Bong & Chillum
While squatting by the side of the A3, one of the main roads out of London running south west towards Portsmouth, one of OJ's cats got run over...
"One of mine?" said OJ when he was told.
"Don't know, it's hard to tell, probably..."
"Which one?", asked OJ anxiously.
Silly question really, as to everyone else they were utterly indistinguishable. Both were large ominous tabbys which shat everywhere, shared fleas and ganged up unmercifully on any other 4-legged creatures in the vicinity. "Bong?" said someone hopefully - this being the one that OJ proudly claimed created the smellier farts...
We went out and waited several minutes until a gap in the traffic allowed OJ to peel the remains off the tarmac - it had been there for well over an hour and had borne the weight of perhaps a thousand cars and a couple of hundred trucks. The object - which might once have been a cat - was oily dark with patches of dusty grey, flat and stiff, perhaps 1/4 inch thick and had the consistency of cardboard.
OJ held it horizontally by a projecting appendage and peered at the upper surface closely...
"No, it's Chillum", he pronounced.
And solemnly, with a casual precision, and the hint of a tear in his eye, he flung it to its final resting place, whence it flew frisbee-like over the roadside hedge far into the thorns and nettles of an adjacent field. Having admired the flight we trudged back to the house, OJ once again, for the benefit of the uninitiated, patiently telling us the 10,000 ways of distinguishing between Bong and Chillum, dead or alive.
- Weed (September 1996)