Wacky Baccy
by JedSenn (jedsenn@yahoo.com)
“Hey Ben! We’ve got
some real good stuff for tonight. You must try some.” said Tim, holding up a bag
of green, shredded leaves.
“Not again.” replied
Ben, “You know I don’t touch that stuff.”
“Ah, but this is
different.” chortled Tim, “This stuff is direct from Tibet. It is herbal. Good
for you. The Buddhist monks swear by it!”
“I’m sure they do. How
did you get hold of it.” sighed Ben.
“My usual place. What of
it?” interjected Roland, somewhat abruptly.
“Oh leave him.” said
Jon. “He just can’t handle having fun.”
“There’s more to fun
than stuffing your brain full of harmful fumes!” sneered Ben, his patience
weakening. “Anyway, can’t you smoke that somewhere else? It stinks the place
out, and I don’t particularly want to get arrested if you get caught.”
“For heaven’s sake!”
screamed Roland. “Are you deliberately trying to become my mother?”
“Shut up Roland”
retorted Ben. “You are always harping on about human rights and people’s free
choice – so why don’t you ever respect my free choice?”
“I was talking about
‘human’ rights, not freaks like you.... Benjy” smirked Roland, obviously pleased
with his own wit. Ben refused to lose his temper, and skulked off to his room,
cursing under his breath.
“Awww, Roland. We were
suppose to get him to join us.” moaned Tim. “We’re never gonna get him high with
that attitude.”
“He’s the one with the
attitude problem.” grumbled Roland.
It was not long before
the downstairs was again full of pungent smoke, and dazed students – spouting a
whole raft of half-baked, extreme left-wing philosophies. Meanwhile, Ben sat at
his computer, flicking across his various files, listening the voices
downstairs, secretly wishing that he too could join in with them and to hell
with responsibilities.
He could actually smell
their new herbs, the faint wisps of which were filtering under his bedroom door.
They didn’t smell too bad – being rather fruity in fact. The smoke, however, was
tinged green – which made Ben uneasy. He got up from his chair, and wedged a
blanket along the threshold of his door – hoping that it would at least block
out some of the fumes.
Fighting the growing
numbness in his limbs, he plonked his body back in front of his computer. He
remembered that he had not yet read Bryan’s pending e-mail digest from the
fantasy writers. It was the usual stuff. Comparison of group member’s werewolf
stories, alerts about up-and-coming scenes in network shows in the USA, a few
in-house jokes between the friendly subscribers – nothing out of the ordinary.
"Oh well.” sighed Ben,
scratching his head. “I’ll submit something when I get a chance to write it.”
It was at this point
that the voices downstairs went very quiet. This grabbed Ben’s attention. He
knew from past experience that after a while, any sensible conversation between
his doped friends petered out after an hour or so, but it was usually followed
by sniggering and stupid animal noises. Not total silence. Switching off his PC,
Ben strained his ears to hear anything. Still nothing!
“Good, peace at last.”
thought Ben, flopping onto his bed.
Ben rubbed the sleep
from his eyes. The Sun was already half way up the skyline, and the outside
noise of traffic and pedestrians reverberated around the room. The alarm clock
had once again failed in its one and only duty of the morning.
“Thank god it’s
Saturday.” murmured Ben, falling out of bed and crawling to the door on his
knees. He reached up, pulling his dressing gown down off its hook – which only
resulted in it falling on top of him. “Drats!”
There was no sign of
Roland in his room, which Ben found odd. Ben himself was not especially an early
starter in the mornings – but Roland never usually surfaced before the
afternoon. Ben did, however, find Roland sprawled out on the living room floor –
grinning, and fast asleep. Ben turned back into the kitchen; and with the last
of the milk, poured himself a large bowl of cereal. Returning to the living
room, Ben collapsed into a chair. His stomach felt like it was doing cartwheels,
and the addition of milk and shredded wheat did little to placate it.
“Wake up fatso!” called
Ben, prodding Roland in the ribs with his foot.
“Leave me alone......”
grumbled Roland, not opening his eyes.
“Suit yourself....” came
the reply, and Ben looked around for the television remote control. He saw it a
few feet away from his chair, poking out under a pile of shredded paper. Being
too lazy to get up, Ben tried to reach it with his feet – eventually getting a
grip with two toes, and pulled it back towards his chair. In the process of
doing this, he accidentally switched the television on. Much to Ben’s delight,
it was the time for the children’s cartoons.
“Coooool!” said Ben,
snuggling back into the padded armchair.
The day dragged on.
Roland took himself to bed, to sleep off the after-effects of having slept all
day. Ben meanwhile, had got dressed and begun tidying up Roland’s mess.
He was amazed at how
three blokes could have created so much chaos in one evening. Furniture had been
knocked over, newspaper torn to pieces and food tipped liberally all over the
floor.
“I should’ve kept an eye
on them.” thought Ben.
“Hey! Leave that alone!”
shouted Roland’s voice from the hall. Ben spun around to Roland glaring at him
through the doorway. He was clad, rather unceremoniously, only in his boxer
shorts – but he had such a vicious stare on his face that any comedy value was
soon lost.
“W-what’s the problem?”
asked Ben, “I was only clearing up.”
“Just stop treating me
like a bloody kid!” snarled Roland, his face even more contorted in rage.
“Okay then... but I do
live here too.” snapped Ben, pushing past Roland.
“Pity!” said Roland
unkindly. Ben just sneered back, and went back to his room. Roland waited until
Ben was shut his door, before walking into the living room – and squatting atop
the pile of cushions and newspaper, his eyes fixed in a steely glare at the
door.
Ben fired up his
computer, his only real outlet at times of stress. Roland’s attitude had not
only annoyed Ben, but had also slightly unsettled him as well. Roland could be a
pain – but he was never really that aggressive before. Ben decided that it would
be wisest to steer well clear of his housemate for the rest of the day. Ben
hadn’t seen Roland all day. The mess in the living room, remained. In fact, it
had grown. Shreds of cloth now adorned the pile, as well as the contents of some
foam cushions.
“Geez. This is getting
ridiculous!” bemoaned Ben, getting a plastic sack, and started filling it with
the rubbish. Just at that point, Roland, Tim and Jon piled in through the front
door, laughing and snorting.
“Hmmmm. Shit – this is
great yeah!” said Tim, taking another puff of his cigarette.
Jon’s bloodshot eyes
belied his growing state of intoxication. Roland wobbled about on his unsteady
legs.
“Evening.” said Ben
quietly. All three stopped in their tracks, glaring into the living room at Ben,
filling the bag with the rubbish.
“Leave that alone!”
shouted Roland, and he lunged at Ben.
“Hey, cut it out.” said
Ben as Roland grabbed him by the shoulder.
“You are gonna pay for
that.” shouted Roland, trying to snatch the bag away from Ben. Tim and Jon just
stood in the doorway, smirking and smoking. Finally Roland managed to wrestle
the bag from Ben, and empty its contents back onto the floor.
“Hell Roland, what’s the
matter with you?” asked Ben.
“You are!” shouted
Roland, “You are always bloody interfering with my life. Always spoiling
everything. Always being the good boy scout.”
“I was never a scout.”
said Ben, “And beside – I’m aloud to do what I like. I am paying half the rent
here remember.”
Roland said nothing, but
stormed back into the hallway. Tim and Jon joined him in the kitchen, whilst the
green smoke wafted around.
“Hey... you are not
smoking that crap again?” roared Ben as the pungent odour reached his nose.
“What of it?” replied
Roland aggressively.
“I’ll tell you what!”
shouted Ben as he stormed into the kitchen, snatching the spliff out of Roland’s
mouth, “It is illegal, it is unhealthy – an it makes me feel sick.”
“You make me sick!”
retorted Roland, causing Tim and Jon to laugh girlishly.
“You are going to be
sorry.” said Ben harshly, and he turned to go to his room. Roland blew a puff of
green smoke behind Ben. The strange fumes danced around Ben’s head, and he
stumbled.
“Oh, stay down here
Benjy.” sneered Roland, “Smoke with us – and you’ll have a wild time.”
Ben staggered to his
feet, waves of nausea flowing over him.
“Leave me alone......”
cried Ben, and he ran to his room.
The next morning, Ben
ventured back downstairs. He stared at Roland, fast asleep atop his nest of
cloth, paper and cushions – and sporting a large plume of feathers from the top
of his head.
“A fine practical joke.”
thought Ben. He walked over to Roland, who was snoring painfully loudly. As Ben
watched, Roland rolled over onto his side – revealing a huge tear in the back of
his t-shirt. On closer inspection, Ben could see that Roland had two distinct
lumps on his shoulder blades, all blistered and red.
“That’s not right?”
thought Ben.
“Time to get up Roland!”
he shouted. Roland opened one eye, and grinned.
“It was a good night
last night. You should’ve stayed” he whispered, and sat up.
“What were you doing?
Look at you.” said Ben.
“Look at me what?”
replied Roland, raising a downy eyebrow to his housemate.
“Look at you - I said!
You look like a bloody bird!”
“That’s funny.” said
Roland lazily. “I was dreaming about getting inside Julia when you woke me up.”
“Not girls. A real
bird.” interrupted Ben. Roland slowly got to his feet and wandered into the
kitchen – to take a look at himself in the mirror.
“OOOHHHHHHH
SHHHIIIIIIIITTTTT!” came the cry.
“See what I mean” called
Ben.
“Oh my god! This is a
joke right?” gabbled Roland, clutching his face – feeling his teeth slowly push
down onto his bottom lip – getting longer and wider.
“You tell me – party
animal?” retorted Ben.
“Hey man. Help me!”
squawked Roland, the bulges in his back expanding with sickening cracks and
crunches.
“It’s not my fault.”
replied Ben, “Must have been something you smoked.”
“Wooooo.... I need a
drink” stammered Tim, getting up and pushing past Jon for the front door.
“You can’t go out!”
called Jon after him. “looking like that!”
“That’s good coming from
you.... yeti boy!” laughed Tim.
“What?” asked Jon,
putting his hands up to his face. To his horror, he saw tufts of thick white and
brown hair on his wrists. On touching his face, he found that he now had bushy
sideburns that now reached his chin.
“What’s happened to us?
It’s that bloody muck we were smoking last night.” roared Jon.
“Can’t be! What makes
you think that? It was only some Tibetan grass. Ask Roland. He bought it.” said
Tim, grabbing his jacket from the rack. His clothes, however, hung very loose
over his hunched body. The cuffs of his trousers were already dragging on the
floor.
“Don’t leave me.” called
Jon, but Tim stormed out – slamming the door behind him.
Jon wandered into the
bathroom, and lifted up his shirt. The strange fur was now covering his stomach
and chest now. It pricked and tickled his skin, and made him uncomfortably hot.
Replacing the shirt, Jon pulled down his jeans, and saw to his dismay that his
legs too were covered in the same matted brown blanket. He was also getting
bigger. His shirt was being pulled snugly over his back and chest. Quickly
stripping naked, Jon turned around to see what the reflection of his back looked
like. Not only was it covered in fur to the same extent as the rest of him – it
also was developing a noticeable arch, pushing him forwards as he watched.
“Oh shit!” he yelped. “I
must get some help now. Blast you Tim!”
Jon pulled up his jeans,
and with great difficulty fastened them around his swelling butt. Limping back
to his room, he put on some shoes and a loose shirt. His shoes were
uncomfortably tight, and getting tighter even as he put them on. Taking one last
look in the mirror, he saw his nose widen – and his ears grow tufts of hair at
the tips.
Jon staggered
downstairs, grasping the banister for support. Walking was becoming difficult –
but he made it to the front door. Where now? Roland’s?
Jon walked along the
street, feeling his clothes begin to constrain him. There was definitely
something growing in the seat of his jeans, and it tickled like hell. There was
no sign of Tim anywhere. In fact, the road was pretty deserted. Jon started off
towards Roland’s place – which was only about a quarter of an hour away.
Jon winced and limped
his way along the pavement as the bones in his feet crunched and shifted.
However, he could only walk about another ten yards before he was forced to sit
on a low wall, and tug off his trainers. His feet seemed to be all knotted under
his socks, with the outline of his toes becoming indistinct even as he tried to
wiggle them. Anything past the ball of his foot was now numb. Slowly, Jon
replaced his shoes and carried on, but left them laced loosely.
It was a bright sunny
day – and Jon was wondering how Tim had managed to be so quick in getting away.
Sure, Tim had left about five minutes before him, but the long, straight road to
Roland’s house stretched a good ten minute walk in front of him – and Tim was no
where to be seen. Jon was convinced that this hairy problem had something to do
with the ‘wacky baccy’ he and his friends had smoked the night before – but from
his limited knowledge of biology he knew nothing could cause an effect like
this. Perhaps he was hallucinating everything? No, the growing pain in his butt
was proof against that.
On reaching the park
gate a few hundred yards up the street, Jon felt his heels shift up his leg –
slipping out of the back of his shoes. He fell forwards, grabbing onto the
lamppost for support. Then......... SCHLUEKKK!!! Jon’s shoes and socks suddenly
burst open with a sickening rip – revealing a pair of impressive black hooves,
which clattered on the concrete path. Jon was actually relieved for at least
some of the pressure on his body to have eased.
“Oh bloody hell!” moaned
Jon, “Roland and Tim are gonna pay for this.”
The fur over his body
was getting thicker – causing terrible itching; made all the more worse by him
trying to scratch it through his clothing. Jon winced as his lower spine
extended into the seat of his already stuffed jeans. His tail, for that is what
it was, was folding over on itself in layers of long bristly hair and cartilage.
It felt like having a rather hairy cushion pushed down his pants. Jon’s
attention, however, was more attracted by the swelling of his joy department in
the front of his jeans. The feeling of arousal was like nothing he had
experienced before – not even the first time he had had sex was as good as this.
Looking down, Jon saw what looked like an erotic football gradually bulking up
behind his zipper.
Jon clopped along the
pavement, hoping that passers by would assume he was wearing a pair of ski boots
– albeit in spring. The tingling in his spine continued, as his silky tail
gradually pushed its way down the left leg of his jeans. Fur was now started to
spurt out of his collar, and onto his hands – which were now also becoming numb
at the fingertips. Jon continued to try and scratch the itching over his
changing frame – with little success.
He looked up to see a
nearby bus stop. Perhaps he could get a ride to Roland’s – before he changed
completely. He tried to pull his wallet out of his back pocket, but he could not
squeeze his hand in to grab it. The pressure of his tightening clothes was now
becoming unbearable. Jon’s front door keys in his jeans’ pocket were now digging
into his leg like small claws. His shoulders swelled – cramming the sleeves of
his shirt to form powerful forelegs. His belly forced itself outwards with each
breath, pushing his shirt out of the waistband of his jeans and straining the
buttons.
“I must get these bloody
clothes off!” cried Jon, stumbling down a side alley as another wave of growth
struck him. Now on his knees, he frantically pulled at the taut fabric - trying
to find a loose fastening somewhere, but his hands had already begun to fuse at
the knuckles. The cuffs of his jeans wouldn’t fit over his hooves in any case
now. Tugging at his leather belt, Jon realised that it was now far too tight to
be unbuckled. The zip too, had been engorged rigid by his monstrous manhood,
which continued to bulge more and more. Jon felt that the tip of his tail was
now almost down to his ankles. Finally there was a small popping of seams, and
the top of his tail forced its way out of the back of his jeans, and swished
around in the cool air.
“Oh sod it, how am I
gonna hide that now?” thought Jon, pulling himself upright with the help of a
dustbin, “I knew I should have stayed in bed today......”
Jon recovered his
composure as the sudden wave of change eased. He tried to push the end of his
tail into the waistband of his jeans – but there was no spare room in them at
all, so he was forced to let it swish behind him and hoped no one would notice.
By glancing at this swollen frame, Jon was sure he must have put on nearly a
hundred pounds in weight in the last five minutes. If only he could make it to
Roland’s place before he was all horse; not that Roland could do much for him.
Jon clopped along the
path, trying to look inconspicuous as his head grew longer and thinner. People
stared at him, some pointed – but no one said anything. Fortunately, it was not
unusual to see students dressed in furry animal costumes walking about – usually
for charity or something similar. It seemed like an eternity – but eventually
Jon made it to Roland’s front door. He thumped on the wood with his front
hooves, braying at the top of his new voice.
Ben opened the door,
and smiled at the equine Jon.
“Ah ha, it’s Jon.” said
Ben, turning to look back into the room. Jon strained his warped neck to follow
Ben’s view. He saw a huge, black bird – like a mutant raven, shifting around in
the living room.
“Hey Jon, why the long
face?” chortled Ben, taking his horsy friend by the hoof and pulling him into
the house.
“As you can see,
Roland’s is a pretty impressive crow now. Too bad he can’t fly. As for you, you
are looking a bit horse.” Ben was loving this. His dope-smoking friends were
paying the price for their taunting. “And where is young Timothy?” continued
Ben.
“Heeeeee’s nooooooot
heeeeeeere alllredddy?” brayed Jon.
“Nope. Just us.” replied
Ben.
“Awwwww. I woooonderrrrr
whatsssss haaaaaappened toooooo him?”
Ben walked away from Jon
and Roland, and sat back in his armchair.
“This is a fine pickle
you’ve landed me in.” said Ben. “You can’t stay here. Roland’s gonna start
moulting soon, and you Jon – need a stable.”
Roland said nothing, but
Jon piped up “Heeeeeey! Aren’t yoooooooou wooooondeeeering hooow thissss
hhhhappppennnned? I am!”
“No, not really old boy.
I assume it’s one of three things. I’m dreaming. You’re dreaming, or Roland’s
dreaming.” explained Ben.
“I’m nooooot dreeaming!”
said Jon, giving Ben a look of disdain on his bizarre equine face.
“Are you sure?” asked
Ben. “Did you ever hear about the man who dreamt his was frog. When he awoke, he
didn’t know whether he was a man who had just dreamt of being a frog, or a frog
who was dreaming he was now a man.”
Suddenly, Jon screwed
his face up as he began to change again. His head grew outwards, his hair
sprouting into an impressive mane along his elongated neck. His buttocks and
thighs then pumped up like balloons – stretching his jeans further until they
exploded off in shreds. His torso followed suit – first popping off the buttons
on his shirt, and then splitting the back and sleeves. Jon then fell forward
onto all fours, and a few seconds later looked just like a normal, young
stallion.
“There now. Isn’t
that better?” said Ben calmly, “Fancy some carrots?”
The horse just looked
back blankly.
“Go on Jon.... you don’t
know what you’re missing until you’ve tried it” sneered Ben.
The horse became
agitated, and reared its head back. Ben followed its gaze, to see Roland the
Raven shrinking fast, and squawking as he went. Within seconds he was the size
of a normal bird – and fluttering around the room in panic. Fortunately, the
windows were all shut. Ben looked around. Jon the Horse was nibbling a cushion,
whilst Roland the Raven was defecating uncontrollably all over the carpet.
“Hmmmm, nothing new
there then.” giggled Ben.
There was a loud
thumping on the sitting room window, and Ben glanced up – to see an excited
spaniel with a mop of curly hair pounding on the glass.
“Ah, Tim’s turned up.”
declared Ben, who wandered over to the window and opened it. Tim scrambled into
the room, wagging his tail.
“Tim, are you still in
there?” asked Ben calmly. The spaniel just panted, and stuck its tongue out.
“Well, looks like I’m
the only one left standing – as usual.” sighed Ben.