Wackos to Obliterate: Book Two (Chapter 6)

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What motivated Marden to out Trink in the presence of a teenage girl who would babble to her friends that she works with an “icon” from the “Golden Age” of Rock? Was he so out of touch to think Trink had enough “cred” to help push social change? It had been decades, literally, since Brad thought that change was “gonna come.” Now, he was an old man looking “the deep sleep” in the face, and it still...

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.

“What are you muttering about, Brad?”

“Just the ruminations of an old fool.”

“You’re right about being ‘an old fool,’ but what does Santa have to do with it? We aren’t even close to Christmas,” Chelsea said, looking up from the magazine she was paging through while sitting in a rocker parked in front of a large window providing a pleasant view of their backyard. Instead of turning toward her husband ensconced in his wheelchair in the middle of the room, she glanced outside beyond the wood deck to a long expanse of green lawn bordered on three sides by tall conifers above which, at the far end, she could make out the distant shapes of several white-capped mountains.

The focus of her gaze was the greenhouse occupying the majority of the yard. It was based on the design of the “Crystal Palace” built in Hyde Park for the Great Exhibition of 1851. Instead of being constructed from glass, though, it was made from panes of a durable and organically-produced resin; each measuring 10 inches wide by 49 inches long (as were the glass panes of the original). Of course, the outside was not as ornate and was built to 1\10 scale, but it was still 185 by 46 feet and a ‘lucky’ 13 feet high.

“Do you notice any Pixies shirking their duties?” Brad asked.

He could see a smile on her face. “You mean, having a smoke break outside?”

“Are you insinuating our loyal workers might imbibe while on duty?” He maneuvered his chair across the room to join Chelsea at the window. “We should probably get Peter Pan and Tinker Bell to report on what effect they think the bat guano has had. I keep wondering if it’s safe. Remember, it was the chief cause of the potato blight back in the 1840s.”

“You know it has received excellent reviews in most of the grower publications.”

“So did the Titantic before it sank.”

Chelsea smiled and asked, “In grower’s magazines?”

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In a matter of minutes, Brad and Chelsea were joined by a thin Caucasian woman, in her late twenties or early-thirties, with wispy, shoulder-length blonde hair parted down the middle and a tall, rather plump male of Pakistani or Indian heritage, around the same age, with balding black hair. Both were wearing green overalls and T-shirts that had “Marden Nursery” written on the back.

“We should be ready to harvest the first couple of dozen within a week, I think,” the woman said handing a green and brown bud of cannabis to Chelsea as she entered the living room followed closely by the man.

“Pete thinks it’s about ready, but I wonder if another week would be better,” the man said, rubbing the small of his back.

“You got a problem with your back, Tink?” Chelsea asked.

“Oh, I backed into a ladder while taking a few cuttings.”

“Is Doobie Dispensary ready to receive it once it ships, Pete?” Brad asked the woman.

“They claim to be waiting for it, but remember the last time. We really need to increase the number of dispensaries willing to take the product,” Pete said as she sat on a brown leather recliner.

“We’ve got enough space in the cooler to store at least a 100 pounds of bud, but it’d be great to ship them: the fresher the better,” Tinker Bell said, still standing as he absent-mindedly rubbed his back.

“The DEA’s been pushing their weight around again, so a few places are hesitant to have much stock on hand,” Chelsea said.

“Yeah, HealthSpa was hassled a couple of days ago, right?” Peter Pan said as she looked up at the ceiling.

“I don’t know why they’re so paranoid; it was just a drone or two buzzing around for a couple of hours. They didn’t get visited by the Feds or anything.”

Brad looked at Tinker Bell and shook his head in agreement. “But still, their reaction is understandable. My advice is to let the buds age a week or two longer before you get the Lost Boy to harvest them. We don’t know how long we’ll have to store a lot of it yet. The less time in the cooler the better.”

“That could be debated,” Peter said.

“There you bring me back to the ol’ dispute about bat shit. Is it worth the purchase, or not?” Brad asked.

Chelsea handed him the 8-inch-long, THC-enriched bud Peter Pan and Tinker Bell had brought with them from the Pixie Palace. “Stuff that in your pipe and find out.”

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Taking into account Marden’s long association with Summit Records, Trink was not surprised by the more than modest size of the house, but it was pretty bizarre that people living in such luxury would manipulate a non-motorized wheelchair up and down a sidewalk. No doubt it was part of an exercise plan Brad thought up for Chelsea.

Whatever the reason, it was an unusual activity considering the myriad of options wealth made available. He opened the door and extracted himself from his electric-hybrid. As he walked to the front door, Trink confronted the spicy aroma of the pinkish bourbon roses that grew along the walkway. Although beautiful, they reminded him of the perfume his mother wore to mask the odor of her decaying body as she succumbed to stomach cancer in a nursing facility a couple of years ago. Just as he recalled this he spotted Chelsea watching him from behind a curtain inside. He nodded to her and shortly after, the front door opened.

“Ah Mr. Mars, it appears you had no trouble finding your way,” she said, stepping out on the porch. “Brad is waiting inside.”

No surprise there. He smiled and followed her inside, which was not a surprise as well since the interior was decked out like most upper-middle class McMansions: white walls, hardwood floors, Persian rugs, and crème-colored sofas. The main difference he noticed was the Hard Rock Café-looking memorabilia decorating several of the walls. That was no surprise as well, considering Marden’s profession before his retirement. In fact, the house looked much like Trink’s – demonstrating how uncreative, mediocre and conventional they both were.

The one thing that was a surprise, of course, was the Pixie Palace. Who would imagine such an elaborate greenhouse for growing a little pot?

“You see, we’re anticipating legalization to occur soon, so we wanted a facility in which we’d be able to expand our production easily without having to compromise on quality,” Marden explained as he gave Trink a tour of the greenhouse. For the tour, Brad navigated himself in a solar-powered wheelchair.

“My wife would love to see this,” Trink said, amazed at the hi-tech growing facility.

“Is she a grower?” Chelsea asked.

“She isn’t as yet licensed, but she’s been dabbling in the trade as long as I’ve known her, which just so happens to be getting close to thirty years.”

“What does she think about bat guano?” Brad asked.

Chelsea frowned and said, “Not again, Bradley!”

“It just so happens everyone in Pixieland is convinced it’s the Holy Grail of fertilizers, while I’m ambivalent and filled with more than a little anxiety that it’ll be the ruin of everything we’ve been striving to achieve.”

Tinker Bell was transporting some mulch by wheelbarrow when he overheard the conversation. Since just about an hour earlier, he and PP had to explain once again the advantages of bat guano over other fertilizers, he butted in by saying: “I guess you need a little context. According to Mr. Marden, the potato blight was the direct consequence of Europeans importing guano from South America to use as fertilizer.”

“At least one source states that Phytophthora infestans originated in the northern Andes region, Peru in particular, and was brought to Europe on ships carrying bat guano, which was in great demand as a fertilizer in Europe,” Brad said, seeming to recite from memory.

“We aren’t growing potatoes,” Chelsea said, looking at both Trink and Tink, while displaying a non-verbal negative shake of her head.

“It spread rapidly and wiped out the potato crop in Ireland; also, Belgium, Holland, northern France and southern England were affected. I don’t want to take any chances and have a similar thing happen to our crop. Surely, you must be able to find an alternative fertilizer just as effective.”

“Peter and I’ve been checking it out, but so far haven’t found one.”

“Come on, Tinker Bell, use some magic and find it,” Marden said as Tink smiled and went back to work. “I mean, we have the best air circulation system, state-of-the-art hydroponics, temperature control, you name it. Why risk it by bringing in some fungus perpetuating itself in bat shit?”

“Did you say, ‘Tinker Bell’?” Trink asked, grinning.

“Oh, we forgot to introduce you to the crew. You met Tinker Bell, and the Lost Boy is the young man over there standing on that ladder. The young lady in the cutting room we just passed is the team leader, Peter Pan,” Chelsea explained, using her chin to direct his gaze toward each member.

“And this is the Pixie Palace in Neverland. At least, we hope it will remain so in the consciousness of the Federal Government,” Brad said.

Trink asked, “You mean, Neverland, in not existing?” Brad nodded his head affirmatively. “How is it considered by the state and local police?”

“As a licensed grower, we’re fine, but it’s hard to guarantee a proper distribution network if the number of dispensaries fail to increase,” Chelsea said.

“Or, if they keep getting hassled by the DEA,” Brad added.

“I guess being the source for pimply kids dealing to friends at the mall isn’t the best of business models, huh?”

Chelsea smiled and replied, “Not if you don’t expect to die in prison.”

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As they headed back to the house, Trink asked: “I hate to be so bold, but why have you decided to take such a risk?”

“What do you mean? I’m confined to this chair…”

“And I have nothing better to do than to follow this crazy Captain Ahab on his quest to save this nation from demon rum.”

“Huh?!”

“I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your analogies straight. If anything, I’m Captain Hook, not Ahab. My quest is to kill the crocodile that took my legs.”

“He was crippled in a car accident caused by a drunk driver,” Chelsea added.

“Wasn’t it his arm?” Trink mumbled to himself, trying to recall what he knew about Hook.

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“Are you aware of how many deaths per year are caused by alcohol?” Brad asked Trink once they were back in the house. “Around 80,000 Americans died each year from 2001 – 2008 due to alcohol-related causes.”

Trink yawned, shook his head and replied, “I know it’s insane, but tens of millions of people use alcohol. Those figures aren’t so shocking.”

“That’s exactly why we’re doing this. Why do so many people drink? It may be for social reasons, or it’s something they can do to relax; something they can do to make their boring existence a little more entertaining. Unfortunately, it’s fucking damaging not only to their lives but to so many others. You asked why we decided to devote our few remaining years to this cause. Don’t yawn about it, by the way, but we decided that there was very little less important we could do than to help other people realize a better and safer way to satisfy most of the desires they try to quench with drink. Maybe not everything, but many things can be made better if people used marijuana. If anything, it’ll make them more cerebral.”

“Which is probably one of the biggest reasons it’s illegal: too many people are paranoid about how it will affect their thought patterns.”

“Oh the voices, we have to keep the radio on to drown them out,” Brad said in a paranoid-sounding voice, trying to mimic a line from an old comedy album by Firesign Theater.

“You can make a joke about it, but don’t you think a lot of people just become silly when they get high?”

“That may be true, but isn’t it better for them to act a little silly than to injure their health? At least, shouldn’t people be provided with a safer alternative to alcohol?”

Trink nodded and said, “Oh, I agree, but you don’t have to convince the choir, you need to preach to those not connected with the performance.”

“We’re a lot closer to offering the option now than ever since the late 1930s when they first criminalized it. At that time, very few people even knew it existed. At that time, agrarian people from climates that could only grow hemp, but not marijuana, were so socialized to alcohol, literally for thousands of years, they were not aware of what it was Congress ended up doing. Neither was Congress for that matter. To prove their ignorance, they even criminalized hemp! Now with medicinal marijuana being accepted by many states and with over 50% of the American public stating they’re in favor of legalization, we’re at the time to push for this. Hence, here we have the Pixie Palace. The chance to let people realize this is a better option and maybe we’ll have fewer people suffering like I did just because some asshole was able to get into a Viper and slam it into my bicycle.”

Chelsea stood up, walked over to a bookcase that covered one wall of the room, and pulled a book off a shelf. “Of course, his family’s connection to the abolitionists, suffragettes and prohibitionists might play a factor.” She walked over to Trink and handed him the book.

“From Abolitionists to Prohibitionists,” Trink read the title. “So, advocacy runs in the family, eh?”

“My whole career was a form of advocacy.”

“Summer in the Sun for Everyone?” Trink asked.

“Yes, even that inane surf song was a type of advocacy. We were trying to make it clear that people should shed the man-in-the-gray-flannel-suit mentality and find pleasure in a more natural lifestyle.”

Trink grinned as he rolled his eyes. “It’s all become clear to me now. Tune in, turn on, drop out.”

“I wasn’t connected to that back in ‘67, but it was part of the change. Some would say the notoriety fueled by the media attention Leary and others got, combined with the negativity of protesting against the status quo, made it where large pockets of reactionaries pushed back and demonized the social changes that began to occur. Those resulted in the Reagan years and its head-in-the-sand mentality. Now, enough time has passed and a majority have come to realize people need to ‘turn on’ at times, but there are safer alternatives to getting drunk in the local wet hole, then climb into your car and risk destroying the life of another.”

“People who get loaded do have car accidents.”

“Not to the degree that drunks do; there have been many studies showing that to be the case. For one thing, drinking often takes place outside the home; whereas, most people get high inside their homes.”

“It’s much like the stoner movies from the ‘70s where stoned drivers get pulled over for going too slow. Point taken, but where do we go from here?”

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Where indeed! Trink wished he could help out, but he would be no more useful in helping the Marden’s than Emily or her boyfriend. Actually, Diamond probably had more talent in songwriting than he did. No doubt the best thing for him to do would be to contact a couple of his old bandmates, especially Ryuji, and see what they could come up with in collaboration. Simple case, there was little choice but to do something.

His financial situation was critical if not dire. Forest turned out to be the ‘black hole’ both Madelyn and he concluded after getting Clive wasted on brownies. Doing so may not have been wise; he avoided them since and was very reluctant to provide updates when they gave him a call the other day. He was their broker, though, and it was his job to look out for their best interest; instead, he convinced them to make an investment that resulted in their teetering on the brink of bankruptcy. No doubt, it would have been better to leave the money in the bank, with next to no interest, than throwing it away on Forest. It’ll take years, if ever, for them to recoup anything. Before then, they’ll lose the house.

There appeared to be no other options than attempt to reform the TRinkets. Luckily, Brad appeared committed enough to promote them. He invested in that white elephant of a greenhouse and employed three people to raise his dope; he should be willing to spend a little on studio time to get a couple of tracks on tape. “Or whatever they record on nowadays,” he muttered.

“Huh?” Madelyn replied, stirring from a dream.

Trink rolled over and rubbed her lightly on the shoulder. “Nothing; go back to sleep.” For the next thirty to forty minutes, he lay awake running various scenarios through his head. None of them seemed positive enough to relieve his anxiety and allow him to get some sleep. Eventually, he got up to smoke a little weed.

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As he sat at his desk and broke up some of the bud the Marden’s gave him to sample, he considered how large of a role marijuana had played in his own life and if legalization would be better for him. He had been using marijuana since he was twelve, smoked it almost daily in high school and since his early to mid-twenties, there have been few days in which he didn’t get high. Currently, he was 49.

How had such long-term use affected him? Had it made him less successful than if he had not used it? Had it injured his health? Would he have been more productive after his music career ended if he had not used it? Wouldn’t he be doing something other than taking care of his dog and getting high with his wife? Would making marijuana legal be as beneficial as Marden seemed to think?

Probably a bigger effect on his life than pot would have been adopting a child or two with Madelyn or having had a terrible accident and be confined to a wheelchair like Brad. Marijuana may have had a large influence on his life, but not as large as many other events in his life. Being able to sell several million records had made it possible for him to purchase the lovely home they currently occupied. Having so willingly participated in behavior that led to the dissolution of his band definitely had a bigger effect on his life. Perhaps the biggest personal effect, however, was having made stupid investments that may result in their being evicted. There are many things that have fucked up my life more than pot.

In terms of one of the “biggest” social fuckups, though, may be that a huge number of Americans have been using marijuana for decades while fully aware of its legal status. What negative effect has that had on society in general? Trink read that approximately twenty million Americans have used it in the past year. That’s fifteen percent of the total population who could be arrested and face time in prison for violating the law. What is the effect on a society when so many members are willing to break its laws?

Trink turned on his desktop to look up a definition of society. One definition he found was: “a highly structured system of human organization for large-scale community living that normally furnishes protection, continuity, security, and a national identity for its members.” He wondered if facing a long prison term constituted “protection.”

He himself had spent 37 years living with the knowledge he could be arrested at any time even though he has been, for the most part, a responsible and productive citizen of this society. He even paid money to help finance a governmental structure more than willing to incarcerate both he and his wife; not to mention most of the people he knew. How can you have a healthy society when so many of its members could have their lives destroyed by illogical laws not questioned by the majority?

“I’ll get in touch with Nils and some of the others tomorrow,” he mumbled after taking a couple of hits off the thin joint he had rolled. “Time to call it a day.”

Back in bed, Trink concluded Marden was right – it was time for society to change the laws to ensure a healthier environment. It has taken decades for gay rights and same-sex marriage to become generally accepted by society. Finally, the majority understands it’s wrong for members to be discriminated against because of sexual orientation. Even though there had been cases where individuals had suffered violence and even incarceration for being gay or trans-gendered, the numbers were far less than for people who have lost their freedom due to the mood-altering substance they chose to use. This illogical discrimination must stop; especially when marijuana has been proven to be safer than alcohol for both the user and the public in general (in terms of accidents and domestic and civic violence).

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Links to the previous chapters of Book Two

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5

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Copyright (©) by Kenneth Wayne