Summer 1995
“So then the taxidermist says, Lady I don’t ask questions, I just stuff ‘em”

This brilliant outburst, the punch line of a much less funny joke comes out of the back seat of my 4X4 followed by a chorus of overexcited stoner laughter. I might be a little more disgusted myself had I not been so stoned, I thought it as funny as everyone else. Mike was infamous for his little quips that would be looked at with massive confusion by anyone other than the most devout stoner. Aside from that we were voyaging to the stoner equivalent of the “Rocky Horror Picture show”, the annual midnight showing of the Alan Parker/ Pink Floyd Masterpiece “The Wall.” Of course cramming 6 people into a convertible Geo Tracker makes for an already amusing situation reminiscent of the 1960’s VW Beetle attempts at cramming as many people into a small space as possible. Add to that some choice bud, and a six pack of Zima (Pussy, I know, but there were three ladies present who refused to drink beer), and a fun time is about to be had by all. So as we pull into the theater, we notice an unusual prevalence of bacon present in the parking lot. Funny that every other year the midnight showing of The Wall was the choicest place to get a contact buzz if you were short on dope, that damn place was smokier than a seedy biker bar, but of course filled with less carcinogens. However I had a gut feeling that this year would be a little different. So we eighty-sixed the weed, and each of us with a Zima in tow headed in toward the movie.
Good thing we ditched the pot, cause the abundance of Smokey the Bear was even more present inside than out. I guess the local Law enforcement actually figured out what the movie was about, and decided to do a little preliminary investigating of their own. Either that or their confiscated weed supply was running a little low, and they were looking to score some. Now don’t get me wrong, I have the utmost respect for cops, and I don’t want to sound like a bacon basher here. In fact, one of my best friends is a cop, and that’s the actual truth, not just something like what racist people say to hide their racism. However, I must admit that there are several members of the local law enforcement community who are not exactly on the up and up, so to say. And I, a time or two, have had my share of run ins with said local law enforcement, which was not a positive experience for myself and did not add to the credibility in my opinion of the occupation of Law Enforcement. Why don’t we just say there are good cops and bad cops and leave it at that. I would hate to stereotype in the dedicated members of the police department who were at my house in thirty seconds when my father almost choked to death.
As I was saying, there was an incredible police presence there, which made things quite uncomfortable, not like there was a strip search or anything, but you kind of didn’t want to look too stoned around all of these cops. Of course I look quite stoned even when I am sober, so I probably really looked stoned. After making our way into the place, we did our usual routine of buying medium cokes, and promptly emptying them out in the bathroom. Unfortunately this time, there was a Cop sitting in the john watching everyone. Damn I guess you can’t even spark up in the can. So we get to our seats, and there’s cops walking up and down the aisles! I mean this was too much like George Orwell 1984 big brother shit going on here. And one major problem arose upon filling our theater cups with the Zima. What the hell are we gonna do with the bottles? I mean shit, it was tough enough filling the cups with cops breathing down your neck, almost like a high school teacher trying to keep you from cheating, now what the hell do we do with six empty Zima bottles. With all the cops outside, hell there’s probably a roadblock waiting for us to leave. So no dice on taking these things out with us. A brilliant idea flashes in my head, roll the bottles down under the seats.
“Don’t you think the cops will hear the noise from the bottles rolling on the concrete”, Mike asked me, a little confused.
“Not if you wait until the movie starts and the music is crankin.” I responded with a grin.

So the lights fade, and the music begins, building to a loud crescendo, as I tap Mike in the shoulder, hold up the bottle and send it rolling down to the front of the theater. Mike taps Jaime on the shoulder and does the same with his bottle. The music builds to a fever pitch, as "...In The Flesh" is coming toward it's climax, and Jaime holds up his bottle and prepares to send it rolling down the aisle, while Mike and I are frantically waving at him and saying stop. Jaime lets the bottle go just as the music stops, and the theater is immersed in dead silence, followed by…
…Tink…tink chink…tink…tink…chink…
A slight chuckle permeates through the theater, while the Cop/Ushers wander around frantically trying to figure out where that noise was coming from.
….ca chink…tink..tink…tink….
Jesus how far was this thing going to roll?
…Tink Tink CRASH!…
At this point the whole theater is pretty much cracking up, and Jaime’s face is so red it’s like a beacon in the dark theater. Of course being stoned out of our minds, the rest of us are laughing so hard, we practically fell out of the seats. One of the friendly neighborhood peace officers comes over to see what the ruckus is about.

“Could you describe the ruckus?” I quote.

“Alright, What seems to be so funny here?” The officer quips.

Mike chimes in, “so the taxidermist says, Officer I don’t ask questions, I just stuff em”