Tommy Chong
is Still Smokin'
By Ben Corbett
is Still Smokin'
By Ben Corbett
When I was 16, getting railed in the back seat of a beat-up Ford Pinto, memorizing "Pedro and the Man" with a head full of smoke, I never imagined that someday Tommy Chong would be passing me a glass pipe stuffed with a smoldering chunk of sticky greenbud. Every youngster's fantasy!!!
"Ear... sphhh, sphhh. It's still lit." That's all I could think of saying. What would you say to the father of pot comedy just after he's shoved a steaming bowl in your face?
"You didn't tell me it was this strong!" I screamed a little later.
"How could you do this to me?!? I'm wiped, man, and I gotta meet my wife out there. And there's cops everywhere! What is this? Sweet mother of God, I'll never make it!"
After the show, I squeezed off a few shots of Tommy. It was a sincere pleasure staring at him through the camera's viewfinder as he continuously melted into the light meter. After fifteen minutes, he finally said, "Are you gonna take the picture, man, or what's the story? I can't hold this hit forever."
"Oh yeah, I forgot," I said, snapping the picture as Tommy wrenched his lungs, blowing a wispy cloud into the lens.
So when Tommy Chong whips through town, don't waste your money on that "non-smoking" blather. Make sure you buy your tickets for the smoking show. There's nothing more seductive than the scents of a hundred varieties of pot dancing in your nostrils at once. The contact buzz is so powerful, that the straightest of aging hippies will suddenly and shamelessly begin dry-humping the leg of the nearest waitperson they can get their lustful paws on. It's insane! It's disgusting! It's barbaric! What great fun!!!
"I hope you're all as stoned as I am," moans Chong as he stumbles onto the stage, after his wife, Tree, wraps up a game of "Let's Make A Dope Deal" with the audience.
You never really know what kind of twisted experience you'll get at one of these Tommy Chong shindigs. You might witness an appearance from Tommy's alter ego, Blind Melon Chitlin, singing "The Dumb Motherfucker Song." And if you're a virgin female, you could be dragged on-stage and be forced to play Fifi, who Herbie the Dog finally gets to fondle. With songs like "Up In Smoke," "Beaner," "Me And My Old Lady," and everybody's favorite, "Earache My Eye," Tommy's shows are a mellow blend of classic Cheech and Chong tunes, thrown together with a handful of tight new routines that'll force you to clutch your aching groins after a hard dose of gut-ripping laughter.
Tommy and Tree are a brilliant team on and off stage. They tour around a few weekends each month, pouring out their dope-addled humor for thousands of lubricated fans. For the older participants, these shows are a time of nostalgia and a reassessment of values. For the young, they're an initiation into the long-standing Cheech and Chong tradition.
"But my favorite part of the show is afterwards, when I can really hang-out and rap with the people," says Tommy, as he signs another tattered rolling paper from the Big Bambu album. Women run up hugging Tommy, screaming "Sign my breasts. Sign my breasts," crying with joy. A harmless cloud of pot smoke wafts through the mob, mixing with the smells of cheap cologne and spilled bourbon. And people are chanting, "You changed my life, Tommy. I love you," as they shower him with gifts and joints and whatnot. It's an incredible collage of kinship and brotherhood, and like a raging moshpit, the experience is peerless.
And why not? Everybody in the 1970's and 80's has cleaned an ounce or two or three on the Los Cochinos album cover. And who hasn't choked on a nugget of roasting brown hash while howling to "Up in Smoke?" It's even rumored that Bill Clinton has the entire Cheech and Chong repertoire stashed in his private vinyl collection, regardless of his failure to inhale when he had the chance.
Speaking of integrity, we've all heard that noise about Cheech and Chong making "more lame attempts at the big screen," with the critics' reports of "High camp and a waste of celluloid." But this superficial and meaningless tripe doesn't wash for the serious Cheech and Chong aficionado.
I mean, really! We're talking about Cheech and Chong, who've been fundamental in maintaining an atmosphere of decent, respectable dope-humor in the most paranoid of times. Weathering the harsh political climates of both the Reagan and Nixon regimes, they've become a solid institution in America's drug culture, heckling the more extreme social taboos, from sex and fashion, to the deep-rooted anti-marijuana and immigration laws.
"Pot was found illegal," says Chong," because it was a black and Mexican cultural thing. That's why they still call it marijuana. And it makes sense! They never call it Cannabis. They just call it marijuana. 'Smokin that marijuana.' It's a racist law, and America is racist, right to the core."
At the duo's peak popularity in the early 1980's, a humorless Nancy Reagan and her gang henchmen descended upon Cheech and Chong like a bloodthirsty pack of feral poodles, censoring the team off the screen with the War On Drugs. Cheech and Chong were only two of the notches Nancy scratched into her plastic valium bottle as she babbled "Just Say No" like a schizophrenic bag lady from the Lower East Side. And her assaults created lasting contusions for the comics, nearly crippling them.
The impact was evident with the release of The Corsican Brothers in 1984 -- a serious departure from their earlier doper films such as Nice Dreams (1981), starring none other than Dr. Timothy Leary. Even Chong's last film, the little-known cult classic, Far Out Man (1989) which echoed his earlier work, still seemed slightly subdued under a lingering shadow of disturbed Reagan-era policies.
However, fed up with censorship and determined to pull through once again as the speakeasy dealer of dope humor, Chong has just finished hammering out his latest film, Best Buds . The semi-autobiographical film's inspiration stemmed from his wife's obsession with dancing salsa, and Tommy's struggle to learn it.
"When I saw her dance, I had to learn, because she was, you know, hugging strange guys. It was quite a challenge, and it took two years, and I made a movie while I did it. You know, my life before and after salsa has always been connected with pot. So it's gonna be salsa. Salsa and pot. And it's gonna change the world," says Chong of his new film.
And which of Tommy's films haven't changed the world? When it comes to marijuana legalization in North America, Chong has served as both mile-marker and guidepost with the political statements underlying his comedy. He's one of the rare ones who's had the balls to satirize the deep neurosis of American values. With his bungling everyman cop, Sergeant Stadanko, his divinely prudent Sister Mary Elephant, and other characters representing the establishment, Chong has continually blasted the hypocrisies surrounding America's drug legislation.
"Will it ever be legal? Oh yeah," Chong says, "it's gonna happen. The Marijuana Movement is like that hillside in LA, pushing everything in its way towards the water. It's moving slower than everybody thought. There's a whole economic thing that we just see the surface of. But you can't fight forces dead-on; you've gotta come around and do what we're doing."
Tommy's been working on Best Buds for five years now, filming on location in his home town of Vancouver, and Los Angeles. The film stars Chong as himself, playing a suspected drug lord who is exiled to the Philippines for preaching about the benefits of marijuana under the pseudonym "Bong Chong". On the screen you can expect a splashing of earlier Cheech and Chong-inspired work, tossed in with a salad of fresh greens for your dope-starved skull. And for all the pro-hemp readers, Tommy's wardrobe for Best Buds is made almost entirely of hemp.
And after the film's release? Chong is planning on opening a Best Buds smokeshop chain to compete with Disney and Warner Brothers merchandising. At Best Buds, you'll be able to peruse a fine selection of Tommy's custom "Chong Doperware" smoking apparel, as well as myriad hemp products, Cheech and Chong memorabilia, and other colorful counterculture goodies. Also, keep your eyes open for his new CD release, Getting High With Chong. And for the diehard cyber-stoner, Chong invites you to take a digital toke at his new tie-dyed homepage, www.tommychong.com . [This site was shut down following Tommy's 2003 bust. Visit Tommy's new web nerve center with Cheech Marin at www.cheechandchong.com].
When it comes to revolutionary comedy, it's never been a problem scoring with Tommy Chong, the master of political incorrectness. The 60-year old Chinese-Canadian has been feeding our heads with good, wholesome humor for the last 28 years, easing the tension of living under the repressive politics of a system festering in the stone-age.
To the current status quo, which stagnates with blasé mall-shopping zombies and teenage Ritalin junkies, Chong is returning once again, nipping Big Brother in the bud, so to speak. He's become the spokesman for several generations of smokers, old and young alike, turning thousands onto the pleasures and benefits of marijuana. He's still planting those seeds, in his own way. And Tommy will be the first to tell you, "Cheech and Chong are a rite of passage, man."
Ben Corbett Copyright 1999
This story first appeared in
Boulder Weekly and Ninevolt
"Ear... sphhh, sphhh. It's still lit." That's all I could think of saying. What would you say to the father of pot comedy just after he's shoved a steaming bowl in your face?
"You didn't tell me it was this strong!" I screamed a little later.
"How could you do this to me?!? I'm wiped, man, and I gotta meet my wife out there. And there's cops everywhere! What is this? Sweet mother of God, I'll never make it!"
After the show, I squeezed off a few shots of Tommy. It was a sincere pleasure staring at him through the camera's viewfinder as he continuously melted into the light meter. After fifteen minutes, he finally said, "Are you gonna take the picture, man, or what's the story? I can't hold this hit forever."
"Oh yeah, I forgot," I said, snapping the picture as Tommy wrenched his lungs, blowing a wispy cloud into the lens.
So when Tommy Chong whips through town, don't waste your money on that "non-smoking" blather. Make sure you buy your tickets for the smoking show. There's nothing more seductive than the scents of a hundred varieties of pot dancing in your nostrils at once. The contact buzz is so powerful, that the straightest of aging hippies will suddenly and shamelessly begin dry-humping the leg of the nearest waitperson they can get their lustful paws on. It's insane! It's disgusting! It's barbaric! What great fun!!!
"I hope you're all as stoned as I am," moans Chong as he stumbles onto the stage, after his wife, Tree, wraps up a game of "Let's Make A Dope Deal" with the audience.
You never really know what kind of twisted experience you'll get at one of these Tommy Chong shindigs. You might witness an appearance from Tommy's alter ego, Blind Melon Chitlin, singing "The Dumb Motherfucker Song." And if you're a virgin female, you could be dragged on-stage and be forced to play Fifi, who Herbie the Dog finally gets to fondle. With songs like "Up In Smoke," "Beaner," "Me And My Old Lady," and everybody's favorite, "Earache My Eye," Tommy's shows are a mellow blend of classic Cheech and Chong tunes, thrown together with a handful of tight new routines that'll force you to clutch your aching groins after a hard dose of gut-ripping laughter.
Tommy and Tree are a brilliant team on and off stage. They tour around a few weekends each month, pouring out their dope-addled humor for thousands of lubricated fans. For the older participants, these shows are a time of nostalgia and a reassessment of values. For the young, they're an initiation into the long-standing Cheech and Chong tradition.
"But my favorite part of the show is afterwards, when I can really hang-out and rap with the people," says Tommy, as he signs another tattered rolling paper from the Big Bambu album. Women run up hugging Tommy, screaming "Sign my breasts. Sign my breasts," crying with joy. A harmless cloud of pot smoke wafts through the mob, mixing with the smells of cheap cologne and spilled bourbon. And people are chanting, "You changed my life, Tommy. I love you," as they shower him with gifts and joints and whatnot. It's an incredible collage of kinship and brotherhood, and like a raging moshpit, the experience is peerless.
And why not? Everybody in the 1970's and 80's has cleaned an ounce or two or three on the Los Cochinos album cover. And who hasn't choked on a nugget of roasting brown hash while howling to "Up in Smoke?" It's even rumored that Bill Clinton has the entire Cheech and Chong repertoire stashed in his private vinyl collection, regardless of his failure to inhale when he had the chance.
Speaking of integrity, we've all heard that noise about Cheech and Chong making "more lame attempts at the big screen," with the critics' reports of "High camp and a waste of celluloid." But this superficial and meaningless tripe doesn't wash for the serious Cheech and Chong aficionado.
I mean, really! We're talking about Cheech and Chong, who've been fundamental in maintaining an atmosphere of decent, respectable dope-humor in the most paranoid of times. Weathering the harsh political climates of both the Reagan and Nixon regimes, they've become a solid institution in America's drug culture, heckling the more extreme social taboos, from sex and fashion, to the deep-rooted anti-marijuana and immigration laws.
"Pot was found illegal," says Chong," because it was a black and Mexican cultural thing. That's why they still call it marijuana. And it makes sense! They never call it Cannabis. They just call it marijuana. 'Smokin that marijuana.' It's a racist law, and America is racist, right to the core."
At the duo's peak popularity in the early 1980's, a humorless Nancy Reagan and her gang henchmen descended upon Cheech and Chong like a bloodthirsty pack of feral poodles, censoring the team off the screen with the War On Drugs. Cheech and Chong were only two of the notches Nancy scratched into her plastic valium bottle as she babbled "Just Say No" like a schizophrenic bag lady from the Lower East Side. And her assaults created lasting contusions for the comics, nearly crippling them.
The impact was evident with the release of The Corsican Brothers in 1984 -- a serious departure from their earlier doper films such as Nice Dreams (1981), starring none other than Dr. Timothy Leary. Even Chong's last film, the little-known cult classic, Far Out Man (1989) which echoed his earlier work, still seemed slightly subdued under a lingering shadow of disturbed Reagan-era policies.
However, fed up with censorship and determined to pull through once again as the speakeasy dealer of dope humor, Chong has just finished hammering out his latest film, Best Buds . The semi-autobiographical film's inspiration stemmed from his wife's obsession with dancing salsa, and Tommy's struggle to learn it.
"When I saw her dance, I had to learn, because she was, you know, hugging strange guys. It was quite a challenge, and it took two years, and I made a movie while I did it. You know, my life before and after salsa has always been connected with pot. So it's gonna be salsa. Salsa and pot. And it's gonna change the world," says Chong of his new film.
And which of Tommy's films haven't changed the world? When it comes to marijuana legalization in North America, Chong has served as both mile-marker and guidepost with the political statements underlying his comedy. He's one of the rare ones who's had the balls to satirize the deep neurosis of American values. With his bungling everyman cop, Sergeant Stadanko, his divinely prudent Sister Mary Elephant, and other characters representing the establishment, Chong has continually blasted the hypocrisies surrounding America's drug legislation.
"Will it ever be legal? Oh yeah," Chong says, "it's gonna happen. The Marijuana Movement is like that hillside in LA, pushing everything in its way towards the water. It's moving slower than everybody thought. There's a whole economic thing that we just see the surface of. But you can't fight forces dead-on; you've gotta come around and do what we're doing."
Tommy's been working on Best Buds for five years now, filming on location in his home town of Vancouver, and Los Angeles. The film stars Chong as himself, playing a suspected drug lord who is exiled to the Philippines for preaching about the benefits of marijuana under the pseudonym "Bong Chong". On the screen you can expect a splashing of earlier Cheech and Chong-inspired work, tossed in with a salad of fresh greens for your dope-starved skull. And for all the pro-hemp readers, Tommy's wardrobe for Best Buds is made almost entirely of hemp.
And after the film's release? Chong is planning on opening a Best Buds smokeshop chain to compete with Disney and Warner Brothers merchandising. At Best Buds, you'll be able to peruse a fine selection of Tommy's custom "Chong Doperware" smoking apparel, as well as myriad hemp products, Cheech and Chong memorabilia, and other colorful counterculture goodies. Also, keep your eyes open for his new CD release, Getting High With Chong. And for the diehard cyber-stoner, Chong invites you to take a digital toke at his new tie-dyed homepage, www.tommychong.com . [This site was shut down following Tommy's 2003 bust. Visit Tommy's new web nerve center with Cheech Marin at www.cheechandchong.com].
When it comes to revolutionary comedy, it's never been a problem scoring with Tommy Chong, the master of political incorrectness. The 60-year old Chinese-Canadian has been feeding our heads with good, wholesome humor for the last 28 years, easing the tension of living under the repressive politics of a system festering in the stone-age.
To the current status quo, which stagnates with blasé mall-shopping zombies and teenage Ritalin junkies, Chong is returning once again, nipping Big Brother in the bud, so to speak. He's become the spokesman for several generations of smokers, old and young alike, turning thousands onto the pleasures and benefits of marijuana. He's still planting those seeds, in his own way. And Tommy will be the first to tell you, "Cheech and Chong are a rite of passage, man."
Ben Corbett Copyright 1999
This story first appeared in
Boulder Weekly and Ninevolt