The Purpose Driven Bong Hit

by TJ Akkers
Katy, Texas

Jive, bitches! Class of '07 represent...sort of. I got to go to summer school because my faggot-ass economics teacher, Mr. Pelham flunked my ass. My dad and step-ho went up to school to straighten his ass out and he all threw some numbers in their face: "TJ has turned in one out of eleven assignments, has a 21 quiz average, and got a 38 on his final." Tard. Then I said that he failed me because he didn't like me, and he goes "No, TJ You didn't like me and you failed me. The supply of knowledge was there, TJ. The demand just wasn't high enough." Fuck that noise. All I know is the supply of gay-porn is not meeting his demand.

I thought, "No worries." I knew I'd score my graduation gift. My push-over step-bitch-mom was all like "Come on, Dan, we can still give him his graduation gift. Perhaps it'll give him the proper motivation." Hells yeah! Hello, brand new Nissan Maxima! Then I'll be able to cruise Cinco Ranch, throwing the vibe out to all the hippie ho's workin' at Central Market. But then everything took a terrible turn.

"Yes, let's give him his graduation gift," said my dad. I didn't like that sly tone in his voice. Then they handed me this small gift that turned out to be a mother-fucking book. The Purpose Driven Life. "Oh, my fucking god!" I yelled. "You have got to be kidding--" I didn't get to finish that sentence because my dad went all Jerry Falwell on me and yelled how I was going to hell because I dropped an f-bomb and god in the same sentence. So I got sent up to my room.

Let me tell you, bro. This book sucked fucking hobo-balls. No pictures. No explicit sex stuff or violence. Just straight up encouragement...for pussies. It was talking all about how you got to get your priorities in order and your house in order. Shit. I got my house in order. First I leave the house. Then I come back to the house and pass out in my room after getting high as a muthafucka at my man Chris' house, over on Serene Pines Rd. They even had a note inside the cover that they both wrote: "Dear TJ -- We hope this book helps you get your life back on track. Love, Mom and Dad." It was enough to make my ass vomit, yo.

It only got worse a few days after graduation (which I missed my chance to get high for, thank you very much, Nazi-dad), when my step-bitch was all like "What do you think of the book? Your father and I each have our own copy because we kept hogging it." I was all like "You should be hogging the Dexatrim." She just sighed and went on about how the book would help me examine comments like that and realize their inappropriateness. Then she was like, "Your father and I want to discuss chapter 3 with you tonight." And I had to think of an alibi, quick. So I had to throw out the first thing I came up with. "Uh, I can't because Chris' parents gave him a copy and we're going to discuss it together at his house tonight." That seemed to pacify her, but I could tell she was disappointed we weren't going to sit down with the three of us and whack each other off while talking about the damn book.

I took the book to Chris' house and he was all like, "Dude! Don't you see the possibilities here?" Then he takes out a box-cutter and starts fucking up the book. "Asshead!" I yelled. I don't much care about the book, but I don't want my dumbass parent-anals getting in my shit about something happening to the book. But when Chris was done he'd hollowed out a space in the middle. "Here's your real graduation gift, bro." He had put a fattie in the compartment. It was sweet! Just like some James Bond shit. I'd been looking for a way to transport my mota around, especially since my dad confiscated my back-pack and started randomly searching my pockets.

So, what started out to be the gayest graduation gift ever turned out to be a pretty throwed weed-transportation-device. And you know the fool that wrote that shitty book probably knew a few people were going to hollow out that damn thing and do just that with it. And he'd probably be cool with it, too.