PotHead and The Marijuana Stone - By Dana Larsen
CHAPTER 5- A VISIT TO GREENGOLDS
Hairy awoke with the sun shining
on his face, the wind whipping through his dreads, and the
roar of an engine in his ears. For a moment he thought he
was on a boat, but then the memories came flooding back.
The letter, the dwarf, the giant, and Hempwards!
Hairy opened his eyes, and saw that
Hogride was expertly maneouvering the motorcycle through
crowded city streets. In fifteen years, Hairy had never
been more than a few blocks from the Straitely's home,
so pretty much everything seemed unfamiliar to him. Hairy
looked down and saw that Headstash, his scraggly pot plant,
was still safe in its teacup between his feet.
"How long was I sleeping?"
asked Hairy, shouting the question to be heard over the
wind and engine.
"Oy, yeh startled me!" shouted
back Hogride, glancing at the thin teenager. "Yeh
had a nice, long nap, it's been a few hours since yeh
passed out. Can't say as I blames yeh, as yeh got yerself
Hairy didn't know what Hogride meant,
he couldn't remember rocks of any sort. He did remember
having two sensational puffs off of the Hogride-rolled
cigarette, but things got a bit fuzzy after that.
Hairy asked a different question.
"Where are we going?"
"We've got ta get yeh yer Hempwards
school kit. Books 'n bongs 'n stuff," hollered back
Hogride, guiding the bike around a sharp corner. "'ang
on, I've got summat for yeh 'ere." The huge biker
let go of one handlebar and started reaching into coat
pockets as if looking for something. Then he wasn't holding
onto the handlebars at all, instead patting down his leather
coat and frantically digging both hands into all of his
countless pockets. "Oy, 'ere it is," he said,
pulling out a crumpled bit of paper and passing it to
Hairy waited until Hogride had both
hands safely back on the handlebars before unfolding the
paper. He held it tightly in both hands to protect it
from the whipping winds, and read:
HEMPWARDS SCHOOL OF HERBCRAFT
First year students will
1) Three sets pure hemp clothes in school colors
2) One plain hemp fanny pack
3) One pair mirrored sunglasses
4) One hempsilk headband (colors and designs optional)
Please note that all students' clothes should have name
All students should have a copy of each of the following:
Hashish!, by Robert Connell Clarke
Marijuana Medicine, by Christian Ratsch
The Great Book of Hemp, by Rowan Robinson
The Emperor Wears No Clothes, by Jack Herer
Green Gold: The Tree of Life, by Chris Bennet
The Marijuana Grower's Handbook, by Ed Rosenthal
The Best of Cannabis Culture Magazine (Vol. I & II)
Marijuana, The First Twelve Thousand Years, by Ernest
1 personal glass bong
1 small stone pipe
1 refillable butane lighter
3 packs pure hemp rolling papers (regular)
1 set brass scales
1 herb grinder (plastic, wooden or metal)
1 stash tin
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT PERMITTED
THEIR OWN VAPORIZERS.
"Can we buy all this in town?"
"If yeh know where ta look,"
replied Hogride, bringing the motorcycle to a sudden halt.
"This is it." Hogride killed the engine and
stepped off the bike.
Hairy looked around. He saw a bookstore,
a record shop, a motorcycle repair garage, a gardening
store and a cafe. He saw regular people, men in suits,
women in dresses, young couples holding hands, families
going out to see a show. This was just an ordinary street
with ordinary people. Was there really a secret cabal
of pot-smoking crazies around here somewhere?
"Bring yer li'l plant wit' yeh,"
said Hogride, "we can get it repotted while we're
"Where are we?" asked Hairy
as he clambered out of the sidecar and retrieved his precious
"A very famous place," said
Hogride, striding forward and patting down his jacket,
beginning another search for something in one of his many
pockets. "It's called The Pot Block. Yeh'll need
to do some shoppin', but we gotta get yer money first."
"I haven't got any money,"
said Hairy, worried.
"Don't worry about that,"
said Hogride. "D'yeh think yer parents didn't leave
"But if their house was burned
"They didn't keep their wealth
in the house, boy! Nah, first stop for us is Greengold's,
tha Weedster's bank."
"Weedsteers have banks?"
"Jus' the one. Greengolds. Run
by Angels. They have their own currency."
"Angels?" asked Hairy, astonished.
"Well, sor' of. So yeh'd be mad
ta try an' rob it. Greengold's is tha safest place fer
anythin' yeh wan' to keep safe - 'cept maybe Hempwards."
They had reached the motorcycle shop,
and Hairy saw a big sign saying "Route 81".
It was a spacious garage, with motorcycles everywhere
in various states of disassembly. Large, muscular men
wearing oily coveralls were working on the bikes, and
one walked over to greet them, wiping his huge hands on
"Oy! 'ello Rudy!" said the
man, who was a match for Hogride in both size and accent.
"It's fabulous ta see ya!" He gripped Hogride's
hand tightly and slapped his arm. "An' who's this
then? Holy smoke! Is this - can this be - ?"
Route 81 had suddenly gone completely
still and silent.
"By the leaf and the flower,"
whispered the huge motorcyclist, taking Hairy's small
hand and holding it earnestly. "Hairy Pothead, what
Hairy didn't know what to say. Everyone
was looking at him. Hogride was beaming. Then all the
other mechanics came over and Hairy had to put down Headstash
so he could shake hands with everyone there.
"Crankshaft, Helmut Crankshaft,
Mr Pothead. I can't believe I'm meeting you at last."
"So pleased Mr Pothead, so pleased
to meet you."
"Fucking hey! It's fucking awesome
to shake your hand, man!"
Hairy shook hands again and again.
His hands were soon covered with motorcycle oil and grease.
Eventually Hogride was forced to interrupt.
"Jerry, sorry ta intrude, we've
gotta get to tha bank, we're on a tight schedule. We've
got a bus ta catch."
"Alright then. Yeh know where
Hairy picked up his fragile plant,
and let Hogride guide him through the throng of mechanics,
into the back of the garage. They went down a short hallway
decorated with posters of girls in bikinis posing with
shiny bikes, through a few more doors and corridors, and
then far down a long stairwell. At the bottom of the stairs
was pair of narrow doors which had been spray painted
silver, with the words "We don't call 9-1-1"
scrawled across both of them, along with the image of
a hand pointing a gun at the viewer.
Sitting on a stool next to the doors
was a massive man, bigger even than Hogride. Hairy could
also see a small video camera pointing down at them from
above the doors. He felt nervous, but the man smiled at
them and gave a thumbs up to the camera, and then the
doors swung open.
They went through the silver doors
and into a large marble chamber. About a dozen beefy bikers
wearing leather vests were sitting on high stools behind
a long counter. They scribbled in large ledgers, weighing
fat bags of marijuana on digital scales and examining
chunks of hash through eyeglasses. Hogride and Hairy made
for the counter.
"Mornin'," said Hogride to
a free clerk. "We've come ta make a withdrawl from
tha Pothead's family box."
"You have the key, man?"
"Got it 'ere somewhere,"
said Hogride, and he started emptying his pockets on the
counter, scattering a handful of roaches over the ledger
book. Hairy watched the biker at their right weighing
a chunk of hash as big as his fist.
"Got it," said Hogride at
last, holding up a tiny silver key.
The biker-clerk looked at it closely.
"That seems to be ok, man."
"Oy, I've also got a letter 'ere
from Professor Duinthadope," said Hogride importantly.
"It's about tha Whatchamacallit in his box. I've
got his key as well."
The biker read the letter carefully.
"All righty, man. Let's go back
to the boxes. Goodwinch!"
Goodwinch was another biker. Once Hogride
had crammed the roches back into his pockets, he and Hairy
followed Goodwinch towards another door leading out of
Together, the entered a long narrow
room with locked safety deposit boxes filling one wall,
and a counter going along the other. The biker took Hairy's
key and slipped it into a box, then matched it with a
key from a huge set which he pulled from his pocket. He
opened the small door and slid out a long, narrow box,
which he placed upon the counter for Hairy.
While the biker took the key for Duinthadope's
box from Hogride, Hairy opened his box and peered inside.
It contained many small jars, filled with sparkling brown
powders, each labelled with strange names and numbers.
There was also several fat wads of strange-looking bills,
each rolled up with an elastic band.
Hairy looked up to see Hogride opening
the other box, taking out a leather folder and sliding
it under his coat. Hairy longed to know what it was, but
knew better than to ask.
Hogride walked over to Hairy as Goodwinch
replaced Duinthadope's box back into its slot on the wall.
"Tha's a lot of Weedster cash
there 'airy, we call it Hempscript. Tha big bills are
called Elbows, tha smaller ones are Ozzys, and tha smallest
are Gees. There's twenty-eight Gees to an Ozzy, and sixteen
Ozzys to an Elbow. It's simple, really. One roll o' bills
will do yeh for now I reckon. Leave tha rest fer later.
Yeh should also grab yerself some o' tha hash."
Hairy grabbed one roll of Hempscript,
then chose four jars at random. Goodwinch took back the
box and returned it to its space on the wall, then he
escorted them from the room.
"Next thing we should get that
plant o' yours fixed up," said Hogride as they made
their way back up to the street.
"Sure," said Hairy,
blinking in the sunshine outside Route 81.