Ghandi, Bob Marley, and the biggest drug dealer in Los Angeles are having drinks at a bar on friday night.

The Dealer:

When I’m gonna cap a motherfucker I like something that won’t leave too much of a mess at the scene, but will get the job done.

Ghandi:

Yeah, that was a major concern of mine when I brought down the British Empire. If people knew that I had assassinated all of the officials, I wouldn’t have gonw down in history as a paragon of peaceful power.

-Marley is sleeping with a jar of mayonaisse in his arms and chips scattered around him.

The Dealer:

Yo Marley: wake yo ass up: We’s gonna roll another blunt.

Marley:

Fuck yeah, man: who’s King of the Ganja once again?

Ghandi:

Babylon

Marley:

Not even, man: the ganja is God’s gift to his chosen.

Ghandi:

Yes even: you technically buy your weed from street folks who are part of a society at large and not just some ostensibly sinless Rasta clubhouse.

The Dealer:

What the motherfuck: My blunt wrappings are gone.

Ghandi:

Blame that Raccoon over there.

Marley:

Hey man: I resent the shit out of that: that’s fucking plantation talk. Strait up Civil War Era.

Ghandi:

No, I mean, there really is a raccoon: a god damned furry little animal who snuck up because he needed to smoke some shit he found at the city dump.

Marley:

Well what the fuck, man? Why isn’t it dead yet? You got your gat right next to your glass right there in front of your eyes: that thing was designed by the Gnostics in Ethiopia to blow Raccoons to smithereens.

The Dealer:

I think he beat us to that: the weed he pilfered from the dump was laced with every drug known to man for some kid’s science fair project: the motherfucker took one hit and his primitive little brain leaked out of his ass and his eyeballs at the same time.

Ghandi:

That’s too bad: I was hoping I could indoctrinate some fine young raccoons and use them to justify stealing.