The Penis Pipe

I saw it in a souvenir shop in Puerto Vallarta, and I just had to have it. It was solid Onyx, flesh-colored, and about 9 inches in length. It was a perfectly shaped penis pipe. To hit it, you had to purse your lips, 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.

A Kodak Moment

Talk about a Kodak moment! Once the 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, and I couldn’t wait to introduce my new friend.

I had it behind my back as I walked up to several folks standing around. I asked, “Anyone 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!”

The Dilemma

As my time to head north was getting closer, I realized I couldn’t take it with me. Customs would smell the marijuana residue and confiscate it. I might even 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, looking 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 to plant my pipe.

The Return

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, but 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.

A Growing Fear

As I headed back down the hill, I felt sad. Then that sadness turned to fear. What if there was a heavy rain? What if some poor widow came walking up the hill to put flowers on her husband’s grave? What if she glanced down and saw this rude boy rising up, dripping through the fresh mud and glistening in the sun? What if she had a heart attack and keeled over?

There are no secrets in a small town. It wouldn’t be long before someone 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.

Reflections on War and Peace

This experience got me thinking about the absurdity of life and the choices we make. Just like in war, where decisions can lead to unexpected consequences, my little adventure with the pipe turned into a moral dilemma. It’s funny how something so trivial can spark such a whirlwind of thoughts.

In the end, it’s all about connection—whether it’s with friends, memories, or even a silly pipe. Life’s too short to take everything seriously in. So, let’s embrace the chaos and find humor in our misadventures. After all, isn’t that what makes life worth living?

And if you ever find yourself in a similar situation, remember: war, peace, and the absurdities of life. life, check out