You take a fake toke off the super-phat blunt.

    <<fwooop!>>

    "[cough, cough]  That's pretty good stuff, eh, Milt?" you bluff.

    Milton takes a full lungful of the shtuff, and his eyes roll back in his head.

    "Uhngh, gaaaah," says Milton in mellow pleasure.

    He leans back against the furnace, then reaches into his shorts and pulls out two baggies: one with red pills, one with green ones.

    "Woah, Christmas time, eh, Milt-o?"

    Milton smiles and nods.

    He takes a handful of reds and pops 'em back.

    He waits a moment, then takes a handful of greens.

    Then he offers them to you.

    You pretend to take a few greens and bring your empty hand up to your mouth and pretend to swallow.

    Milty holds up the red bag, insisting that you take a few of those, too.

    "Better with both!" says Milty.  "Christmas time!"

    "Naw, man.  Can't take the reds," you inform him.  "Shit makes me hork."

    Milty shrugs and leans back, taking another monster drag off the blunt.

    He starts muttering in Greek and then laughs really loud.

    You laugh, too.

    Then Merv shows up at the basement door.

    "Woah," he says.  "Looks like I'm late for the party."

    "Aw, yeah," you say.  "We are par-tee-ang!  Me an' the Miltmeister been shmokin' on a little bit of my reserve stock, an' now we are really messed up, man."

    "Sweet," says Merv.  "Can I get in on that super-phat?"

    You hand the blunt over to Merv.

    He takes a cool drag and sits down between you and Milty.

    "Noice," says Merv.

    Things are going shmoove for about two hours, but then your uptight sister Paula comes down to the basement to do some laundry and happens upon your little party.

    "Bradford!" she screams.  "You take that stuff and get it outta here this instant!  You're not only rotting your head out with that stuff, but you're putting Poppy in danger with the police by having it in his house!"

    "Woah," says Merv to you.  "What's her problem?"

    "I heard that!" says Paula.  "Get out!  Now!  Go!"

    She picks up Merv by his collar and boots his ass out the basement door.

    He falls flat on his face just outside the door.

    "And look at you, Brad!  Getting little Milty hooked on who knows what!" she says, pointing to the pills.  "Go on, Milton, go home now."

    Milton is oblivious.

    "Look, Brad, you turned him into a zombie.  He's only six years old, for Christ's sake!"

    "He's not a zombie!" is the best rejoinder you can muster up.

    "Dammit, Brad.  I don't believe in violence, but if I did, I'd kick your ass all over this basement right now."

    She pauses and then:

    "Well, you're probably so stoned you won't remember this tomorrow anyhow."

    She halls off and punches you in the gut.

    "Next time, I call the cops," she says, walking back upstairs.

    Her punch knocked the wind out of you.  When you've caught your breath, you walk outside to check on Merv.

    He's still face-down.

    But just as you lean over to see if he's OK, a foot catches you in the balls from behind.

    "Brad, you son of a bitch!  I knew it was you and your asshole friends!" shouts your niece Sarah.  "Those are me and Toomey's crops!  We planted 'em, and then you go tearin' them up for yourself!" 

    You drop forward onto Merv.

    About twenty minutes later you get up and drag Merv back inside.

    You decide you all better just sleep it off.

    Meanwhile outside, Poppy stands in the garden with his hoe.

    "Jesus mother of shit, I'm gonna beat the bajeezus out of whoever keeps walking all over my vegetables."