Why was there never a spoof of "
Highlander" called "
Highlander: There Can Be Only One Love" where immortal ganja gurus roam the earth through history and are compelled to battle to the death whenever they should meet, where ever it may be, except the hallowed ground of a headshop, and the winner soaks up the dead losers mojo and becomes an even better grower.
Each ganja guru grows their own special hybrids and also have their own special blends of herb that they make the other ganja guru partake of, while the other immortal ganja guru does the same to the first one.
Back & forth the battle of the bowls would rage until one immortal could take no more and his final toke blows his mind, and brains, apart while the survivor sucks up his green thumb power to add to his own while levitating in a green lightning storm surrounded by a thick cloud of dank as he screams, "
ONE LOOOOOOOOOVE!!!!!" until the lightning fades and he falls to the ground and slumps to his knees and raises his bloodshot eyes full of wonder and dread up to the suddenly dark and rainy skies with all the new growing & breeding & bud blending knowledge he has just absorbed from a worthy, but impetuous, enemy who had been harvesting mind-blowing weed since the times of the last neanderthal man in northern Europe.
All the cool shamans from miles around would seek him out for his fine herbs and hut-grown medicinal cure-all.
They called him Gronk "Badonadonk" Ugg, because of his booty, which was abnormally large even for a nomadic tribesman who spends 18 hours a day walking around in search of grub worms or, just ANYTHING to eat until a proper brace of rabbits could be snared and stewed.
Through the millenia, Gronk had many names and as many lives as names, but he only grew cannabis, and learned & experimented to know all of it's mysterious ways and subtle needs until he was the herb-meister supreme for every great king or conqueror of each generation, each dying in his own time, while Gronk moved on to another name and region of the world where none would know his face or names...
... now dead he lies, headless, lifeless, shabby clothes covered in pollen and dried flakes of fan leaves, reeking of the finest herbs known to mankind, never more to grow, the night....