Coconut Randy was trippin' out big time. He hadn't experienced a freak out like this since his best friend, Billy "The Doob" Thomas, had scored some of that Venezuelan mind detergent from his step-dad and spent two days lint-rolling every thing he owned. The weird thing about this trip, man, was that Randy couldn't even remember what he'd dropped. Shit, brother, he was out to sea. Everywhere he looked he was seeing the same guy: Billy_Mastrosimone. Left, right, up, down, Coconut Randy was seeing this guy in his sleep. 

"Shit, brother, this is totally bogus!"

His sweet shades kept hidden eyes that were scanning the streets frantically for the next sighting. Randy had been enjoying one of the most righteous ham-and-cheese's of his life when he first encountered Mastrosimone at the local cafe spot, chatting about moles with a suit. He'd seen him again and again ever since, caught up in all kinds of schemes and schemery, he was on every street, every corner, every inch of Randy's mind, man. It was too much, man, how could this guy be everywhere? No way, man, no way. 

"Man, I'm so not stoked right now."

He had to get off the streets. He had to grind out this trip, man. 

Godspeed, Coconut Randy. Godspeed. 

"Life's a wave, brother, you've just gotta ride it!"

Billy "The Doob" Thomas was feeling pretty optimistic about Coconut Randy's predicament. What a trip, man! One time, back in Hawaii, Randy and The Doob had gotten totally gorgonzola'd on some mushrooms they found growing right near where Doob's ex-girlfriend Morticia used to bury the rabbits her wiccan group beheaded for summonings. The Doob's cousin, Soggy Tom - who went wiccan for two weeks while he was bangin' Morticia's best friend Ursula - had tipped Randy and The Doob onto the ritual spot, where Randy figured the organic growth probably made for a stellar plastering. Sometimes you learn things the hard way, brother. Still, that trip had nothing on the haunting Randy was experiencing now. Everywhere he looked, that spectre of the streets still appeared: Billy_Mastrosimone. 

"I'm ridin' real close to a gnarly freak out, brother Doob."

Beads of sweat clung to Randy's forehead like moisture on a cold mojito at a tiki joint. Ride the wave, Coconut Randy. Ride the wave, baby. 

"It was totally, like, rambunctious, man!"

Today's marvel for The Doob was the drive-thru mistakenly throwing in extra fries with his order; some sweet serendipity, man, cause he'd worked up a fierce hunger looking out for Randy all night. It was day 3 of The Haunting and officially the longest trip of Randy's life so far. He'd dropped some serious shit in his life but nothing he hadn't gotten over by the second evening. Not even that one time The Doob's half-sisters Cordelia and Myrtle had scored some properly shady tabs off Tommy "Muffin Man" Scaggs - the second cousin of Myrtle's redneck boyfriend, Snot Simpson, who spent a night in jail once for getting so zonked he got caught having sex with a hole in the ground. When the cops took him in, man, butt-naked, screaming and howling like a primal beast, the mud swinging off his helicopter-ing Johnson caked those county jail walls for days, brother. 

Boy, I'll tell ya, this trip was a real doozy. Coconut Randy had finally worked up the strength to step back out on the streets the day before but still he was there, Billy_Mastrosimone, and that wasn't even what scared him anymore. Randy was seeing whole squads of 'em now. Packs of them, omnipresent, all up to some crazy shit, man, all up to every kind of ever-escalating capering you can imagine. It was the wild west out there, brother. No, it was better to stay inside, better not to get caught up in their schemes, their mischief, however much of it was real man, however much of it Randy wasn't hallucinating. This freak out was bordering historic. 

"Stay off the streets, brother Doob, it's a madhouse, man, it's rough waters!"

Stay safe, Coconut Randy. Stay strong. 

Coconut Randy's mom once dated a guy named Grover who, when Randy was 11, bought him a pair of tap shoes for Christmas. Grover had long hair which he wore in a ponytail, something that had always made Randy extremely jealous, and didn't own a single item of clothing without ketchup stains on it. That night, while Randy sat outside the trailer waiting for mom and Grover to finish making the beast with two backs, he decided he was going to set Grover's hair on fire and beat it out with the tap shoes. Lucky for Grover, The Doob slid in on his bike not a moment later, with a toothless smile on his face. That was the first time they'd ever burned Satan's salad together. 

Two decades later, Randy was stashed up in a Reno 1-bedroom, coming down off the trip of the century with The Doob at his side. Billy_Mastrosimone was still everywhere he went, but it was different now. Coconut Randy had emerged from the haze with a clearer perspective. He wasn't hallucinating, he wasn't seeing ghosts. He was seeing something wilder, brother: a conspiracy the likes of which your average Benny & Betty couldn't even concieve, man. Something to do with moles and crows and catchig rabbits and Venetian arsenal's man, some kind of weird militarized petting zoo, brother, Randy didn't even know where to start.

"Roll me up somethin' sativa-based, Doob, we're gonna need all the energy we can get, brother."

Go get 'em, Coconut Randy. Get 'em good. 

Coconut Randy felt more alive than he had in years. The trip was behind him now and, brother, what a trip it had been. His dance with the devil had opened his eyes to a conspiracy; something so far-reaching and diabolical Randy struggled to make sense of it at all. The feeling reminded him of the time he'd spent Christmas eve ripping a gravity bong with his neighbour Petunia. She was 87 and looked like she was dead when she got stoned. It freaked Randy out. The Lutheran Hour was the only channel on her radio and she would punctuate the sermonizing with high-pitched cackles, louder and more frequent as she got more and more fried. It was like hanging out with a ghoul, man. 

That deep-seated dread persisted in Randy but he knew he had to press on. This was for the good of mankind, brother. He was going to figure out what was going on, just like he'd discovered Morticia had been cheating on The Doob with Jericho from her wiccan group. Randy's suspicions had been raised when she wouldn't freakin' shut up about how she wanted to, like, subvert the patriarchy of Christianity by spilling the wine of her chalice, or something. She was so gross, man. Randy'd never approved of The Doob and Morticia's relationship. He still felt bad at how much of a downer the breakup had cast Doob into, as well as the untold amount of woodland creatures Morticia's vengeful wiccan ritual sacrifice had slaughtered in the aftermath. 

"Time to get to work, brother Doob."

Coconut Randy just needed to boil up a little bit of pasta first, get a little food in his stomach. Then it was time to get to work.

Clock's ticking, Coconut Randy. Clock's ticking.