Setting:
   A small kitchenette in a cluttered apartment. With the door, and the stove off to the left, and a round table to the right. A dog is lying on the floor next to the table.
    
  
     Characters:  
     Blake, a  typical college fratboy.
     Dave, a Stoner Guru.
     Lily, an old German Shepard.  Doesn’t move, so it could be stuffed if necessary.

Scene opens on Dave sitting at the table rolling a joint. He is interrupted in this task by a ring at the door. He crosses to the intercom box near the door, and presses the call button.

Dave
Who is it?

Blake
Hi, I’m Blake. Tommy’s friend. Is Dave home?

Dave
Dave’s not here man. (Laughs)

Blake
Oh. Well, I’m sorry to bother you. Do you know when he’ll be back?

Dave
Nah brother, I’m just fuckin’ with ya. (opens the door.)

Enter Blake.

Dave
Sorry about the joke, but I couldn’t help myself. I’m Dave. Now what can I do for ya?

Blake
Uh, yeah. My buddy Tommy told me you know how to make some killer pot brownies.

Dave
Who told you that? Nobody’s ever died after eating my blondies.

Blake
No man. What I meant was—

Dave
(In a redneck accent) I got you again you son of a bitch!

Blake
What? (Shakes his head, confused)

Dave
Sorry brother. You see, I don’t get many visitors, and I can’t resist screwin’ with the few I do get. I know  what you meant, now go ahead and tell me what I can do for you.

Blake
Oookay. Anyway, like I said, my buddy Tommy told me you  make some really good pot brownies, and that you  might be willing to teach me the recipe.

Dave
Well, he got it partway right. You see, it aint pot brownies that I
make, but pot blondies.

Blake
What?

Dave
(In a caveman accent.) No make brownies. Make blondies.

Blake
Oh. But could you make brownies.

Dave
Of course I could. And I’ll definitely teach you, that is of course if you’re providing the most important ingredient.

Blake
What? Oh, you mean the weed?


Dave
Now he gets it. Yes, the weed. You do have the weed right?

Blake
Oh. Yeah, here it is. (Pulls ziplock bag out of jacket pocket.)

Dave
Now we’re talking. Okay, first thing you need to do is make the hash oil. So, while I grind this stuff up, why don’t you do me a favor and take that measuring cup over there and put one and a half cups of that vegetable oil there in that pan over yonder.

Blake
Uh, sure.

While Blake measures out the oil, Dave  pockets the bag of weed in the front pocket of his sweatshirt while Blake’s back is turned, and he pretends to break up Alfalfa which is already in the grinder, before grinding it up. This should be done as covertly as possible, in order to hide the fact from the audience.

Dave
Alright. Turn the heat up to low medium, and pour this into the pan. (Hands him the spice grinder.)

Blake
Alright. (Pours weed into pan) Now What?

Dave
Now, my boy; we wait.

Blake
Okay.

Dave
Well, look at me, where’s my manners. Have a seat. ( Motions towards the table.)

Blake sits down in the seat nearest the stove, and Dave sits down in the seat opposite.


Dave takes the magazine he is rolling the joint on and puts it in a shoe box, which he picks up off the floor under the table. From the same box he produces a small pipe and a jar of greenish powder.

Dave
(Opens the jar and takes a deep whiff.) Ah…if the Angels had B.O. it would smell like this.

Blake
What’s that?

Dave
(In a Snake oil salesman voice) This my young friend, is kief. It is the scent gland of the cannabis plant. All the wonderful flavor and aroma of the plant is contained in this delightful powder.

Blake
Can you smoke it?

Dave
Can you smoke it he says. You’re damn right you can smoke it. And boy is this gonna taste good. I only take it out to share with guests.  I’ve been smoking nothing but roaches for the past…(pauses, thinking) jeez, two years?

Blake
Damn dude! How long did it take you to save up that many roaches?

Dave
Oh I didn’t make them; I found them.

Blake
Wait… What?

Dave
Street weed son. Gutter greens. Hobo hash.  Lily, here used to be a DEA drug dog. (Points at dog)  She’s getting up in years but her nose is as good as ever. (Measures out a small amount of the kief in the pipe, inhales, measures out another dose, and passes it to Blake.)

Blake
Wait a minute you’re telling me—

Dave
(Exhales a cloud of smoke) Oh yeah. You’d be surprised how many discarded  roaches, and blunt clips there are just lying on the ground on the average street. The problem  is contrast.

Blake
(Having taken a hit while Dave was talking, he exhales) What?

Dave
Contrast kid. Contrast. You try looking for street weed without some help, and sure you might find some, but it might take you hours, and there’s no guarantee you’ll actually find any. I mean, I can’t tell you the number of hand-rolled cigarette butts, dead leaves, and bits of tree bark I’ve picked up over the years only to find out that it wasn’t a roach or a blunt clip after all.  But Lily, Lily doesn’t need to see the difference, because she can smell the difference.

Blake
I get it. That’s pretty fucking smart. Where did you get the dog?

Dave
They let me take her when I retired. Ten years working together, it would have been too tough getting her used to another handler.

Blake
Wait a minute, so—

Dave
DEA! Hands in the air!

Blake jumps out of his chair, and makes a move for the door.

Dave
I’m kidding! Relax kid, I’m retired. I could care less if you were cooking meth in your garage, and I certainly could care less if your smoking a little M.J.

Blake
Shit man. You scared the fuck out of me.

Dave
Sorry kid. Like I said, I don’t get many visitors.

Blake
I can see why.

Dave
(LaughsWhile measuring out a dose of the kief. He then smokes the kief, and after measuring another dose he hands it to Blake.)

Blake
Thanks. (Inhales)This shit is pretty good.

Dave
(Exhales) Yeah man, the cream of the crop. (Inhales and passes)  I’m surprised a stoner like you hasn’t heard of kief before. (Exhales)

Blake
(Having inhaled a second before Dave finished his line, Blake exhales ) Hey dude, I ain’t no stoner.

Dave
Really now? Well what would you call yourself?

Blake
Listen man. I’m just trying to get a batch of brownies together for my Frat’s party this weekend.
I almost never smoke weed.

Dave
Maybe. But I’m sure you drink your ass off any chance you get.

Blake
Yeah. But that’s different.

Dave
Why? Because alcohol is neurotoxic and weed isn’t? Face it son, if you abuse chemicals as a means of coping with life, whether it be weed, scotch, mescaline, or Xanax, if you’re abusing chemicals you are a stoner.

Blake
Whatever dude.

Dave
Hey relax kid. I’m just fucking with you. You’re better than most of these half-assed potheads nowadays.

Blake
How is that?

Dave
Well for one thing, you buy American. I can tell from the smell of that stuff you brought that it was definitely grown in North America.

Blake
How can you tell that?

Dave
Well it’s hydroponically grown, it smells good, and it was soft and fluffy.  Mexican weed is all dried out, seedy, and compressed to death. That’s not to mention the THC content and taste.

Blake
I’ve had weed like that before. It was real shitty. But why is Mexican weed so nasty?

Dave
The labs here in North America make the majority of their income off of sales of their weed. The Mexican cartels make most of their money off the harder, addictive stuff like coke and meth. Weed for them is like potato chips in a convenience store. Does the store make money off chips? Of course they do. But it’s the cigarettes and beer that make them the real money.  The weed labs up here only sell potato chips, and they are the best chips you can get outside of Amsterdam. The product they make down south is mass-produced garbage, that’s why it is so cheap. I mean you get what you pay for. That stuff in the pan over there (points at stove) you can smell the difference. Can’t you smell it?

Blake
All I can smell is your incense man. That’s all I’ve smelt since I came in here.

Dave
You can taste it too. Trust me man, if you had brought me cheap Mexican weed to make your blondies, your guests would taste the difference.

Blake
So how about with the good stuff, the American stuff, how will it taste with this batch?

Dave
I bet you won’t even taste it. The good stuff blends in better.

Blake
That’s good.  So is that stuff just about done?

Dave
(Laughs.)  Yeah, that oils probably just about done. Why don’t you take that strainer there and pour the oil into one of those bowls, with the handles on ‘em. I wouldn’t wan’t you to burn yourself.

Blake follows the instructions and, carries the bowl of strained oil over to the table.

Blake
Okay. Now what?

Dave
Now, you just follow the instructions.

Blake
What instructions?

Dave
The instructions on the blondie box.

Blake
I don’t understand.

Dave
Follow the recipe on the box, and substitute that oil for the oil on the recipe, follow the rest of the instructions, and voila!

Blake
I thought you had, like, some sort of secret recipe.

Dave
Who do I look like Betty Crocker? Just follow the box, and it should come out fine.

Blake
You’re kidding right?

Dave
‘Fraid not.

Blake
(Puts down the bowl on the table) You mean to tell me, you made me sit here and listen to you babble on and on about a bunch of shit I don’t fucking care about, for god knows how long, and you don’t even have a fucking recipe?

Dave gets out of his chair during this, and moves around the table and stands in front of Blake.

Dave
Calm down kid. (Reaches towards Blake)

Blake shoves Dave hard, and he stumbles over Blake's chair and falls on the ground.

Blake
No. Fuck you old man.  I should kick your fucking teeth down your throat. You made me sit here and listen to your shit, now it’s you're turn. You’re nothing but a pathetic old man who has to trick people into listening to his bullshit stories. Do you wanna know why not that many people come to visit you, old man? Because
you’re a stupid, annoying, and pathetic old fart, that nobody can stand to be around unless they’re stoned.

(Picks up the bowl of oil.)

Dave gets up off the floor, towards the end of Blake's rant, and steps around the table.

Dave
  Okay kid, it’s time for you to go.  

Blake
Fuck you! I’m out of here. (Turns to leave)

Dave
(As Blake opens the door awkwardly, holding the bowl in the crook of his arm) Don’t worry about the bowl. I got plenty. Come back any time. And remember, if you're gonna buy, buy American.

Blake
(Without turning around)  Fuck you old man. You ain’t never gonna see me again.

Dave smiles from ear to ear, as Blake steps out the door and slams it shut.

After Blake has left Dave takes a bag of clearly marked Alfalfa out of a cabinet and refills the spice grinder, then he crosses over towards the table, pulling the bag of Blakes weed out of his front pocket as he sits. He takes the magazine out of the box, and dumps the contents in a trash can nearby, and begins to break up the weed in the bag on the magazine. While doing this he picks up the cordless phone, and presses one of the speed dial buttons.

Dave
(Holding the phone with his neck, as he breaks up the weed) Tommy? Hey kid how’s it going? Yeah it worked just fine. Just like the last one. What? Yeah. Yeah stop by later tonight, and I’ll have your share bagged up for you. Yeah. No kid, thank you. Yeah. Seeyah  later.

Dave puts down the phone, picks up the rolling paper and begins to roll the joint.

Dave
(To himself) Dave’s not here man. (Laughs). Kids these days. They make it too easy.

Fade to black, as he licks the paper.