The Penis Pipe

I saw it in a souvenir shop in Puerto Vallarta, I had to have it. It was solid Onyx and flesh colored, about 9 inches in length. It was a perfectly shaped penis pipe. To hit it you had to purse your lips and gently connect with the tip and slowly inhale.  It was heavy and you needed one hand holding the scrotum and the other wrapped around the shaft to keep it steady.

Talk about a Kodak moment! Once Pot was packed into the scrotum, You were good to go. I would catch an afternoon boat back to Yelapa just in time for some wicked fun. There were parties almost every night in Yelapa. I couldn’t wait to introduce my new friend.

I had it behind my back as I walked up to several folks standing around and asked,

“ anybody wanna smoke some weed?”

When they looked at me and smiled, I brought it out and handed it to the closest person. The look of shock and disgust on some of their faces was worth every peso. Others were laughing and pointing. One of my Amiga friends later told me,

“ Bob, you have the rudest pipe!”

My time to head north was getting closer and I realized I couldn’t take it with me , customs would smell the marijuana, residue and confiscate it. I might get a fine. The question was what to do with it? I had to leave it in Yelapa. I decided to bury it and dig it up when I got back in the fall. But where? Suddenly it came to me, the cemetery! I walked around and looked at the various headstones trying to find one I knew I would remember. I looked back to make sure the coast was clear and dug a small hole and planted my pipe. When I got back to Yelapa in the fall, the next day I headed up to the cemetery to dig up my friend. I looked around and realized I didn’t have a clue where I buried it. I tried a  spot that I thought was right, it wasn’t. I tried another and one more. I realized it was hopeless. I couldn’t dig up half the cemetery looking for it. I was lucky no one came by while I was searching. I was feeling sad as I headed back down the hill. Then sadness turned to fear. I got to thinking. What if they were a heavy rain? What if some poor widow came walking up the hill to put some flowers on his grave and pay her respects to her long departed husband? What if she glanced down at the ground and saw this rude boy  rising up dripping through the fresh mud and glistening wet in the sun? What if the old girl had a heart attack and keeled over? There are no secrets in a small town. It wouldn’t be long before some one remembered my pipe from one of last year’s parties and notified the poor woman’s family and the authorities. How many years in a Mexican prison, could a gringo stoner get for desecrating a grave? What kind of voodoo practicing, devil worshiping, perverted drug fiend could do such a horrible thing ? I had to be on the next boat out of here.