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| Looking down the barrel of a bong |
It was a drizzly night in the deep south. The aftermath of Hurricane Katrina was still drowning the country's hope for the people of New Orleans. This old Zombie was doing a bit of surviving himself. My Cannabis supply had run short and I was having trouble getting a potent replacement.
Most of the dealers in the area were pushing dirt weed, aka: Stress, filled with sticks and seeds. That wasn't going to help me. I needed buds that twinkled like diamonds in order to control my undying thirst for human flesh. Luckily, I came across a bearded Bartender, making his way out of a local Hooters. He reeked of the "fine green" and had some for sale.
We hurried with the transaction, made in his 4-door F150, and I discovered that my pipe was missing. Without Zig Zags, the bearded man advised me of a place to get cheap bongs. His buddy owned a local store and always had good deals on various smoking devices. I needed some pretty strong doses, so I took the man on his suggestion.
The "Cheap Cigarette" store was stamped in the dark corner of a decaying mini-mall. I walked into a closet-of-a-store, filled to the brim with cheap merchandise. I was surrounded by toys, model airplanes, sunglasses, shot glasses, knives, pipes, bongs, papers, magnets, kitchen utensils and spam.
"Can I help you?" A squeaky voice spoke, dashed with a thick southern accent.
I turned and saw a short, dwarf-like man behind the counter. He was a lanky fellow with a stiff hunch riding on his back, causing him to stand at a tilt. Despite his painful condition, he remained happy and cheerful, greeting me with a smile.
"I'm in the neighborhood for a bong." I mumbled, my cigar grinding in between my ravenous teeth.
"A water pipe? Sure. I got 'em right 'ere."
The man hobbled over to a bright display case, holding a wide selection of elegant smoking devices. One immediately stood out. She was a blue beauty made of frosted glass, decorated with outlines of naked female angels, dancing up and down. I had to have her.
"How much you want for the blue one?"
"The one with the naked ladies? It's $20 bucks."
"I'll take it."
As he packed up my item, he asked me with a thick southern accent, "What you gonna name 'er?"
"Who?"
"The bong, man. It's bad luck to not name a bong, it's like a boat. You have to have a name for 'er."
I scratched the dying flesh on my bald head with wonderment. I had never named a bong before and became stumped at the idea. With a million names of various women I had met and seen over my many years, I blurted the out the name of a prostitute that gave me directions once.
"How about Cyan?" I asked, looking for the man's approval.
"Cool." He nodded. "Now, take 'er home and try 'er out."
I left the store and I was well on my way to the back alley to take my meds. I filled Cyan with some water I found in a bottle, stuffed the bowl and took my first rip. Within minutes, me and Cyan were friends.
That was in 2005.
Cyan and I had been through a lot together, we'd been tumbling around the great United States for over 5 years and I thought I'd have her forever.
But fate had other plans.
I was recently staying in a shady motel room that had a busted heater which I didn't mind, being UnDead. In the deep of winter, a cold front had covered the town in white snow and my room was a chilling icebox, especially the bathroom. Cyan had just gotten me ready for a good nap and I left her in the freezing bathroom, not thinking of how the cold temperatures would effect her fragile frame.
When I awoke the next morning, I went to the bathroom and picked Cyan up by her long stem/chamber. The glass had partially frozen over and Cyan broke in two. Her long stem/chamber was in my hands with her rounded bottom still stuck to the floor. My precious, little lady had finally fallen apart. I attempted to try and glue her back together but only continued to further her demise.
On that cold winter night, alone and in the dark, I buried Cyan in the woodland area behind the motel. She was wrapped in a towel I had taken from the room and placed in the rich soil of mother Earth.
I know some may think it's silly to be sentimental over a bong, but Cyan kept me stable all these years. She prevented me from going mad with bloodthirsty rage and devouring every human I saw. Technically, Cyan saved millions of lives.
She was a great bong and I'll miss her dearly.
-HSZ
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