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

A quick thought about TIME

TIME magazine recently published an article by Andrew Ferguson, about marijuana legalization in the US.  It mainly focused on the state of Colorado, interviewing shop owners, doctors and patients, and how legalizing marijuana in the US is no easy task.

It debated about health issues, some say it causes cancer while others say it fights it, but what I found interesting was that the article had nothing on how marijuana can benefit zombies.

I know that they’re working on humans and all that jazz, but if people saw how marijuana could save you from eating your best friend they would immediately demand funding.

I’ve heard countless cries about legalization and how Obama hasn’t held his promise to do so. (He’s a politician. Politicians lie.) But any pot smoker knows that legalization doesn’t happen overnight and Uncle Sam has a lot of fiction in his head about good old Mary Jane.  I call it, “The Refer Madness State of Mind”.

The good people are fed lies daily and, unfortunately, back in those days you believed everything you heard.
 
If it was on the TV it was true and that’s all people needed.  Remember,  how healthy cigarettes were? If some guy in a white coat told you that smoking marijuana would turn you into a monster, raping and killing for weed, you’d believe it just because it was on TV.

Other people think of drug users as addicts, plain and simple, all grouped together and nothing will change their mind.

There are a couple of generations that will have to be hit over the head, and even then, you still might not get anywhere.  You can beat someone with the truth till their brains spill out and they still won’t listen.

So while some states legalize it for medical purposes, and financial, other states are demeaning the practice by keeping it illegal, Texas went even so far as to try and outlaw bongs, but Texas has always done things “The Texas Way”.

I am certain that full federal legalization of marijuana will be seen in my lifetime, and being a zombie that could be hundreds to thousands of years, but, until then, people who aren’t smoking marijuana will forever live in fear of being infected by The Zombie Virus.

-HSZ

California’s Prop 19 Stumped by Zombies

Earlier this year, Gov. Schwarzenegger put into initiative SB1449 that placed marijuana offenses to a civil infraction rather than a criminal misdemeanor, but it did nothing to help the passing of Prop 19.

Prop 19, which would legalize marijuana in the great state of California, was not passed by 614,316 votes, according to www.Ballotpedia.org.

What most reports won’t tell you is that those 614.316 votes were made by zombies.

Now, it’s nothing new to have the dead as registered voters.  Many states have fallen victim to some Shady Politician’s scheme; cases in Kansas, Missouri and other such states have been noted.

Most of the time, the Shady Politician would use the dead person’s name, then vote for them by mail or online.

This time, they got even craftier and used members of the UnDead to go into voter’s booth and cast the votes for them.  Here’s a group they gathered from Bakersfield, CA.
 

Yes, that is ME in the picture.  They told us all that they were leading us to piles of free KFC.  Hey, I was in Cali. I was high.

They gathered hordes of Zombies from all across the state and shoved them into voting booths to make sure Prop 19 didn’t pass.

What really surprised me though was not the Shady Politicians, but the Shady California Pot Growers.

According to David Von Drehle’s article in TIME magazine, California Pot Growers helped fund the campaign to get Prop. 19 denied.

Hey, they’re making billions of dollars, why screw that up?

It appears that greed is the true source for this “Zombie Mistreatment” and California must now find a new way to get out of the horrid situation they are in.

Nice try, Arnold, but it looks like you’re going to need to get some of the Rich Shady People on your side next time.

And there will be a next time.


-HSZ