Marijuana Dreamin'

Foreword. 

This is a work of total fiction.  Well, maybe not.  There are definitely some things in the tale most folks here probably never knew.  Ferinstance, did anybody know there was a Jewish-Hindu Trading Post in north Georgia more than 900 years ago?  Do you know the ancient meaning of Tallahassee or Tuscaloosa?  Probably not!  What about how ancient footballs were made?  Ever heard of Vijay Fiengold or Hymie Patel?  Did you know that the Kama Sutra was read by Native Americans more than 900 years ago?  Probably not!

If you are gonna get upset about the mention and, yes, even the cultivation, distribution, and use of Marijuana like you never heard before, let me know and I won't tell the tale here.  This is gonna take a while.  Some of my stories have a hundred or more chapters.  So far, this tale has only 12 chapters and a general outline.  As it unfolds, I'll probably solicit ideas for additional twists and turns from you guys.  I am always open for suggestions and, if I knew some of you, you might find yourself enmeshed. 

Hopefully there will be 50 chapters by the end of the year and a lot more next year.

Oh yeah, I hope folks have thick skins when it comes to their favorite football teams because I am an Auburn fan and Auburn hadn't been invented when the early part of this tale took place.

Mods.  I won't start the tale until I find out if folks have a problem with it.  The content is certainly not as bad as PG-13. 

Life is too short to catch little fish.

 http://www.panhandlefishingbooks.com/

I'm a Sagittarius...If you don't want to hear the truth then don't ask my opinion!
Then again I'm a "Vacuous Asshat"  

Political Correctness:
A doctrine fostered by a delusional, illogical liberal minority, and rapidly promoted by an unscrupulous mainstream media, which holds forth the proposition that it is entirely possible to pick up a turd by the clean end. 

“Tell me who your friends are and I will tell who you are.”

 Century 25' Mirada 350/260HP "ISLAND LADY" >>>> Calera, Alabama    My Pictures

Go for it... and by the way, if my name comes up... I smoked Marijuana some in high school and college, then lied about it to get into the Navy.

I've also carried on with loose women... God bless them all!

Jim

Jim

Told the truth and your chances of being an officer would of been zilch point shit, but you could be president tho.

And look at how you turned out you hippie freak

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

I'm a Sagittarius...If you don't want to hear the truth then don't ask my opinion!
Then again I'm a "Vacuous Asshat"  

Political Correctness:
A doctrine fostered by a delusional, illogical liberal minority, and rapidly promoted by an unscrupulous mainstream media, which holds forth the proposition that it is entirely possible to pick up a turd by the clean end. 

“Tell me who your friends are and I will tell who you are.”

 Century 25' Mirada 350/260HP "ISLAND LADY" >>>> Calera, Alabama    My Pictures

“MARIJUANA DREAMIN’” (Sung to the tune of “California Dreamin’)

Chapter l.  Party Time!

Frank invited Buddy, Bubba, Clint, and me over to his place on the lake to view and test his newest invention with some adult entertainment to follow.   At the time, Frank was an EE student at UF after receiving his PhD in Plant Physiology at age 21.   

I must di-gress a little here to get you up to speed on my buddy, Frank.  Tommy Milner, the infamous “Nine fingered mad bomber of Birmingham”, introduced me to his cuz Frank at a party at a VFW Club in Birmingham.  While everybody else partied, ole Frank and me sat off in a corner discussing various gizmos and “Rube Goldberg” inventions we’d played with in our short lives.  I quickly found out I was far outclassed in the brain department but similarly endowed with enthusiasm for weird and different things.

Personal computers hadn’t come on the scene at the time and I doubt if Frank had given computing much thought because, if he had, he would have already invented the Pentium Chip or maybe something better.  Frank was THAT smart!   After the PhD in Plant Physiology, Frank decided he needed some serious Electrical Engineering expertise if he was going to realize his life long goal. 

Frank was a visionary.  He wanted to bring the joys and adventures of Marijuana to the masses.  He wanted everybody to “EXPERIENCE” the really good stuff.  I wasn’t a total stranger to weed but I certainly didn’t qualify as a “Head.”

The five of us sat in a large pole barn around a table made from an old power line cable spool.  We sat in style and comfort in bucket seats salvaged from Corvairs, Cameros and Mustangs all fastened down to rough hewn Cypress planks.  Frank demonstrated the controls on the car seats: tilt, fore and aft slide plus height.  Oh yeah, they were all red.

In the middle of the table was the strangest looking Bong I have ever seen.  On top of the Bong sat a pressure switch.  There were 6 separate smoking tubes from the top of the Bong and a tiny red light that came on occasionally as somebody took a hit.  When the switch sensed a pressure drop in the bong, it opened a circuit that energized a Ni-Chrome wire coil in the bottom of the Marijuana bowl.  (Kinda like a pipe bowl.)  At the same time the wire heated up to red hot, a vent valve opened at the top of the Bong to allow air flow for who ever requested a toke.  When the pressure equalized again, the vent valve closed, the Ni-Chrome wire coil cooled and the Marijuana ceased to burn.

Bubbles made bright sparkles in the new glass Bong in addition to making a soothing sound.  Man, it was fine, all kicked back in a comfortable seat, feet propped on the cable spool, taking an effortless toot on the pipe whenever I felt the urge, while sharing intellectual conversation with good friends.

Frank scratched a simple wiring diagram in the dirt floor which, with my Ganja induced state of heightened awareness, I immediately comprehended and remember to this very day.  Frank allowed that this was the most efficient and safest pot smoking device in all creation and I believed him.

Life is too short to catch little fish.

 http://www.panhandlefishingbooks.com/

Bur in the name of beign an informed citizen....please continue.

"I aint as good as I once was...but I was good once...as I ever was".... Toby Keith

Chapter II  “All Most Busted?”  Naah, Not a Chance!

 http://www.panhandlefishingbooks.com/

Chapter II  “All Most Busted?”  Naah, Not a Chance!

Oh yeah, I gotta “Di-Gress” again and tell everybody where it was we were.  I’m telling this tale about 40 years after the fact and my sense of direction has never been all that great to start with.  Lets just say it was somewhere on the edge of the National Forest, east of Gainesville.  I think I have been near the place in recent years and the area still looks pretty wild and wooly. 

To make a long story short, Frank’s shack was at the end of a meandering 7 mile dirt/sand/swampy road that ended at a heavy, locked gate followed by a couple of ruts for a mile and a half into a parcel of land  of darn near 700 acres if you include a couple of ponds on the property.  Power was provided by a diesel generator that looked suspiciously like one that disappeared from the Ag. Dept. at Auburn University a couple of years before.

Many folks become eloquent and inventive when partaking of the weed and Frank was no exception.  He said, “Some of the most wonderful inventions of all times have come about largely due to the influence of Marijuana.  Without its benevolent smoke, we might still be in the dark ages.  Silicon Valley might be just a ditch; we wouldn’t have The Pill, Fruit-Loops, Velcro, Mutant Ninja Turtles and Madonna might still be a virgin.”  Naaah, that’s not exactly what he said but something to that effect, anyhow.  (Guys, remember I am writing this tale more than 40 years after it happened.)

At one point, he told us he was going to continue his education after his PhD in EE by branching out into the Medical field.  He said, “Money is no object to me since I have a million dollar per year trust fund as long as I am in college.  I don’t think I could spend a million dollars a year even if I tried.  Anything I don’t spend each year goes to the Gator Football Program on December 31 and I get another cool million on January 1.”

As I recollect, it was about this time the overhead lights began to flash.  Frank said, “That’s strange, the entertainment isn’t supposed to arrive until around nine.”  It wasn’t even dark yet so it couldn’t have been much after 5 or so.  “We got unwelcome visitors,” he said.  This meant we had about 2 minutes to clean up the area and start pursuing the righteous life of normal 20something year olds non-potheads.

The top came off the table and the bong was stowed inside.  The table top went back on, a deck of cards, a bottle of Wild Turkey and glasses all around came out and everybody popped a Cloret.  The overhead fan was increased to high speed to remove any fumes of burning weed and rout the mosquitoes that had suddenly become evident.  The bong was glass and, with the valve closed, it emitted no scent for a dog to find.  As a preventive measure, Frank broad cast a whole can of McCormick’s fine ground Black Pepper to thwart a nosy dog.  Anyone of the small group of regular guests here knew the drill so we were playing cards as cool as could be when 3 car loads of deputies came roaring up. 

They pulled in close, fired up their blinkers and even hit the siren for a few seconds, just to rattle us. 

 

Life is too short to catch little fish.

 http://www.panhandlefishingbooks.com/

Chapter III.  Aaaaa-Chooo!

Frank got up and went to greet them.  In a professorial voice, he said, “I’m Dr. Franklin Smith, what is the problem?” 

A Sergeant with a name tag that read “Putnam” approached and said. “We were informed there was an orgy going on here tonight and told to investigate.”   Frank looked over at the rest of us sitting at the table and asked, “Any of you guys know anything about an orgy?”  Everybody shook their heads no.  Smartassed Bubba popped up and said, “If ya'll find out where the orgy is gonna be, come back out and tell us so we can go.” 

The Deputy holding the leash for “Rin-Tin-Tin” turned his dog loose.  In seconds the dog was whining, howling and rubbing his nose in the dirt.  “Sounds like he snuffed up some piss-ants Clint said.”   “Yeah,” Frank said, “Piss-ants have been a problem in this pole barn ever since I was a kid.”

“Officer,” Frank said, “We are sitting out here on my own private property having a little fun, drinking legal beverages and playing a friendly game of cards.  I see no reason for you to bother us.  Evidently you were misinformed about the orgy.  If you find out who reported the orgy, please let me know.  If you feel like you still have a problem with us, please have your Chief call this number.”  With that, Frank extended a card from a powerful Law Firm in Gainesville.

As I remember, that pretty well ended the show and Frank followed them back to the gate to assure it was properly locked.

Life is too short to catch little fish.

 http://www.panhandlefishingbooks.com/

The tale starts to get a little wierd tomorrow and, on Wednesday, you will either be hooked or decide it is too wierd to read further.  I might even get banned from the site by next Monday.

I have a few chapters written, a general outline and several pages of notes.  I don't have a clue where this tale is going or how it will get there.

In the chapter I am working on this morning, I learn a few things about an ancient Hindu-Jewish mystic named Hymie Patel.  I gotta do a Google Search.  Surely I couldn't be making this all up.

I could probably work faster if I had a doobie about a foot long.  Certainly, inspiration would be more colorful.  I has been many years since my last puff but sometimes I wonder if I'm still affected. 

Life is too short to catch little fish.

 http://www.panhandlefishingbooks.com/

Quick, someone get the the Capt a spliff! I know it's drier than a popcorn fart right now, but I've seen all of the pot threads on here. Somebody's got to be holding.

Chapter IV.  Yeah, There Really Was an Orgy!

Right on time, the girls from Sorority House showed up.  No, not stuck up sorority chicks but “Fancy Wimmin” from “Miss Martha's Sorority House a not so well known (AND TOTALLY FICTIONAL) Micanopy cathouse.  Some of these girls came out to Frank’s place every week so they knew the program.  Dang, it would be mighty nice to have a million dollar a year trust fund!

The girls all tried Frank’s new invention, did what they came to do then left us guys grinning. 

We all took a couple of more toots then headed for bed.  Somehow I missed the steps to Frank’s “Shack” and wandered off into the woods.  Frank shut the generator down and it got dark as a dungeon.

I walked into a tree, staggered a little and sat down hard.  The world was a whole lot whirly, with flashing lights and stars I’d never noticed before so I laid flat down with my head on a lump that became a pillow as I descended into a Marijuana induced dream world.

Life is too short to catch little fish.

 http://www.panhandlefishingbooks.com/

Chapter V.  “Somebody’s Knocking!”

Author’s note:  So far, this tale has been pretty normal for me, considering the circumstances.  It is gonna’ get a little weird for a while.  If you don’t believe in the paranormal, abnormal or totally screwed up tales, you might as well quit reading here because, as I mentioned, it is definitely going to get pretty weird.

“Knock-knock-knock,” then “Knock-knock-knock,” then “KNOCK –KNOCK-KNOCK, dammitletmeoutofhere!” 

I sat bolt upright.  I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face unless I held it overhead where it shaded stars.  Letmeoutofhereasshole, came a tiny and most unladylike voice.

“It’s dark,” I said.   “Where are you?”  “You’ve been snoring in my ear for the last 3 hours,” the tiny voice said.  I was more than a little confused.  Finally the voice said, “I am in the Urn you’ve been using as a pillow.”  Oh yeah, I remembered resting my head on some sort of a lump in the ground.  I rubbed my stiff neck then began patting the ground behind me until I found the lump.  Then she said, “Right there, I’m inside.  Please let me out.”

There wasn’t much to hold onto so I had to scratch away a bunch of sand to get the Urn loose.  That sucker was huge.  I shoveled and scratched until my hands bled then gave up.  I told her I’d have to wait until morning so I could get a shovel and some help. 

A bloodcurdling scream came from the Urn.  Then in a deathly calm voice there came this proclamation:  “If you don’t get me out of here in 2 minutes, I am going to wet myself.  If I wet myself I am going to cast a spell on you that will cause your teeth to fall out and your pecker fall off.”  I dug faster then kicked and jerked at the Urn until I could sit it upright. 

I felt for some sort of lid but could find none.  Then the calm voice came again, “Turn this SOB over, you’ve got me upside down.”  Easy for her to say.  That sucker must’ve weighed 500 pounds. In the strength that comes from utter desperation, I flipped the Urn end for end. 

A wedge of light emanated from a tiny crack in the lid.  Slowly the lid lifted followed by a dainty hand holding a candle.

I turned and ran!

Life is too short to catch little fish.

 http://www.panhandlefishingbooks.com/

Last night I lay in bed looking up at the stars in the sky and I thought to myself, where the hell is the ceiling

It was rough as all get out this morning and 6 hours of trolling kicked my butt.  Fortunately, the Grouper bit just fine and made my fishing buddies real happy.  I thought we were going to have a great day when the first fish ate the plug before Ron finished letting his line out.  Smoked Thumb!

I kinda owed one of these guys for some help a while back so I helped them clean fish and didn't take any.  When they left, I cut enough Grouper cheeks for 3 meals.   MMMm!

I am ready for bed.  I might get up and catch some Redfish in the morning.  Tide will be right about 9.  If you haven't tried retirement, I highly recommend it.

Life is too short to catch little fish.

 http://www.panhandlefishingbooks.com/

Joel Murphy

Pace, FL.

Chapter VI:  I Might as Well Quit Right Here ‘Cause Ya’ll Ain’t Gonna Believe This.

“Whack!” More pain, more stars, more flashing lights, more time on the ground in total blackness.  Six inch Oak limbs are mighty hard!

When the lights came back on they were mighty dim.  My head throbbed.  I became aware of a figure standing over me.  As my blurred vision cleared, the figure became a girl then an Indian girl and finally a real topless “Fox” wearing only a deerskin micro-mini and pigtails.  (Did you know that Injun girls don’t wear panties?)  Yeah, I was back to abnormal.

When she noticed my stare, she kicked me in the side of the head and there were more stars and flashing lights. 

She said, “Is there any food?  I’m starving.  I haven’t eaten in 900 years.”   “Wait right here,” I said and sprinted for the shack, easily avoiding the trees that caused problems in the dark.  By then, it was almost daylight.

I was back in a flash with a gallon of milk, a box of Cheerios and the sugar bowl.  “Wups,” I said and ran back for a bowl and spoon.  When I got back, the milk jug was empty as was the box of Cheerios.  She was nowhere to be seen but I could hear splashing from the pond. 

I followed the sound of splashing and there she was, Mother Naked, bathing in the pond.  I sat down facing away from the pond.  I figured she would want privacy so I didn’t peek----MUCH.  If she really could make my teeth fall out and my pecker fall off by simply casting a spell, I darn sure did not want to upset her. 

I must’ve dozed off for a while.  I became aware of a bug trying to crawl up my nose as I awakened.  Actually, it was a weed she was tickling me with.  She smiled down at me so I kinda figured my teeth and the other part were safe for the time being.

She sat down and began to tell me a mighty strange tale that you guys absolutely ain’t gonna’ believe.

Much more later-----

Life is too short to catch little fish.

 http://www.panhandlefishingbooks.com/