Images courtesy Lionsgate.
2/10 February 2017, Hollywood- Seth Rogen and Evan Goldberg share their 14th bowl of the day on the friend-of-a-friend’s couch they’ve been crashing at for a period of time they still refer to as a handful of months, but has stretched past the year mark. Decades of marijuana-induced creativity had already crippled them. At this point, Goldberg needed at least three ounces to come up with a decent password, and even then, it was mostly just “asdf” with different letters capitalized. The easily distractible duo’s thinking had been further bogged down by the 2016 presidential election, which, to its credit, had perfectly captured the kind of absurdism they’d only ever blown smoke at.
As the grass dwindles with the subtle signs of their near-impenetrable tolerance holding staunch, that fresh dank smell fading so much more rapidly than it used to, the munchies now saked by only a couple bites of Pop-Tart, the high that now takes so long to hit that during every session each of them at some point for some moments thinks, “this is it, it’ll never come, I’ll never be high again,” Rogen suddenly has the idea that had eluded them all this time, the golden dream that will carry them off of the friend-of-a-friend’s couch and back into an at-least one-bedroom apartment for at least a few months or so. He turns to Goldberg, breathless.
“What if Hillary, but hawt?”
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