Goodbye, Cyan. The Death of a Bong

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

The Real Bub

The idea was inspired by George Romero’s “Day of the Dead”, where an underground team of scientists were able to take zombies and teach them how to be ‘human’ again.

In the film, the patient’s name was Bub and he showed the most promise that humans infected with the Zombie Virus were not completely lost.  This conjured a debate that has never been settled: Are Zombies worth saving?

I’m here to tell you, they just might be.

In a lab not far from the American/Mexican Border, a small group of scientists, two guys to be exact, have taken one Zombie and conducted a series of tests to see if “all hope is lost once a human is infected.”

Bub started out ravenous and wild, like most zombies.  The scientists did what they could to calm him.  They used sedatives, tranquilizers, even fed Bub a few cats to see if that would calm his rage, but nothing seemed to work.

It was looking pretty grim for this small team and Bub was going to be put out of his misery if progress continued to decline.

Then, a light of hope came.  One of the scientists read my blog post; “How Marijuana Saved This Zombie” and became inspired.  They began feeding Bub large amounts of Cannabis and saw a dramatic change.
Bub was approachable, calm and, above all, safe.  The scientists began running a series of tests to see how much Bub could learn.

I’m happy to say that Bub is excelling and is now learning how to use an everyday, household computer.  Currently, his “extra electrical brain activity” make him great at clicking a mouse, due to the nerves constantly twitching in his fingers.

Bub recently learned how to play the game Solitaire and has even been able to beat his own score, which was around 15 at the time.

With this discovery, scientists may be one step closer in finding a cure for the Zombie Virus, or just a way to get us to quit eating people.  Until more news surfaces, I’ll be here to report the truth.

 

(Me and Bub on walk, just outside the lab.  He couldn't wait to get to McDonald's. )

-HSZ