gone on for too long!” “I refuse to put up with ye shenanigans any longer!” Exclaimed honcho.

Mustapha went to caress honchos cheek. Honcho slapped her treacherous palm away. “Leave, leave me and my ancestors be!” Cried out honcho as he pulled out his mallet and struck the ground in anger. He slammed and slammed and slammed his mallet into the wooden structured floor.

At last honcho broke through and pulled out a treasure chest. Honcho quickly opened the chest and gathered the bud that honcho and moghman had collected throughout their days. “STOPPP!” MooMoo and Mond screamed. But it was no use. Honcho and and moghman jumped on their donkey, slapped its arse, and were on their way. Off to visit their dear old friend Kob.

 

Dark

“Keep breathing”, said Moghman

Whoo hooo!!, whooo hooo!!, they breathed

“I think we’re stuck in our ways”,exclaimed Moghman.

“Hah, it’s only the mediocre lifestyles”, said Honcho.

 

Moghman and Honcho had ended up in a confusing atmosphere. They were well supplied with bud, but they had no idea what was going on. 3 months after the arselings had set out on their quest, they came to a dead end.

Moghman and Honcho looked for bizarre ways to enhance their enigma. Slow was the boat, as it waved on toward the journey.

“Smoke”, asked Moghman

“Toke”, responded Honcho

 

Relapse after relapse, Moghman and Honcho fell.

“Shit bruh smoke more”, fiended Moghman

“Nahfami!”, cried Honcho, “We need to get out of the hallucination”.

 

The juicy nugs were calling their names. Splendid in THC particles, their aroma was making Honcho see the sights. Grind after grind they did, taking in as much training as their body allowed.

 

Awakened

Awakening in the reality was magnificent. The beast was playing tricks on him.

Realizing this was an astounding feat to conquer. Life was playing games. Games of apostles from years beyond the average deceiver.

Honcho was meek and saw through the schemes. A serpent was present. Keeping to itself until the time was right. However, honcho was slick and not easily bantered with. The sneaky snake lunged for the kill. Honcho ducked and strangled the beast with ease.“Thou art diminished, for time travelers will prevail and the system will plummet.”

Honcho knew the serpent was after him. Countless times he caught the pesterer slipping in character, lurking in the shadows.

The beasts strategies were simple, stock the pray and pester them with shenanigans. “Malarkey” honcho would cry out. “did ye see that.” “Relax honcho.” Moghman would say. “Ye must be the boy who cried wolf.” Honcho swore on Davy jone’s locker that he was telling the truth. Moghman refused to believe that they were being stalked.

Every time moghman would see honcho rambling about some sort of ribble rabble, he would chuckle away and smoke all day.

Until one day at the battle arena… the pair were dueling against their brethren. Salvaging for supplies to win the conquest. Suddenly, an outcry was heard. “Coooooooooo.” It was a cry for help. Honcho slipped from moghman and realized it was too late. They would never again be able to see the world through each others eyes. Their time was up. They were ready to divide and conquer the lands on their own. They were divine in spirit and their souls were resurrected. Their fates were separate but tied together like a knot. They knew what must be done. The two peas in a pod split and journeyed away.

Honcho was saddened that the spell was over. He had learned a lot throughout the trance but was ready to submit himself to the complete understanding of nothing. Nothing answered his questions. Nothing talked to him when he was downtrodden. Nothing trained him for war and salvation.

Honcho slit his 2 middle fingers, marking the years of training that were completed. Being a middle aged semi adult meant great responsibility for the lad. Honcho accepted his traits with glee.

“Craftsmant, salvager, spy, barbarian.” Read the trait reader.

Honcho embraced his traits and had a strong compassion for them. His sense of urgency to practice his craft drove him crazy. Honcho loved practicing his craft so much that he used to salvage the woods for days upon days without return to the village. The mongols grew worrisome when their kin did not return. But the town elder, Frod came to understand the true power of the young lad.

The clan’s chica, Sharentine, thought otherwise. “This boy is not smart” she would yell out. “He eats different plants then the rest of us.”

“Now, now.” Spoke out Frod. “Our kin has the strength of a boar and the stealth of an Owl.” Frod soothed Sharentine with his smooth talk and logical mind. He easily convinced her of the great powers of honcho.

One night honcho set out for an exploration neither elder was aware of. Day after day honcho did not return. The pair of elders were startled in their boots. Trembling with fear, Frod and Sharentine didn’t leave their hut for weeks. Having to be served food and use the toilet inside their small home.

Sharentine thought strange thoughts one night. “I was right all along.” She thought as her frown turned into a smirk. She now had something to hold over Frod’s head, the death of their kin.

Every morning Sharentine would wake up and weep and mourn the death of their boy. “You killed my son.” she would moan. “You murdered him!” She yelled.

 

Illusion of Reality

Moghman became to understand something. He understood that passion is the arch of obsession. With obsession the mind grows angry in rage and destroys everything in its path. Passion however, completely shifts reality. A unholy yet beloved state comes into mind. One is driven towards not perfection, but the ability to fection the hearts and minds of others. Creating something of residue that people can use for inspiration, effort, growth, and most importantly, passion.

 

Moghman saw his past self lined up face to face with him. One had a dark and cold perception, and the other had a passionate, courageous perception.

He knew his true identity was passion and courage. He looked at his past self for a last time and said, “Go now, and I will not find you again.”

The vortex replied, “i will always hunt you.”

Moghman answered, “I gladly accept the hospitality, makes the journey more fun ye know.”

So he had to be aware.

Hesitation stopped.

 

The average day

Moghmans mornings were simple, yet efficient. He wakes up at the most advantageous time of that day.

The clown station was a place where he spends a third of his lifetime. He mocks and trolls the clown managers. The insane asylum ends however and he is free 3 hours after noon

At the cozy shop, he forges ideas with his old friend and mentor, Honcho. Both scheming for ways to increase their status, combat, and macking affairs. Bud was passed, and they were gassed.

Combat drew vital energy and mental focus. These exercises improved all around life, passion, purpose, and love. Fighting in the arena was awe inspiring.

Moghman then would do his stamina exercises. This improved arena performance and ….

Then Moghman slept… and baked sometimes.

 

Honcho’s change

“Quiet is the way”, said Honchos mind. “Free the mind from the body. Oga boga boga boga!”.

Honcho remained still and breathed. He had left his body. He believed he was realizing his true power.

All of a sudden a strange character casted it’s presence over him. It was the serpent. The serpent made honcho do unholy things. He spoke of blasphemy to moghman and moghman was frightened.

Honcho became aware of the tricks that were being played on him and he would no longer be taken advantage of. He spat at the unfathomable creature and spanked it’s arse with unkindly words of gratitude. The serpent was confused with the banter and did not punish the young honcho for the disrespect. Instead the serpent and the young lads made a truce. “No more tricks, no more shenanigans.” Said Honcho, moghman, and the serpent. He slithered away and never bothered them again. But always kept a watchful eye out for his once victims.

 

Baked

 

Moghman and Honcho were ready and steadfast again. The word scheme echoing in their minds. Moghman and Honcho had decided to go on another journey.

Before they left their kingdoms, the pair decided to pass the crown. They would no longer be kings, but striders. Leaving but with a handful of food, the brethren began this adventure.

North they headed, towards the icelands. Huge glaciers they surpassed, without a blink. Until 4 days later, the men became weary and tired. “Let us scheme one last time. This journey is proving to be morale shakening. Bud.”, said Honcho.

Moghman missing the bakism, agreed. The two sat in the misty mountains, scrounging some bud, lighting some bud, and exhaling the mud. The two started to laugh, pass, and grass. “Do ye hear that”, said Moghman suddenly.

A ghul was returning home from hunting. “Hehehe”, it shouted, “We got the meats, I wants to feast!.”

Moghman quickly started running, Honcho followed. They ran and ran until they came to a lair. It was the ghul’s lair. Without a moment's hesitation, Honcho played dead, and hid  under some of the ghul’s misfortunate victims. Moghman was not fast enough in scheming as his eyes met the ghul.

“Heeehehee, thou cometh to my tomb, thou becomest part of my beloved.”, said the ghul.

Moghman on the other hand was tripping. “That mastermind Honcho”, he thought, “How can he scheme so quick? I’m baked. I wonder what honcho laced the bud wi-”

BOOM! The ghul slammed the ground with his head. “I will eats thee now!” it screamed.

Honcho, realizing his friend might be ghul shite within the night, came out from under the rotting corpse and charged the behemoth ghul.

Moghman was tripping. He came to find out that the reason for his trip was because he had inhaled the unforbidden way. Moghman was disturbed by the unforbidden way, and quickly started to retrace his steps.

Meanwhile, Honcho was in the middle of decapitating the ghuls humongous head. 13 strikes it took to sever the head of the beast. “Moghman! We need to leave”, shouted Honcho after the victory.

Moghman listened to his brethren's intuition, and they both ran out of the mountains.

They ran and ran until they encountered a deer. “Moo”, it yelled whilst puffing a joint.

Moghman was startled out of his universe. Honcho calmed Moghman down and proclaimed to him that the deer was a friendly.

Honcho winked at the deer. The deer passed his joint. Puffing and laughter followed. The deer started to come out of its shell. “Yeah I encountered many enemies in my time. Once a gorilla attacked me and forced me from my old home. I was saddened, but this joint is always here for me.”

After the joint the crew set out for the journey home. They encountered scorching sands, blistering winds, and rough seas.

The men reached the capital of the Westfold. Mustapha Mond, the queen of the capital, was at the head of the gate and saw the men approaching. The gates flung open as the men were escorted to Mond. Mustapha itched her arm, “Let us have a feast of honor for our guests tonight! But first check them for the bud.”

The soldiers gathered around the arselings. Moghman was searched. No Bud. Honcho was searched. He had hemp. The deer was searched. BUD!

Mustapha was greatly enraged. BUD? Thou shalt hang by the neck until dawn! The deer started to whimper. Great fortunes were always its fate.

The deer was a prophecy. It spoke of unforetold events that no one could understand. Except for Honcho. Honcho was blessed with sacred gifts. The gifts of observation, outspokenness, and imagination. Honcho was very reliable under pressure and knew what it took to get the job done at hand. He did not let his misfortunes beckon him. He always kept his guard up no matter what land he was in. He constantly kept watch on his prey so the roles could not be flipped. He stalked the deer but suddenly misjudged a calculation and lost sight of the outlandish character. But with one significant sniff he was back on track… following the aroma of the smelly beast.

Deer fed off hemp throughout the land. Now that hemp wasn’t forsaken, hunters were encouraged to slay these magnificent beasts. The men in the village were courageous and courteous to all but they most especially loved taming beasts. They would hunt them from afar, with their eyes. Initiating a seductive relation with the beast, thus taking its inner form and devouring it. Men, however; did this to trick the deer and with one quick pull of a bow….

 

Strange Places

 

Moghman paid the captain his allowance. The captain responded, “Aye, I’ll be back in half a year. Best of luck to ye”.

Moghman stepped off the old ship. Land was finally again in his sight. His belongings were no more than the clothes on his back.

As he entered the city, he saw much busyness entangled throughout. The market was flooded, as everyone wanted to make away with the best deals.

He saw the aristocrats on their horses. Strange enemies they were, always making it hard for the working laborers. They whipped and whipped their serfs. “More grain, more cotton, more respect!”, they yelled.

Moghman saw his fate if he were to disrespect any of the elders. He would be whipped daily and stripped of most distributed rations.

Scheme he must, he knew. His mere presence frightened the scholars. “Keep to the stealth, and don’t appear too hasty”, he thought.

Every night he would sneak outside and enter the pantries. This was forbidden, and fear was instilled in most who thought of such things. Moghman would take his fill, and scurry back to his cottage before the elders could notice.

His stealth cloaked him from suspicion, his eyes turned those scheming to look for another rog. Moghman made sure to never utter too much, as the pantries might have been on higher alert if he were to proclaim his indifferences.

His schemes advanced as time allowed. He would visit the pantries twice sometimes. He discovered the underground, the angry peasants. He even started to befriend some of the laborers. “Better to have sources of knowledge that I could use to distribute energy”, he thought.

His goal was simple. 6 months he had. 6 splendid olives, each containing its own raw energy. He must establish a base of operations as a striding noble. Within the year the sailor would return, and aid in the capture of this city.

Moghman was ready. “Ok”, he thought. “Where do I start?”.

Fear started to tremble, trembling at the thought of the Moghman.

 

Traits

Moghman was starting to understand his position. He needed to know thyself.

The trait reader was brought out. The dusty chest was opened and out came the treasure.

At the top was writing of prehistoric times. “Free thyself from yourself.”

Inheriting these from himself, he knew what must be done.

Moghman started to look back at his journey. He had journeyed quite far, and achieved a great deal. But at the same time, he had let his achievements rot in the sun.

The journey is not about work ethic, harmony, or stability.

The journey has no meaning.

One must find its meaning.

Or better yet...

Give

It

Meaning.

 

In other words

 

Moghman’s

Dreams

Downtrodden

 

Ending of Sorrow

Honcho looked into Moghman’s eyes, “Greatness is within us”, he said.

The sun warmed Moghman’s body. He had seen and endured many hardships on his travels, but this sun was not one.

Moghman looked up to the heavens. He could see the past. Honcho asked Moghman what he was staring at.

Moghman knew it was ending. The years of turmoil and disgrace were washing over them. The brothers had survived the darkest nights, and it was time to move the Caravan.

“Out tales may never be heard of”, said Moghman, “but I am sure that you Honcho, won’t go down without a try.”

Honcho laughed, “I am the Barbarian, master of the scheme, careful and observant at all hours.

Moghman said, “ Yes Hammas, I know. Don’t forget about me. I am the serpent, the watcher. I strike fast when nobody is ready. Quick and tactful I am, always on my guard.”

Honcho exclaimed, “Sounds familiar Landrew. Best of luck to all!”.

 

Chapter 33- Running of the Bulls

 

“Aye”, shouted Honcho. “We are near.”

The duo hurriedly packed their bowls. They were on a journey with the bulls. Honchos bull was mighty. He was a buff and talented individual. Years of experience guarded his mind. He was sharp and surefooted. His nickname was “speedy”.

Mogh’s bull was terrifying. He puffed his chest out, breathed through his nostrils, and blissfully danced his way through. So focused was this bull, it created an enticing aura. Shredded was the bull. He was called “Bamboozler”.

Their quest was to find a new home.

“The dragons patrolled the sacred ambitions of chasers and would try to overcome them. The individual must rise above their dragon to defeat the system.”

Run! Smoke! Fight! Grub! twas the life of any noble sailor. party all the time was their motto.

 

Chapter 34- Forthcoming

“Ye know this is all bullshite sire”, said Honcho.

Moghman studied Honcho, “ye”.

So what's the point of these journeys?, Questioned Honcho.

“Poop”, said Mogh

 

Honcho’s shite was turning blue. He could feel it in the nebula. Honcho straightened himself and asked the question. How can shite turn blue. The cosmetics were off. Something was happening.

 

Mogh turned to Mohammad who was smoking a doob. He asked for a hit. The scientist however, asked for id on spot. “according to my calculations ye are too young to finesse herb.

 

In those days freshaw was out to mandate the fortune of a young toker. frowns were given. insults were shouted. tomatoes were thrown. tis was the life of a young sailor, under 18 winters old.

 

Mogh decided one night he was now 18. he was ready to accept all responsibility, profit, loss, indifference, injustice, emotions, belief, and willpower and gifted the world with them. he shed his morals and codes, his emotions and desires, his prestige and glory, for an ounce of seed. This seed was buried that night, in the soul of Mogh.

Mogh spoke to the dragons, “ye are here for glory and prestige, why de ye still hope for happiness and prosperity? the true enemy is the enemy called enemy. for an enemy is merely the construct of nothing”.

The dragons breathed fire on Mogh, and Mogh was burned. He pleaded his case once again but it was no use. The dragons demanded a sacrifice for safe passage.

Mogh started to bargain, but was met with retaliation. his eyes looked for an escape, but then he realized. the enemy was himself. he created the notion of friend and foe.

Mogh spoke to the dragon. “Ye are correct, we are wrong. Enjoy this sacrifice of parsley, and enjoy a brew.” The dragons were insulted. They breathed fire once again however Mogh was unscathed. Mogh tipped his pipe to the dragons, and walked on.

 

The creator spoke- “ye are ready, accept this gift of nothing. I love you.”

The creator spoke- “ye are ready, accept their gift of nothing. profit will come to ye.”

The creator spake- “ye are ready, allow this reality to disappear. go now with godspeed.”

 

Mogh awoke on the Island Geyser. His hand was burned, his lips were burned. he spoke, “heal”

Mogh was healed. Mogh smoked, “goodbye”

Mogh believed. Mogh radiated. Mogh became Kia.

 

The last day

Honcho turned around and saw a deer running. He fixated his energy on the trail and ran on. He ran and ran until he encountered Mogh jumping out a tree. Mogh was after the same prize.

The trail was littered with bud and gold. They ran on. They ran until the trail became a desert. Thirsty were both the men. They looked for wells but could find none. Mogh started to hallucinate. Honcho started to vomit. “Keep goin”, said Mogh. They dapped each other up.

The deer was starting to fatigue. He limped, but ran on. “Look”, said Mogh, “We are near”.

Honcho went in for the kill. He stabbed the deer. His spear split in half. Mogh threw his javelin. It barely scathed the deer. Mogh and Honcho stopped. The deer continued to run. Mogh and Honcho smoked.

“John why are we chasing a deer?”. said Kia.

Honcho replied, “We weren’t, we were chasing the trail”.

Honcho transformed into John.

Mogh looked at the ground. The trail had ended. In front of them were numerous other trails. Which any could choose to explore.

The deer came right behind Kia and John, startling them. The deer spoke, “I am not what I appear. I am not your goal. I am merely your imagination.”

The deer transformed into Freshaw. Mogh threw his javelin but it split. Honcho stabbed but his spear barely scathed Freeshaw.

Freshaw roared and stabbed both Mogh and Honcho. They fell on their knees. “Take this fear, and breathe terror!”, He shouted. He breathed cold fire from his nose. He mocked Mogh and Honcho. “Ye have failed. Ye chased an illusion. Ye were never going to reach your goal. Ye were fooled”. Mogh and Honcho sobbed as the fear gripped them tighter.

Honcho was breathing his last. He proceeded to say what could have been his last words, “I will overcome this fear. I admit I was fooled. But Freshaw, do not be afraid”.

Mogh chimed in. “Ye are a ghul Freshaw. I understand ye are hurt. We have done what you can’t.”

Freshaw screamed, “Away with ye. Ye will go nowhere. Ye are done with this journey.” Freshaw gasped for air. He was shaking from fear.

Mogh continued, “Ye poisoned dushmo and scolded Cyrus. Ye spoke blasphemy to all. Ye wanted a paradise in which fear was attainable.”

Honcho, “ye scolded our true selves. Ye told us we had to change. Ye deceived us with folly goose chases. ye proclaimed to be a man of wisdom.”

Freshaw’s grip of fear broke. He fell on his knees, and the duo stood up, unscathed. The truth was too much to handle.

Freshaw began to ask for mercy. He begged like no other. The fear and awkwardness of Freshaw was truly hysterical. Mogh and Honcho lit one up. Freshaw was twitching.

Kia said, “Ye are forgiven freshaw. Go and renew yourself.

John spoke, “Ye are forgiven freshaw. Go and re-bless all.”

 

That night the party was unexpectedly wild. Mustapha had already became tipsy off brew. Blackjack was trying to hold in the bong hits, but the result was always the same, coughing.

The Mad scientist was no longer mad. He dapped Kia up, and sparked a doob with the family. John was eager to finally smoke with Mohammad. Kia was eager to smoke with the King of the Seas.

Mumu came from the background, singing hymns of joy. Both Mumu and the dwarf cracked open a sacred spice of wine.

Kia and John were the talk of the town. Freshaws grip on humanity had diminished. The eyes of Kia and John radiated with energy. This journey was over for them.

With the end of Freshaw, humanities hope had been restored. Fear diminished by the day, and Kia and John freed villages daily plagued by the horrors of fear.

John and Kia dapped each other up, both ramming in their chests. “It is finished, we are Free”.

Kia and John took off their masks. Mogh and Honcho were stored in the spirit of a book, but their identity was tossed into the Jordan river.

Fight! Grub! Smoke! Hope!

Tis was the life of any noble sailor.

2 very noble sailors.

 

The End.. Or is it?? :p