The Beginning Of The End

I slowly realize the wonderful scene that was my life for the last hour, drinking Corona in my shorts with my toes in the sand, as the sun beat down on my lean, muscular body, was only a dream. I am completely motionless. Nothing about me would give any hint of life. To any witnesses unlucky enough to be occupying the same shitty piece of cold, rain soaked time-space, it would appear that the body currently laying in my bed, had quietly passed away in the night…Fighting against the crust, I slowly open my left eye. The lid moves, but there isn’t any vision. I realized the bottom lid remains tight to the top, held together by the goop that must have oozed from my tear duct since I lost consciousness some twenty-odd hours earlier. I wonder how someone with no arms would solve this type of challenge. I have arms, but they feel like they are made of concrete. Still motionless, I concentrate on my next sense. Somewhere a clock faithfully ticks away the seconds. Slowly, as my mind’s focus moves to my hearing, the sounds of traffic bubble up from outside. I remember taking a Thorazine, and chasing it with a fat bowl of the “freeze”. That put me in a coma-like trance. If your wondering what the “freeze” is, it’s only the best marijuana ever grown by anyone anywhere ever, period. Now, some of you out in _____________(insert name of place here), are probably snickering, shaking your head, and telling  anyone who’ll listen about the hydro-chronic medical weed, that was created by the U.S. Government and was so potent that the President took one bong-toke, and immediately ordered the entire project shut down, and all the plants, seeds and cuttings destroyed, before it fell into the wrong hands. Miraculously your neighbor’s cousin’s boyfriend managed to sneak five seeds out in his ass, and of the four that germinated, two were female. He sold some of the clones to a professor of botany at the University of Washington, just a few days before the CIA killed him. I’m sure that’s some bad-ass weed…But trust me…This bud is better. I don’t know who the breeder of this strain was. All I know is that I got it from this dude, we’ll call him Toby. He claims to have gotten it from some older, ex-hippy lady, who brought it here from The Netherlands. It’s actually called “Friesland”, or Friese for short, after the Friesland region from which it supposedly originated. Now over the last 15 years, I’ve grown it side by side with many of the famous Cannabis cup winners(Northern Lights, AK-47,G-13,Blueberry,Bubble Gum,Super Skunk, Hindu Kush, Shiva Shanti, Sour Diesel, Haze, White Rhino, Alaskan Thunderfuck, Jack Herer, Mr. Nice, etc), tons of local legends, family heirlooms, bushels of B.C. Bud, Maui Wowie and every obscure strain that anyone believed in, and let me tell ya, it wasn’t even close. Not in any category. Friese buried ‘em. Why then, you ask, haven’t I won any Cannabis Cups?  Because, fool, I’m just a humble farmer trying to make ends meet in a country that made it illegal to grow pot. Plus, always smoking bud like this, I’m not exactly Mr. World-beater. Tend to forget exactly what it was I was doing. Usually end up playing guitar, or doing some other leisure activity. But I digress. What I need is a cup of coffee and a bong hit. Get the cerebral fluids circulating. I manage to roll onto the floor, about two feet down. The impact shakes me awake. I find my chonger. Load, light, inhale, shoot the carb. Repeat. I stumble down the hall and into the bathroom. My bladder releases two liters of fluorescent yellow stale piss. It’s been a long time coming. Back in the kitchen, I find a chocolate doughnut with sprinkles. Wash that down with some ice cold milk, straight out of the carton. Fuck you, it’s my milk. It’s January of 2012. According to the ancient Mayan prophecies, the world as we know it will end this year on December 21st. I take another toke. Nothing to be done about it today. I’m gonna sleep for another hour or two. Plenty of time to reverse the doomsday scenario. I’ll start tomorrow…Maybe Monday.