Thread by @SuperNerdMike

I ever tell y'all about the time me, Jason of @GradedPointFive, helped @MulattoWitCheeZ protect his weed dispensary from a host of boomers who were angry about the new ID policies?

So we just pulled into Detroit with most of a bushel of the King of Bud.
Which was good, because Jason was starting to weird me out a little.
After taking a few puffs, he kept mumbling, "I am nearly one with the yee force. Mike, you don't understand, I am nearly one with yee."

Still, we needed travelling money, & if the few puffs that Jason was taking caused him to enter another state of existence were indicative, this weed was worth a lot of money.

So after we got off the bus, we took a taxi to go find where Mulatto worked. An inner city weed shop.

It was a hell of a fortified building, with bullet proof glass, iron bars on the iron bars, & a warning that the clerks were armed & dangerous.
It was a bit more welcoming inside. Mulatto recognized us both, & crossed the counter to give us both a hug.
The smell of weed was thick

And Mulatto, being the manager, asked the other clerk on duty to watch the front while he took us into the break room.
A worn out sofa, an old CRT television, in a bare brick abode welcomed us.
And beside a glass case that said, "Break in Case of Boomers" was a gas mask,
And..

Well, I don't know if I had the words to describe it then, but I do now:
Standing in the corner of the break room, was a gigantic gasfan powered mega bong, with a gallon of ice water, & appropriately named:
El Diablo Monstrum.

Jason was in awe. I was morbidly impressed.

"This big son of a bitch is capable of smoking a quarter of a bushel in five minutes."

"Wait, a quarter of a -bushel-"

"Yea, ain't it something."

"Well, if we didn't need the money, I'd say let's give it a go."

Mulatto graded our weed, & let us know he could take a quarter.

Any more, & the owner would be wondering why they had so much king grade weed on hand, when the place mostly sold lows, & mids, never mind highs, let alone the occasional sale of the King of Bud.

I figured that'd be enough. So we got the cash, & was about to leave.

There was a commotion at the counter. The other clerk on hand, a wee little lady whose name I later learned was Vanessa, was calmly explaining to this old boomer that the store policies had changed, & everyone needed to be carded for weed & alcohol.

He was angry.

On the counter was Monster Zero, an ounce of Northern Lights, & a 40 oz of the Hobo King's Finest Dry Wine.

I noticed she was trying to fight back panic, because he was nearly about to swing at her with the 1911 he quick drew from his hip.

Then I heard breaking glass.

Mulatto had broken the case & grabbed the shop's emergency shotgun & fired on the boomer, catching him in the shoulder.
Vanessa screamed, ducked, & took cover, as I hit the back of the counter just in case. Mulatto hopped over, & was just about to finish him off.
It was too late.

The boomer smiled a bloody smile, a Life Alert™ button in his grip, the man having pressed it as he fell.
"It's too late, you damn quadroon. The boomer host will avenge me."
And then passed out, & on a moment later.
"Shit, shit, fuck, fuck, fuck" Mulatto said, reloading.

"Man, he wasn't even being racist properly, everyone knows you're a half ni-"
"Mike, that's not important, did you even hear what he said? He's alerted the Great Boomer Host. We're fucked."
I didn't understand, but I felt now was appropriate to take inventory of what we had.

A boomerang that Rina let us keep, the tulwar that Capo looted when he killed that space cockroach, the shotgun that Kab's father in law gave us, the Tokarev I took from the Mounty, & half a bottle of tequila.
Hardly enough to take on a militia, let alone a host of boomers.

Jason got a pensive look on his face, his eyes glistening.
I knew that look by now. He had a plan. A dangerous one.
"I got a plan, but it's a dangerous one," he inadvertently repeated.
"J-----, it's about time that we accessed the Yee Force."
I could only mutter, "Fuck."

Let's step back a bit.
Accessing the Yee Force, as I later learned, required getting so high, that one immediately becomes sober on the other side.
And, originally, three groups of people were able to access this: the blacks, hippies, & boomers.
Now it was only two.

Boomers gave up their access to the Yee Force in exchange for having all the money, & somehow all the complaints.
Mulatto & Jason could access the Yee Force, being black, & a hippy.
Me, & Vanessa, however, would need masks or respirators.
The plan was this:

Mulatto & Jason would hotbox the break room with El Diablo Monstrum, to make enough cloud to green out anyone incapable of accessing the Yee Force, while me & Vanessa held the front in case something went wrong, & the boomers made the first move.

We boot fucked a quarter bushel of the King of Bud into the betaloned bowl of El Diablo Monstrum, & Mulatto took the controls, while Jason got to the mouth piece, getting ready to smoke like it was the end of days.
And not a moment too soon.
I strapped on my mask, & heard them.

It started out as a low rumbling roar. The resounding roars of so many Honda, John Deere, & Husqvarna engines rising from the surrounding townships, while the opening refrains of "Sabotage" could be heard rising with them.
And amongst them, a chorus of angry cries.

The yelling increased, cried out from throats of people who didn't know why they were so angry, nor knew why they were here, or irritatIngly, didn't know who should be punished for that.
But they were here, angry, and ready to dole out that punishment, whatever it was.

I risked a peek out the front doors, while Vanessa took up our other shotgun.
I never seen so many grey-headed, wrinkle-skinned, tank-top wearing, monster zero-drinking, just-recently-finished-mowing old men in my life.

Astride the one time I went to an Offspring concert.

Mowers, and scooters of every description were being driven here to this increasingly large riot of boomers. I even saw a Harley Davidson motorscooter amongst the masses, who had snarled up the road outside with lawn mowers of every size.
The boomers began yelling.

"I didn't pay taxes for this!" "Hell Yeah, I have the power of god!" "I demand vengeance!"

The boomers cries were at once, confused, and united. Much like the boomers.

"C'mon, c'mon," I said, not wanting to fill somebodys' grandpas with 00.
The crowd was getting rowdy.

I heard a roar behind me, as the breakroom door was kicked open.
El Diablo Monstrum's wrath was upon us.
The entire store was immediately filled with smoke. "MIKE. OPEN THE DOOR!" I heard Mulatto yell from inside.
And so I did, wafting the smoke out amongst the crowd of boomers.

The reaction was almost immediate, after being smoked out.
The boomers cried out in surprise and rage, tossing cans of Monster Zero at the shop.
"I didn't pay taxes for this!" "Hell Yeah, I have the power of god!" "I demand vengeance!"
But soon, they began to green out.

I stepped out to go start shooting shotgun shells into the air to drive away the boomers who were at the edge, and soon, the riot of boomers had nearly come to an end. I walked out from inside, the road looking as if Silent Hill had come for me.

And came upon a curious sight.

An old man in a tweed jacket, wearing a Capo hat, sitting on a mini-bike, was casually eating Doritos in the cloud of smoke, watching the errant boomers run away.
I was dumb-founded. I asked, "How are you-"
"Still able to access the Yee Force?" He smiled at me, eating a chip.

"It's simple. I just share my wealth, and don't complain so much." He offered me over the bag, and asked, "Chip?"
I shook my head, still wearing the mask.
"So why-" "Am I here? Well. The Shriners have to make sure our errant boomer brothers don't wild out too much."

"And since you lot managed to end this boomer riot without too much bloodshed, I figure the Shriners will owe you a boon."
I creased my forehead, "A boon?" "Yes, a boon."
"So like-" "At a time of your choosing, but I suggest when it is most dire, the Shriners will aid you."

"Huh." "I should get back to the Circus, however. Keep in touch," He tossed me a couple of tickets, and then took off on his minibike into the smoke, leaving me dumbfounded just as I had been when I found him. Three of the four tickets were just Shriner tickets. The last, well.

I put that in my wallet for the time-being, the Masonic runes on it wafting magic that was both kind and powerful at the same time.

An eerie feeling crawled up my back, but I went back to the shop.

So we got our money, thanked Mulatto for the cash, and then uh. Well.

I got to keep the shop's shotgun, (Mulatto said he'd just tell the boss "it was the fucker boomers again!") and so we were now both properly armed.

Then me and Jason promptly stole a cargo truck, and headed off to New York.

That was so much god damn weed.