Harold and Kumar stepped back into their apartment, choking on the stench as usual. When he had finished coughing, Harold managed to sputter, "We need to get this place seriously cleaned! No WAY am I bringing Zecora here."

Kumar nodded. "I don't want anypony coming here at all, especially not Her Kinkiness, she'd make me clean the place with my tongue, but if they have to, then it at least needs to be semi-habitable! Right after we sell this pound, we'll get a maid in or a wrecking crew or something..."

"No way! What about when she cleans the mirror? What if she opens the latch?" Harold looked at Kumar aghast.

"Then we give her a push and the timberwolves will take care of the problem?" Kumar grinned sheepishly as Harold scowled. "Meh. You're right, we can't bring ANYONE here we can't trust. So we have to clean the place ourselves." The both shuddered.

"Well, best not to ponder the imponderable." Harold took out his phone. "They're going to be here any minute, so let's get the table set up." Harold cleared off the junk from the top of the coffee table, kicking the magazines, newspapers, paper plates and other junk deposited on the floor under the couch, while Kumar ran a sponge with hot soapy water over the tablettop, sprayed with an anti-bacterial cleaner and wiped. Harold reached into a plastic bag and took out several boxes of zip lock bags and put them on the table. And then Kumar opened the backpack, and removed The Bag, placing it in the middle of the table.

The inhaled deeply as bright greed goodness filled the room. "Now that is what I call an air freshener!" Kumar grinned and flared his nostrils

Harold licked his lips. "Hey, he's going to bring a scale, right?"

Kumar nodded. "He's not coming alone, you know. He bringing two experts with him."

"Experts? What are they, ganjologists?"

There was a sharp rap at the door and Kumar peeped at the peephole, grinned and unlocked the locks, opening the door.

"Gentlemen! So good to see you again!" A thin man with a high forehead and dirty blond hair sauntered in, smiling, and waved his hand in front of his place. "Wow, this place smells like hot balls rubbed with dirty socks! May I introduce my associates, Thing One and Thing Two!, Fellows, meet my boon companions, Harold and Kumar."

Thing one was a greasy haired, thin and gangly blonde, wearing a backwards ballcap, a Buddy Jesus T-shirt and cheap black vinyl jacket. He swaggered into the room, followed by Thing Two, a short, stout, man with black hair, a beard, and dark brown eyes, carrying a black bookbag and dressed much like someone you'd see trying to blend in at a comics shop. Thing One started moving his mouth and noise reminiscent of speech came out. "Noice, noice! I see that you have chosen to decorate your domicile in the style of post mortem feces!" He wrinkled his nose. "Man, it stinks like someone's been spanking their shit in here for a year straight with no shower breaks! Yo, is that paint on the walls or did you just jizz all over them and let it dry?" The short one was silent, bobbing his head, taking in his surroundings.

The two adventurers were momentarily speechless, but then Kumar broke the spell. "Hey, fuck you, you ant fucker! Who the fuck are you to fucking come in here and shit all over my fucking living room!?"

The thin one and the short one shared a look and the thin one grinned. "I like this Arab motherfucker!" The short one made a face like an independent film producer being told his movie was acceptable for theatrical release, but just barely. Thing One turned to Kumar and said, "I am he who is known far and wide by my many fans and followers as Jay, and this little bitch is my mostly totally heterosexual lifemate Silent Bob." Silent Bob made a face like an independent film producer being told his movie was not acceptable for theatrical release and probably never would be.

Howard stared in stupefied amazement. "Are you guys the expert ganjologists?"

Bob's eyebrows climbed and he nodded, a happy and content expression spreading on his face. He inhaled deeply over the table, wafting the green smell towards his nostrils by waving his hands, and his eyes practically popped out of his head. He stared at The Bag with an expression of amazement, and slowly knelt before it, looking up at the stained ceiling as though he were having an existential moment in a cathedral and sought to glimpse the Almighty.

"What the fuck, fat boy?" When Silent Bob continued to contemplate the magnificence before him, Jay looked at the two Equestrianauts. "Hey, what the fuck did you two do to my worser half yo?" Then the scent of the sense overwhelmed his senses as he too focused on The Bag. "Snoochie boochies? Snooooochie boochies! Oh ho ho, and who's the snoochiest, boochiest boochy of them all? You are, yus, yus, yus..." He reached towards the bag, but Silent Bob slapped his hand away with an admonishing glare. Jay looked chastened, then joined his comrade on his knees, a beatific expression on his face as together they worshiped The Promised Weed.

Neil Patrick Harris grinned. "Well, according to my experts here, I'd say that you do indeed have a high quality product on your hands. Shall we put it to the test? I have a date with three delicious vaginas tonight and I don't want to be late for the poon-tang par-tay."

Kumar looked at the trio and turned to Harold. "What do you say, Harold? Joint or bong?"

"Well," said Harold, taking on a pontifical air, "there are those who would say a bong gives you the unadulterated head, but a joint gives you the flavor. I think we should do both, first the joint, then the bong."

"A wonderful suggestion!" Kumar grinned. "How about one of you expert potheads roll us up a fatty?"

Jay turned to Silent Bob. "If there is one thing this fat fuck is good at in life, and really, there is only one thing this fat fuck is good at in life, it is rolling fat spliffs." Silent Bob wiggled his eyebrows, sat down and set out a pack of Raw papers, eliciting a grunt of admiration from Kumar, cracked his knuckles, and looked about for an appropriate cleaning surface.

Harold reached under the couch to retrieve a beat up Penthouse, but Silent Bob waved if off. Kumar nodded, went to his room and returned with a clean and fresh Playboy. Silent Bob smiled with an air of professional satisfaction, and motioned towards The Bag.

The Bag itself was a one gallon Ziploc, stuffed near to bursting. Kumar opened the lock and the green scent redoubled in force, causing Silent Bob to silently thank the gods of ganja once more, Neil Patrick Harris to take off his sunglasses, and Jay to say snoochie boochies repeatedly under his breath.

Kumar selected a single bud, perhaps a healthy gram, and removed it from the bag. He deposited it between the breasts of the Miss February and closed the bag. Silent Bob took the bud by the central stem, and looked at it closely, his astonishment growing as he saw rainbow fibers glistening with THC crystals intertwined with the tight green buds along the stalk. He swallowed and crushed it between his fingers, the cured bud crumbling to bits and scattering over the glossy surface. No seeds leapt from between his fingers as he broke up bud into smokable dimensions.

"Sense, baby!" Harold was grinning from ear to ear as Silent Bob quickly removed small bits of stem that might have poked holes in the paper. He removed a silk-thread paper from the pack, bent it, deposited the cleaned product into the bend and used his pinkie to separate it into two small mounds. Then he precisely lined up his fingers with the mounds, rolled the paper in a single smooth motion and licked the sticky gum closed with no extra saliva coating the side of the joint. He pinched the ends and held aloft something that looked like a machine rolled cigarette.

Kumar whistled. "Now THAT is a joint sir. I salute you! Now, who gets first hit?" Jay smiled but Kumar's death gaze brought him down.

"I think it should be our celebrity guest star," said Harold.

Kumar nodded "Seems fair to me." Silent Bob passed the joint to Neil Patrick Harris who eyed it critically.

"Gentlemen, this may be the greatest joint ever rolled. I am honored to have first toke. Thing One! Light me!" Jay's hand shot out, with a lighter bearing the Bluntman and Chronic logo, flame blazing to strike the end of the joint in Neil Patrick Harris' mouth with inhuman accuracy. The dissipated child star inhaled and little stars and rainbows seemed to spark where the weed burned.

Neil Patrick Harris was no stranger to the drug scene. Au contraire, he was a connoisseur of the first water, and expected that he was going to smoke some good weed and get high. So as he held his breath and the Equestrian-grown weed penetrated his lungs, the THC molecules permeating his bloodstream, binding with the cannibanoid receptors in his brain, he remarked to himself how suddenly life just seemed so much more worth living. He regarded the stains on walls and imagined the parties and good times that must have caused them to have been splattered there. He looked at the joint and thought of all the practice that Silent Bob must have put into perfecting his skills, and that caused his respect for that worthy gentleman to skyrocket. He glanced down at Miss February and marveled at her elegant beauty, even allowing for the makeup and photoshop work.

"Holy shit! I've been looking at life all wrong! Here you go, my friend." He passed the joint to Kumar.

Presently the room was filled with aromatic smoke, and the five men sat, gazing in wonder at the world around them.

"I've wasted my entire life," said Jay. Silent Bob nodded.

"It's one thing to eat the brownies, but this..." Kumar looked at Harold, "I never imagined that I could feel like this."

Harold stared at The Bag. "Don't forget our duty, Kumar. Our duty to the ones we love." The four others nodded, three of them not understanding what was being said, but accepting it. "Guys, how much would this sell for, retail?"

Neil Patrick Harris looked in awe at the half joint in between his fingers. "I don't know if you should sell it. Something this wonderful should be given away, to make the world a better place. But since money is needed for basic sustenance, shelter, clothing and such... I could see this selling for five hundred an ounce in the city."

"And how much do we have here?" Kumar looked at The Bag with awe and anticipation.

Silent Bob reached into his bag and took out an electronic scale. He zeroed it out, placed the bag on it and smiled, gesturing at Jay.

Jay read, "One period three five ell-bee-ess."

Harold smiled hazily. "That's one point three five pounds, you gangling monkeybeast." Jay grinned and nodded. "So at five hundred an ounce, that's nearly eleven thousand dollars."

Jay shook his head. "No way, we don't sell this by the ounce, we sell it by the eighth for one twenty! Me and the human rolling machine here can move these snoochie boochies in a week!"

Kumar blinked and stared at Jay. "That's twenty thousand dollars." Silent Bob nodded.

Neil Patrick Harris whistled. "Lets finish this joint up and start making eighths. I'm afraid my vagina hat trick will have to wait."

_______

Several hours later, about half of the bag was split up, and high as they were, it was time for another round.

"What say we break out the Bong of the Planes?" Harold poked Kumar in the ribs with an elbow.

"Sure, why not?" Kumar jumped up and returned presently with the tricked-out device. Jay and Silent Bob chuckled as Neil Patrick Harris put his sunglasses back on. Within a few minutes the bong was loaded and ready to go.

As it was passed around, the conversation returned to the origin of this fantastic weed. "Seriously guys, who's your grower? How did you get it? Do you have hydro somewhere in this place?" Neil Patrick Harris smiled as all was denied, the bong coming around to him. "Well, I wish I knew where it came from." The bong bubbled.

There was a knocking. From the mirror.

"Yo, what the fuck is that?" Jay looked at Silent Bob. "Dude, are you throwing your voice or something?" Silent Bob replied with the silent WTF look he had perfected over the years. The knocking continued.

"Oh shit," said Harold and Kumar together.

There was a purple glow and the latch holding the mirror flipped up. The mirror swung out.

Twilight Sparkle walked into the room.

Author's Note

OMG Silent Bob fucking say something; you're so hard to write!