Now the immortal gods were sitting with Cheech Marin in council upon rugs fashioned from shag.

Arwen Evenstar, the half-elven, was not unmindful of the charge laid upon her longtime mortal devotee, Greg son of George, so she rose from underneath the great waves of bongwater and went through the hazy smoke to Olympus. She sat herself down before Cheech, and with her left hand seized his knees, while with her right she caught him under the chin, and besought him, saying:

“Father Cheech, if I ever did you service in word or deed among the immortals, hear my prayer, and do honour to my old devotee, whose stoner lifestyle was to be cut short by marriage and child. He was devoted to me and the rest of Tolkien’s legendarium before we were even a blockbuster movie, back when we were only in print and that cheesy animated version from the ’70s.”

Cheech nodded, and Arwen continued, "Mike son of Abe has abused Greg son of George at the concert of Roger Waters. Upon hearing the news that Greg cannot get high at the show because he and his wife made a deal that if she let him go to the concert he wouldn’t smoke pot so that he would be sober enough to do the middle-of-the-night feeding of their six-month-old daughter (who according to his wife should be able to sleep through the night by now, and his wife is worried they are doing something wrong as parents), Mike son of Abe dishonoured Greg son of George by saying, ‘Dude, you’re not going to smoke?! This is Roger Waters performing The Wall. You’ve been dreaming about this for decades, man! All I’m saying is that if you don’t, somewhere the Stoner Gods will be angry…’

“So that I say to thee, dear Cheech, honour him then yourself, Olympian lord of counsel, and let him know we are not angry, and grant victory to those stoners who settle down and produce children who will probably grow up to be stoners themselves some day.”

Cheech sat for a while silent, and without a word.

Beavis and Butthead muttered their discontent as they sat side by side hatching mischief. Beavis scowled at Arwen, for he was in a furious passion with her, and said nothing, but Butthead could not contain himself. “Dread daughter of Elrond Half-Elven,” said he, “what, pray, is the meaning of all this? Is my trouble, then, to go for nothing, and the sweat that I have sweated by mocking music videos, to say nothing of my laugh, and everything else I have contributed to the burn-out lifestyle? Do as you will, but we other gods shall not all of us approve your counsel.”

And Jerry Garcia was angry and answered, “My dear Butthead, what harm has Greg son of George done you that you are so hotly bent on sewing discord in his marriage? Will nothing do for you but you must destroy all mature attainments? Of all the devoted stoners under the sun and stars of heaven, there was none that was so devoted as Greg son of George in college. Hecatombs of Steak-Umms were never wanting about my altar, nor the savour of burning Humboldt Super Skunk, which is the honour due to ourselves.”

Arwen kept firm hold of Cheech’s knees, and besought him a second time. “Do not listen to them, this kind of discord is unworthy of the gods. Incline your head and promise me that you will help Greg son of George honour his oath to his wife.”

At this Cheech, marshaller of smoke clouds, was much troubled and answered, “I would like to help Greg son of George honour his domestic oath, but I shall have trouble if you set me quarrelling with Chong, for he will provoke me with his taunting speeches; even now he is always railing at me before the other gods and accusing me of giving aid to the Norms. Unfortunately, Greg son of George must be left on his own to honour his oath.”

Presently the Dude drove his chariot to Olympus, and entered the assembly of gods. Jeff Spicoli drew sweet bagels from the mixing bowl, and served it round among the gods, going from left to right and said, “Wait a minute, there’s no birthday party for me here!” and the blessed gods laughed out loud as they saw him bustling about the heavenly mansion.

Thus through the long night they feasted.

Meanwhile, down below, Roger Waters struck his lyre, and the Muses lifted up their sweet voices, calling and answering one another, and Greg son of George partook in joints ablaze. When the child of morning, resin-fingered Dawn, appeared, and began to suffuse light over the earth, Greg son of George went home to feed his baby, and his wife was angry.