If Marc Emery is the Prince of Pot, I'm the King! (upinsmoke) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2010-04-20 17:09:00 |
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Current music: | drug ballad - eminem / mary jane - janis joplin |
Entry tags: | 4chan, classic rock, cocaine, coffee, democratic party, eris, ghb, hippie subculture, lgbtq culture, marijuana, pscipolnitsa, speed, tea, uncle sam |
marijuana is everywhere, where was you brought up?
Who: Marijuana, assorted family members, guests, NPCs, and bands.
What: Marijuana turns one hundred.
Where: Marijuana's warehouse.
When: April twentieth, spanning from early afternoon on into the night.
Warnings: Language, alcohol, drug use, possible sexuality, possible violence.
From his perch on the stage, sitting on the edge and swinging his feet idly, Marijuana looked out over the warehouse with a light smile. The throbbing of Zeppelin's 'Black Dog' filled his ears as he made a mental note of all he had to experience and everyone he had to socialize with. The jungle-gym-in-the-air already had a few climbers having a ball as Cam watched from the coffee bar with a nervous look on his face and an anxious tic already developing under his left eye. The vodka river - green apple vodka coloured green - was gurgling merrily, a splash heard as one of Marijuana's mortal drug runners slid down the tube slide from the roof to fall, laughing, into the deepest corner of the river. Marijuana's eyes - green from the surging power and matching his brown skin - picked out his mortals from the crowd; Cam at the coffee bar, Matt blowing up a pair of water wings so he could swim in the vodka river, Bryn already dancing with a college student, Wes' guards spread out over the warehouse to monitor the festivities for violence, Cam's techies running around supervising the jungle gym and making sure the bands that Heroin had booked for the party - Snoop Dogg, Nine Inch Nails, Cheech and Chong, Depeche Mode, Red Hot Chili Peppers and Radiohead - had all the equipment they needed.
Marijuana couldn't see Wes; his bodyguard was in the wings of the stage, eyes fixed on his boss. But the bulking man stepped forward slowly as Marijuana tugged a necklace out from where it usually remained hidden under his shirt. Marijuana's fingers traced over the silver weed leaf pendant that had hung around Dave's neck, traced over the silver and emerald claddagh ring that Dave had worn on his ring finger as he contemplated the passage of a year, the passage of months. One year of bliss with Heroin, one year of the life of his son, four months since the overdose had taken his loyal and beloved second away from him.
"It's not right that he's not here." Even over the throb of Zeppelin, Marijuana could hear the gruff sound of Wes' quiet voice. The bodyguard didn't speak often, only used words when grunts couldn't suffice, and when he spoke, Marijuana and the Highway mortals had learned to listen. Marijuana sighed, flopped back to lay on the stage and gaze up at the ceiling. "No, Wes. It's not." Wes nodded in acknowledgment of their dead friend, in acknowledgment of Marijuana's acknowledgment, and fell silent again, only moving when Marijuana moved, staying about five feet behind his boss as Marijuana began to wind his way through the crowd.
Pushing Dave from his mind, Marijuana let the music course through his mind like the heroin coursing through his veins. There were more important things to think about at the moment; there was the joint between his fingers, the beer clutched in his hand, the baggie of white powder in his pockets and at least a hundred guests to greet.
And as he found himself in the middle of a crowd of his faithful, Marijuana allowed himself a dark smile. It was his birthday and they had flocked to worship him. It felt damned good.