AOH :: MIKE11.TXT|
"Mike's Madness" 11 of 18: Special Release Issue
Issue #11 of Mike's Madness is a special release issue, in celebration of
Mike's graduation from Cosumnes River College and his receiving his A.A.
"Hi, I'm Alice," the little girl said in a sparkling manner, for she was
a very polite girl indeed.
"'Ere!" Steve said with barely-scented breath. "You got any beer??"
"No sir!" Alice said with a tone of alarm, "Alcohol is very bad for you!"
"'oo are you then, the Surgeon's General?" Steve asked menacingly.
"I'm a member of the Stop Drinking or I'll Kick You in the Balls Movement!"
Alice said very proudly.
"Blimey!" Steve spat. He was quite unprepared to meet anyone with the
moral virtue of Alice. Indeed, the little cretin had spent the majority of
the morning putting the boot to old ladies and spitting at policemen.
"Now Mr. Bancroft," Alice said sternly, "are you going to quit drinking?"
"Little Girl?" Steve asked politely.
"Yes?" she answered brightly.
"FUCK OFF!" Steve commanded. "Fuck you, fuck you and the horse you rode in
on. Fuck you and anyone who looks like you. Fuck you and your mother. Fuck
you and your dog. Get fucking real. Is this a fucking joke? What the fuck's
the story here? Just suck me!"
Well, hardly had Alice ever heard such language from a U.C. Davis student.
Oh and was she ever so shocked! She could hardly imagine anyone using such
language and still having a tongue afterwards.
"Caw Blimey!" Alice said in surprise.
And to add insult to injury, Steve flipped Alice the bird! Alice could
only gasp in shock.
And for the coup-de'-grace', Steve FARTED!
Alice gasped in shock again, but she accidentally sucked some fart-air
into her lungs. Gasping and hocking up great wads of phlem, she died.
This man is Steve Bancroft, alumnus of U.C. Davis. For the last nine
years, he has been struggling with one of the greatest questions of our
time: "Why does anybody need Pi calculated to 20 billion digits?". Today, he
will not come up with an answer. Nor tomorrow. Or even the next day. No
solultion will come to him in the span of years and finally in the span of a
life. He dies at Saint Philsbury-on-Creme Hospital without ever learning the
. . .And now, for Mr. Bancroft of U.C. Davis, The Answer to the Question
"Why does anybody need Pi calculated to 20 billion digits?"! Tonight, the
noted proffesor Jenkins of M.I.T. will answer your question. Please give a
warm welcome to Mr. Elizibeth Jenkins, professor at M.I.T. and noted
"Good evening, Professor Jenkins!"
"Ooohh! Well helllooo thailor!"
"Caw blimey, you're a poove!"
"Oh you little bitch! I'll scratch your eyes out if you say that again."
"GET OUT! I'm not having a raving queen on my show! GET OUT!"
"And you acted so butch backstage!"
"Well I'm certainly never sleeping with you again!"
"BUGGER OFF SOMEWHERE ELSE!"
"Ha! I got another date for tonight! Toodles!"
"Well Mr. Bancroft, you're question will not be answered tonight."
The Biblical Lesson of Saint Steve, Australian Translation
1: And so did Saint Steven wander many days in the Land of Nod seeking the
Children of Cain. For many years wandered he, ever seeking, yet never
2: So Saint Steve grew frustrated and did calleth upon the Lord to interceed
in his quest.
3: And the Lord was merciful, and he sent Saint Steve 2 six-packs of ice
4: Saint Steve did see the rain of beer. And joy entered his heart, for the
desert was hot and the beer cold.
5: And light did comes into his eyes as he spie a can flying towards him.
Yeah verily, and did that light also go out when he was beaned in the skull
by a 25 fluid ounce can of frozen Foster's moving at sub-sonic speeds.
6: Here endeth the lesson of Saint Steve.
COMING SOON FROM 20'TH CENTURY FOX . . .
20'TH CENTURY FOX !
He was born after 1900 and he's a fox in
a new century! See a tale of action so big
they had to invent a new number system just
to determine how big it is. It's huge! Not
just large, but behemoth! Gigantic! The
screen alone takes up all the space from here
to Alpha Centauri! The fox itsself appears
to be a light-year long and his anus could
swallow up most of the inner solar system!
You cannot miss this movie!
Steve Bancroft as the man who is looking for beer.
Annette as Bitchzilla, who fights the 20'th Century Fox.
Matt as Barfzooka, the Ultimate Weapon
Jason as Stoner Joe.
And introducing . . .
David Rediski as Mr. "Hand-Job" 1988!
And who could forget . . .
Tom as Mr. Mopey!
(fair play shot)
And . . .
Mike Beebe as the Fat Guy!
*Coming soon to a prison near you!*
The following skit was written by Steve, Mike's editor, as a
graduation present for Mike.
Smoke Your Weight in Colombian. An exercise in self-indulgence.
Cast of Characters:
Blink Martinidale -- Host
Mike Beebe -- Contestant
Steve -- Show Assistant
Jason -- Male stoner in Audience
Twyla -- Female stoner in Audience
Audience -- Random collection of adults + children
Setting: The usual looking game show setup -- kinda like Tic-Tac-Dough or
Joker's Wild or Scrabble or any of those regular game shows, the
only difference being that one contestant seat is present instead
of two. General theme music plays in the background as the skit
Blink: 'Good Evening, and welcome to "Smoke your weight in Colombian",
the show where 'You don't go home.'. I'm Blink Martinidale. Tonight, we
are very pleased to have a special guest from Sacramento, California. A very
robust young man who is majoring in Undeclared at the University of Buds,
please welcome, your friend and his, Mike Beebe!' [Loud racous cheers from
the audience...Jason shouts from the audience 'Right on!']
Mike: 'Good evening.'
Blink: 'It's only 10:30 a.m.'
Mike: 'Whatever. Where's the weed?'
Blink: 'Not so fast, Mr. Beebe. We have to tell you the rules first.
The rules are simple. Smoke your weight in Colombian Gold, and you win.'
Mike: 'Uh, what do I win?'
Blink: 'More Colombian.'
Jason: 'Hey...how do I get on this fuckin' show?'
Blink: 'Ok, Mike, are you ready?'
Mike: 'Stupid question, Wink.'
Blink: 'That's Blink.'
Mike: 'Whatever. Where's the weed?'
Blink: [uneasily laughing] 'O.K., Mike, here's the first plateau. 10% of
your weight in Colombian. May I have the potato sack please?'
[A young man of about 18 years old comes out, eyes redder than a tomato.]
Mike: 'Hey, Steve! How'd you get here???'
Steve: 'I'm the one who's fucking writing this story!'
Mike: 'Oh, yeah.'
Steve: [Roughly] 'Blink, i'm 'fraid theres a bit less than 10% of Mike's
weight of Colombian left in this here bag...due to technical difficulties
beyond *HACK* *HACK *COUGH* beyond my control...'
[Steve passes out on the floor, and drops the bag. Jason yells out 'Right
Blink: 'Well, well, well. Ok, Mike, are you ready for the first plateau?'
Mike: 'More than ready.'
Blink: [Taking the full potato sack of Colombian weed over to Mike and
putting it on his podium] 'Regulations for "Smoke your weight in Colombian"
require you to hold each hit for a minimum of 5 seconds. Any less, and we
will have to toss in more weed to account for it.'
Blink: 'Unfortunately, that's how it will probably end up for you. On,
your mark, get set, T O K E ! ! ! !'
[Mike suddenly undergoes a dramatic and spectacular change of personality.
He whips out a huge pipe, 3 feet long, with a bowl the size of a drinking
glass. In the middle of the pipe stands water-smoke coolant mechanism,
filled with brandy. Mike, waving to Jason in the audience, and the now
comatose Steve on the floor, says, confidently and securely 'Das Vadanya,
comrades.' He grabs two handfuls of the weed in the potato sack, and stuffs
them into the bowl. The weed is so sticky he can't get some of it off his
hands. 'Fuck it' he exclaims. From beneath his jacket he produces a butane
torch, ignites it, and douses his weed in blue/white flames. Breathing in
for what seems like forever, the whole bowl of weed bubbles through the
brandy and into his lungs. The studio grows silent. Mike calmly puts the
butane torch down, and closes his eyes.]
Blink: 'Uh, Mike, it's been 20 seconds. You can exhale any time now!'
[Mike nods his head politely. 30 more seconds go by, and finally, he
releases. A cloud of white/grey smoke billows out of his lungs, as six 12
year olds bound out of the audience and run towards the cloud. Their
mothers grab them and put them back in their seats.]
Blink: 'Wonderful, Mike. Just wonderful. How do you feel?'
[Mike, grabs another handful of weed. He stops for a moment, appearing to
be in deep thought. Then, signaling to someone in the audience, he
Mike: 'Jase, bring on................The Pounder.'
[A sharply dressed young man pops his head out of the audience and produces
what appears to be a lead pipe, about 4 inches in diameter, and about 5 feet
long. He also grabs a huge hammer from a backpack. He walks up on stage,
and stands in front of Mike.]
Jason: 'I'll bet you Albert is watching this on NBC.'
Mike: 'Yeah, he bet me that if I could smoke my whole weight in Colombian,
he would get me every Classical CD ever produced. Boy, he must be shakin'
in his socks now.'
[Mike begins to stuff handful after handful of weed into the bowl. When it
seems to be overflowing, Jason interceeds and puts the solid lead 'pipe'
over the bowl. It fits the bowl perfectly. And, with a few sharp pounds of
the hammer on the pipe, the weed in the bowl is compressed to half of its
[Packing and pounding, packing and pounding, Mike continues to smoke bowl
after bowl. Soon, the audience begins to realize they are getting 'contact
high', and some of the conservative ones leave, disgusted.]
***FOUR HOURS LATER***
[Mike, a virtual zombie, is now being held up by three other crew men.]
Blink: 'Congratulations, Mike! You have finished off 35% of your weight
in Colombian. How do you feel?'
[40 minutes of silence pass. Finally...]
Jason: 'Right on! Right on! C'mon Mike, you got 5 more sacks to go!!!'
[Jason, borrowing an electric bong from Twyla in the audience, who had
showed up 3 hours previous to watch the show, pumps 4 more bags of killer
Colombian into Mike.]
Jason, Announcer: 'What?'
Mike: [pause...] 'No....no..more....gotta.....quit......'
Steve: [suddenly bouncing up from his coma, eyes red and all] 'NO WAY,
MIKE. Never, EVER, are you going to back out of this one. For years I've
considered you the expert pot smoker of the century, and now, you're backing
out on your only chance to stay buzzed for 3 months in a row. If you quit
now, I swear by all that is good and right, I WILL NOT front you a twelve
pack for this summer's camping trip.'
Jason: 'He's got you, Mike. There's nothing you can do now but keep going.'
Mike: [whispering] 'Shit. Ooops.......I mean.....Killer.'
Steve: 'That's the spirit!' [Immediately falls back on the floor again, dead
to the world.]
[Jason pumps the final sack of marijuana into Mike with the electric bong,
and he passes out cold. His eyes are so red, they glow from beneath his
eyelids. The cameramen begin to claim that they are getting stoned just by
looking at him. The announcer does not argue.]
Blink: 'HE'S DONE IT!' [Theme music plays] 'Congratulations, Mike, or
whoever you are now. You've smoked your weight in Colombian! Of course, we
measured your weight in DOUBLED KILOGRAMS, not pounds. Clumsy us! Heh heh
heh. Your consolation prize will be left with Jason, your apparent friend,
and, for about 4 years to come, your respiratory machine operator. He will
be in charge of delivery of the prize. Your prize?? 100 pounds of Killer
Colombian Green Buds. No shake. No stems. NOTHING BUT 100 pounds of the
most sticky, stony buds ever imaginable.'
Jason: 'Killer deal, dude.'
Blink: 'Tune in next week when two girls who call themselves Twyla and
Karen attempt to "Smoke their weight in Colombian". So long folks, and
remember, a day without pot, is like, totally terrible, dude!'
[Blink takes a pipe from his coat jacket and sneaks a toke before the
cameras shut off. Steve, although still passed out, slowly gives a 'thumbs
up' to Jason as he passes by, Mike on one shoulder, 100 pounds of buds on
(C) 1989 Yucks For You, Inc.
Mike Beebe, Steven Bancroft
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