I believe my man, Suityourself, made a very good point when he asserted that blogging is inherently “unsavage” by its very nature. He goes on to explain however, that when it is used with the express purpose of spawning or inspiring savagery in future situations, it gains some credibility.
There are stories that I wish to recount on this site for the purpose of savagery. However, to tell some of my savage tales would be unsavage for a different reason. Perhaps those stories are so utterly savage that through their telling, they would expose names, details and places that would compromise certain individuals, whether or not they are a part of this blog. These stories might also make me appear as if I’m trying to justify myself as a savage, and bragging about savagery is equally unsavage.
Is Henry Hill a savage? He WAS a savage… yet through his telling of the Goodfellas story, he broke the tight lipped gangster code of conduct. His story is savage, but for telling it, he is not. I guess this is the point I’m trying to convey. Therefore, I am about to present to you all, our faithful readers (and hecklers), the most savage tale that can be told in the venue of this forum, without crossing the line and breaking the gangster virtue of silence.
I have zero respect and fear for the villain of the story as well, a small time G and nonsavage who went by the name of Johnny Bones. Therefore, I have no qualms with calling him out and breaking the G code, in fact, I would welcome 10. min. alone with him in a not so well lit part of Virginia Beach.
Gather round the campfire children, for this story involves three quintessential savages, bonded together by herb and camaraderie, the likes of which may never be witnessed again in the small prissy confines of the Williamsburg community.
It was a lonely Wed. night on the desolate campus. Silence pervaded the scholarly town, as it was the night before the first final of the fall term. All who was unsavage lay secluded in their sensory deprivation chambers, curled into fetus-like creations on dormroom single beds, or hunched over keyboards in dark rooms with the eyes of an Asian. The most unsavage of them all were already asleep by 10:00… getting a good night’s rest… having studied all the material for their final… being responsible… being highly… UNSAVAGE.
But fear not, savagery was not dead my friends. No, my children, savagery was still very much alive in the confines of the colonial settlement… and on this particular night, it initially lay dormant in three of the most savage burg inhabitants in all of history. And even if two of them were unaware of the savage potential that slept in the depths of their hearts, one lay in the corner… the catalyst of the savagery to come.
And this, my faithful readers!, was the defacto leader of the savage group. He hailed from a humid Floridian paradise, filled with women, wine and weed. He was already well versed in the art of savagery. The two cohorts offered their king entertainment, competing fiercely in the brutal battle arenas of Mario Kart. And even as this great pillar of savagery sat and silently observed the humble spectacle, his plan for sheer savagery was already in progress. A small smile would begin to pervade the countenance of our leader, the great Stoney himself!, as the night wore on.
You see, prior to this evening, Stoney had arranged with the influential Mister Frank Nuggets, a certain agreement. This Frank Nuggets wielded great power in the dorms, and served as the gatekeeper to each and every room. His power and influence led him to possess a copy of every room’s key. But every man, no matter how noble, no matter what position he holds, has a price. Every man can be persuaded, and there is no human being on this earth more persuasive than Stoney.
A key changed hands in the dark hallways of Phi Tau. This key opened the door to a mighty tyrant’s lair. This wretched nemesis controlled the majority of the weed that entered campus. He was a lowlife, a coward, a square, a nonsavage! He was known as Johnny Bones. It was even said (and widely thought) that his wares were fake, that they were not weed at all, but fancy looking Wizard Smoke! Perhaps that’s not an accurate assessment, but merely my jealousy talking.
(EDITOR’S NOTE: Wizard Smoke is “legal herb,” often mentioned in advertisements of High Times magazine. It appears to be very high quality bud, but lacks THC completely, rendering it legal, useless, and worthless.)
He would peddle his buds for anywhere from $45 – $60. While this shit appeared very dank, with a shiny luster and dense, thick texture, sometimes his bags would produce little to no mind altering effects whatsoever. I bought quite of few of his bags, for the sacred herb was often in short supply. I used to call his shit “study weed,” cause SOMETIMES I could smoke a righteous cannon of a blunt, and still perform miracles of calculus and biology.
He was a trickster!, a con!, a predator, a hoarding, price controlling master architect of unsavageness… one that feasted on the hopes and dreams of humble weedheads, all of whom wanted so much to believe that his product would maybe… fuck them up just a little at a reasonable price? And maybe it was real weed. And maybe we, being savages, had smoked such an incredible amount of bundles to the face, that we couldn’t feel the effects of weed from time to time. Call it tolerance. Regardless, this man would pay, for we were bored, and in need of adventure.
Key in hand, Stoney towered over us at the door as Nuggets left. We sat Indian style (not convenient store Indian, rather alcoholic Indian), and listened like Usual Suspects to his unfolding plot. What the plan lacked in complication and caution, it made up for with unapologetic savagery. We three would creep 30 ft. through the building to Johnny Bones’ room. Stoney would insert the key with the precision and silence of a ninja, opening the door slowly but surely, exposing the sleeping beast and all his wares. Myself and the third member, none other than Suityourself himself (haha), would enter the room without breath, open the right desk drawer (Johnny Bones kept all his inventory in one easy to find drawer), and fill our bags with all the sticky imaginable.
The room was very tense. Suityourself exited as Stoney and I readied our nerves for the task at hand. Before we could even turn to seek out our third member, he had returned with weed in hand! And this weed was smoked, and it was good! As it turned out, Bones was still studying somewhere else at the moment, and Suityourself, with mighty testicles swinging to and fro, had entered the room without key!, to discover a weed bag on the table. He had grabbed it and escaped! We all laughed, and puffed ourselves into contentment.
For any normal bunch, this might have been enough savagery for one night. But here we were, students at one of the most prestigious schools in the country, abandoning our academic responsibilities, tweaked off of a blend of adderal, vicodin, valium, mdma, shrooms, weed, and alcohol (well I shouldn’t speak for all parties involved), robbing the local weedman while he was out studying for the hardest exams in the nation.
Yet, my fellow savages, our lust for savagery was great that night. We knew that there was more treasure to be gained, more fear to be tamed, and more SAVAGENESS to be obtained. Yes, my friends, after robbing the weedman once that night, WE WOULD ROB HIM AGAIN, IN THE SAME NIGHT, 4 HOURS BEFORE OUR FIRST FALL EXAM. If this is not savageness, my dear blog readers, then pray-tell, what is?
This time the plan would change somewhat. Suityourself had risked enough already, therefore, he would act as the getaway driver. I passed him the keys to the dog-mobile, and he disappeared into the night to seek out the grumbling chariot of excess and mobile hedonism. Stoney and I grabbed cloth sacs, fancying ourselves as old-timey bank robbers, wishing only that we had shirts with horizontal black and white stripes. Next, we threw bandannas over our faces, and hoods over our heads, and made our way back to the home of Johnny Bones.
The door was locked. Lights were off inside. ALL around us was silence. Stoney’s eyes were wide and bright with the intensity of a highway light. I could feel my chest expand, and collapse under the still, heavy air outside the weedman’s room. The key went into the lock mechanism slowly, with the care and precision of a throbbing member into a virgin’s vagina. Soft, mechanical clicks sounded as it kissed the inside with its grooves. Stoney ever so slowly turned the key, and door knob, to the right…
All Hell broke loose, as silence and precaution went out the window. Draped in bandannas with clothed sacs, we cackled manically as we poured into the dark room with the fervor of a tidal wave. Timberlands and sandals slapped and banged the tiled floor. Drawers were flung open, ounce upon ounce of weed sailed wildly through the air, falling into bags and spilling all over the floor. A sluggish, stupor of a lump known as Bones began to come to on the bed, shaking his head as if trying to recover from a nightmare, as we went sailing from unsavage waters out the door, down the steps, to the outside, to freedom! Reliably, there sat Suityourself in the dog-mobile, a sobering vision of comfort and escape to our adrenaline laced intoxication. We threw ourselves into the back, and he peeled off into the night.
Back at my apartment, we spread ounces of weed all over our otherwise empty tabletop. The aroma of sticky green pervaded the air. Roughty stopped by with a case of sweet, sweet Irish nectar. People began to wander over from adjoining apartments. Someone threw on a CD. And there we sat, @ 5 in the morning on a Wed., surrounded by friends and song, blazing blunts the size of gun barrels. All for free. All in the name of savagery!.
Fuck you Johnny Bones, you unsavage bitch!