"This will never work."
Roger shakes his head in disbelief, standing at the neighborhood bus stop beside a pile of burnt orange leaves and his heavy set friend, Steven. Thinking to themselves as Roger crushes a brown leaf beneath his sneaker. Another one of Steven's hairbrained schemes. It's not surprising that Apollo went along with it, but Homer too? The autumn wind gusts against Roger's yellow raincoat as the worst case scenarios run though his mind. A wooden jellyfish necklace dangles onto his plain gray t-shirt, a blue sling backpack hangs off of his left shoulder. He impatiently glances at his advanced wrist communicator. 'No Messages. Maintaining Optimal Body Temperature. Weather: Forty-Four Degrees Fahrenheit. THC Readings: 22.6%. CBD- 4.8%. Gravity: 100%.'
"What's the worst that can happen?" Steven asks. Light rain drizzles onto his attire, a throwback to the 80's; backwards fitted cap, bright neon windbreaker with a hot pink zipper, and a pair of vintage orange hi-top sneakers. The sizzled teen is struggling to keep his eyes open due to this morning’s wake and bake.
"Worst that could happen? Expulsion! Why'd we mention this field trip to begin with?" Roger asks with a frown. His worried eyes show no evidence that a smoke session had ever taking place thanks to his handy Crystal-Clear brand eye drops. He sniffles and raises an eyebrow. Suspiciously searching for something or someone...
"Are you guys trying to give Miss Cramptry a contact high?" Roger asks in a serious tone.
Two stoned hippies saunter onto the scene. Both appear to be older, somewhere in their mid-twenties. On the left, Apollo, the hungover god of the sun. Banished from Mt. Olympus centuries ago due to his wildcard partying and debauchery. As he does on most days, he's wearing his signature multi-color baja poncho and worn out jeans. The same style he's kept since being banished to earth. With swagger, Apollo brushes his ragged dirty blonde hair out of his aviator shades. To the right, Homer is rocking a simple heavy metal t-shirt and a pair of cargo pants with a handheld gaming device sticking out of the right pocket. Most would better know this closet degenerate as the pot smoking superhero, Stonerman.
Roger grimaces as his two loud friends stand beside him.
"Or maybe the entire bus, then? Is the incentive here to get caught?" Roger chagrins, "Maybe we can go another time. When my superiors aren't watching our every move... I'll drive!"
Homer and Apollo's bloodshot eyes meet. "Isn't regular admission like fifty bucks a person?"
Apollo absolutely appalled at the idea of such pricing.
Roger grins, "There's free entry with a state ID."
Homer cuts in, "You know Apollo hasn't had an ID in decades."
Before the argument can continue, the I.M. high school bus stops in front of them. The doors hiss as they slide open, covering Roger's heavy sigh. He knows there's no talking his friends out of an adventure, no matter how risky or mundane it may seem. The four of them enter together. Even though Miss Cramptry was previously Homer's tenth grade English teacher, not one person questions the unexpected presence of the twenty-three year old graduate, nor the Greek god, Apollo.
The school bus skirts off with authority. The unexpected departure almost knocks Homer clean off of his feet. Forcing him to use his super powers in public again, luckily in a more subtle way than the usual slip up. He simply reacted with the reflexes of a god to catch his balance to prevent a fall. He's understands all too well the importance of staying low key to protect his secret identity. Which is easier said than done while stoned to the proverbial bone. Being high is Homer’s natural state. Usually smoking for enjoyment but no matter the purpose of the toke, THC always activates his godlike super powers. It may be a bit paranoid, but when going out Homer prefers to stay high and prepared for any eventuality. Which certainly comes in handy during everyday situations like avoiding a tumble into the lap of Roger's middle aged teacher, Miss Cramptry.
He meets up with the Chill Crew at the back of the bus, like old times. Steven flings a black briefcase (aka his backpack) behind the rear seat, while Roger scoots his blue sling bag toward the mucky window.
"You guys think we’ll be able to touch an electric eel, to y'know, electrify our high?" Steven asks as he palms a gold trick coin.
"I just hope this doesn't suck." Apollo grumbles.
"We never took field trips like this when I was in school, especially not to the city! This will be good." Homer rebuttals.
"Oh joy. A city crafted by mortals." Apollo says under his breath.
Homer misses the comment entirely as his attention drawn elsewhere. His super powered hearing causes him to take notice of an overly passionate argument taking place at the front of the bus.
"You're joking, right? It's illegal again thanks to that clown." One Student barks.
"Stonerman’s the reason it was legalized to begin with!" The other Student counters.
"Dude’s got a penny-saver gullet. He's gotten soft. Outclassed by real heroes like Supreme Spice."
"Don't tell me you're still smoking that fakebake shit. You'll get brain damage."
"At least it's legal… And safe! I've been telling you to stay off those conspiracy pages."
"No. You need to stop following research blatantly bought out by FakeGoodGood inc. The fact that they paint the Heroin Ninja as a hero-"
"Kicked Stonerman’s ass, didn’t he?”
After all of these years living a double life as Stonerman, Homer still doesn't know how to feel or react when others discuss his alter ego around him. Should he defend his honor or let them speculate? Everyone deserves the truth but shouldn’t his actions speak infinitely louder than words? Why risk his secret identity? Why does he feel the need to join in on a conversation with two people he's never met? Their opinions have no bearing on his ability to spread positivity to the world, so why bother? Stonerman may have won countless battles against evil yet negativity continues to spread all the same. Have his actions made a difference at all?
"Right, Homer?" Roger asks.
"Huh? Sorry, I was watching Steven's magic trick."
"The swordfish show. What do you think?"
"Oh yeah. Sounds sick."
The puttering old school bus continues toward Zaluza City 2, formerly known as Sol City, that is until the first Zaluza City was destroyed after the fallout between Stonerman and the monstrous, Chongzilla. As far as the naming goes, it may be creatively bankrupt, but it could have been worse. The city could've been renamed by the highest bidder, like a soulless bank or fast food chain. Now the name brings back memories of the once great original Zaluza City. Other than the title, not much has changed here. Still the same towering skyscrapers, ballparks, stadiums, and lakeside parks that have always made Sol City special. The rebranding is a blatant leech tactic to lure in former residents of the original city as well as to inform tourist that this is a hip new spot to spend their cash. Artistry decorates the city streets, beautiful paintings and sculptures create a vibe that can be found nowhere else. And our destination today is no different.
It'd be safe to say most know what to expect from a field trip to the aquarium. Those people have never stepped foot inside the Aquatorium-Dome. Founded in 1963 by a pair of psychedelic adventurers, the Aquatorium-Dome was crafted to be an exploration into the deep sea as well as the human mind. In the past, it has been well documented that visitors often left with a life changing exuberance they've never before experienced. And just as often, visitors also went completely and unabashedly mad. This was of course during a different time. An old fashioned era when doing something like putting an obscene amount of LSD into the public drinking water under the guise of "entertainment purposes," was considered, "acceptable."
The school bus pulls up at the curbside, beside the trippy entrance way. A giant rotating tunnel made entirely of clear glass with brilliant blue waves splashing beneath the surface. Something you might see at a carnival fun house, but at an aquarium? The flashy neon light above indicates to the class, and the bus driver, that they've indeed arrived at the correct location.
Deep into the spinning tunnel, it's as dark as the deepest sea. Our four heroes join the rest of the class as they follow Miss Cramptry inside, hands placed against the glass wall so no one will lose their way within the darkness. A loud metallic door slams shut behind them. This pitch black entrance is less than welcoming. The only sounds to be heard are the panicked murmurs of students. Until, one by one, translucent jellyfish paint the walls. Panic is replaced by gasps as radiant jellyfish swim into the dark enclosure to bring the light. The playful dance of the jellyfish illuminates a colorful path that leads into the grandiose aquarium, Steven's mouth left agape.
"Definitely aliens, man." He says.
The crew nod in agreement, lost in the hypnotic glow of the jellyfish, entering the giant Dometorium in a trance. This area acts as the access hub for all of the star attractions, 'Life on the Arctic,' 'Ghost Sharks of the Caribbean,' 'Dolphin Transcendence,' 'Peeping on the Pacific,' and the fan favorite, 'Other.' Today's ichthyologist greets the class.
"Hello. My name is Arnesto. I will be your fish expert for the day."
"Which exhibit should we see first?" Roger cannot hide the childlike excitement from his voice.
Aquatic Be-bop jazz flows into the room, our clear eyed heroes soak in the mind bending oceanic environment. They excitedly discuss the possibilities among each other, until Apollo decides to pop a rather controversial question...
"Anyone want to hit this?" He asks as he reveals a fat blunt from his poncho pocket.
A smile sweeps Steven's face, Homer nods in unabashed agreement, and Roger dramatically scans the room.
"I'm still buzzing from this morning!" Roger's voice cracks.
Apollo shakes his head. "I sobered up the moment I stepped onto that school bus. You should have warned me about how warped this place is. I didn't sufficiently prepare."
Roger's eyes are hard locked on the inbound Miss Cramptry, he flusters about, spitting out the first suggestion to come to his mind. "We'll smoke after! Why not maximize our enjoyment of such an unusual aquarium? Right now."
Apollo admires the green leaf cigar tucked between his fingers, rolled so perfectly that only a god could have constructed a pearl of this symmetry. Craftmanship on a level that even the known founder of straight edge himself, Galileo, could never pass on it.
"Oh. I'm about to maximize my enjoyment, alright."
Miss Cramptry is on her way. She strides closer by the second, now passing the box office.
Roger can only respond with a fumbled panicked whisper...
"Take that shit outside! Then spray down and meet me over at the Turtle Zone." He slyly saunters away from the Chill Crew, turning back only for a second, "And save some for afterwards!"
Roger scurries over to join his classmates. He blends in with the single file line following Arnesto into the swordfish show.
"The average sword fish grows up to around ten feet long with typical swimming speeds of over fifty miles per hour. And let me tell you, the swordfish you are about to see for the day are no different." Arnesto explains.
Without Roger, there is only one student in this group who is actually supposed to be on this field trip- Steven. Who is currently leading Homer and Apollo to the nearest exit.
"Are you sure your teacher won't notice that we're gone?" Homer asks.
Steven shrugs, "Eh. I've got like, six months til' graduation. If they haven't expelled me by now, it's never gonna happen."
They sneak out the back exit into a grimy alleyway. Steven questions if this is where they throw out the dead fish. He opens a random trash can, filled with used glow-sticks, confetti, and discarded pizza boxes. No dead fish, but the place sure smells like it. Blunt hanging off his lip, Apollo slaps his hands against his pockets and scowls. He pats down his tie-dye poncho searching for something.
"Anyone have a lighter?" He grimaces.
"Steven does." Homer answers.
Steven perks up, his eyes bulge. He violently shakes the handle of the auto-locking alley door. He pulls with all of his might, but the door will not budge.
"Roger has it." He says in defeat, kicking the door, "We have to sneak back inside to get it!"
"Then we'll have to pay." Apollo shakes his head.
"No! Just tell 'em we're with the field trip and got lost."
"Homer and I aren't even student's."
Homer peeks around the corner. "Surely there's a gas station nearby." he says. "There's one on every damned street corner in America. If only hookers were as reliable."
Apollo chuckles, "You mustn't be looking hard enough."
"Remember when all those gas stations sold bud on the side?" Steven adds. "I miss when it was 'legal. I was walking around buzzing harder than a bee on freakin' quaaludes twenty-four-seven. Those were the days."
Homer paces over to the sidewalk. He looks down the street, beyond the endless row of parked cars, minimal trees, and inconvenient stop signs. Over on Sunken Drift Ave., sits a comfortable oriental resale shop that feels out of place, tucked tightly between a city landscape.
"No gas station." he reports, "But I found a shop that looks like the one from Gremlins."
With that, it is unanimously decided to check the place out. The three of them step into the quiet shop and are greeted by the unique chime of an enchanted store bell. They wander into a cluttered wonderland of old wicker, perplexing knick-knacks, and curious artifacts. Homer cuts away from the group, fascinated by the book selection. It's covered in childhood nostalgia that seems curated just for him. He ganders over some of his old favorites, the Goosebumps series, Alex Rider, even the Berenstein Bears.
With Homer browsing the book section and Apollo lost in the 'unconventional erotica of the 1800's,' which oddly also seems to be curated just for him. Steven is left determined to get straight to the register and get to blazing already. Behind the counter, an elderly woman organizes a pile of books. She places a pink novel labeled, 'Fantasy,' atop a red book labeled, 'Adventure,' which sits beside the other, a tattered and rather sad looking book. The color faded to a worrisome greenish grey, this one labeled simply, 'Horror.'
Steven forces out a polite cough to catch her attention. The Shopkeep lowers her maroon hood to reveal long sun-blonde hair which has started to fade to grey. She approaches the counter, her peg-leg thumps against the hard wood floor with every step. Her eyes have not left Steven since he made his presence known. She utters not a sound. Which leaves the young stoner unsure of how to respond.
"Uh, do you sell lighters here?" he asks.
The Shopkeep raises her brow, distracting from the heavy bags under her eyes.
"Lighter?" She asks with a gravely voice that catches Steven off guard. "I trust one is lurking 'round here somewhere. I'd wager you search long enough you'll find more than yer torch."
"We're kind of in a hurry. Got any Zippos?.. Bics?.. Crack lighters? Maybe a tinder kit?"
The Shopkeep turns her face into her maroon hood. It appears as if she's going to twist her head completely full circle like an owl but just before she does, she instead spins her head back to the original front facing direction.
Her only reply is a dead stare deep into Steven's eyes.
...
Steven awkwardly steps away and browses the overwhelming selection in search for a lighter. Any lighter to get him out of there, away from all the creepy vibes. The Shopkeep continues to stare intently from behind the counter. Steven pretends not to notice and continues searching. Nothing seems to be organized in any particular order. A small wooden cupboard momentarily entertains his attention with a plastic Indian and cowboy action figure happily sitting atop.
The Shopkeep spawns behind him, now wielding a massive wooden walking stick.
"Aye. A beautiful piece but missing a key, she is." The Shopkeep says.
Startled, Steven jolts back into the shelf, the wooden cupboard almost topples to the floor.
"You know, maybe some matches would do the trick." Steven gulps.
The Shopkeeper retrieves a patterned matchbook from under her robe as well as a long stem Westershire wood pipe. She tucks the gigantic walking stick into her elbow then strikes a match. Steven's face lights up along with it's flame.
"Exactly what we're looking for!" He exclaims.
The Elderly Shopkeeper puffs on her pipe as she cherries it.
"What you're looking for?" She asks.
A mystifying vibration steals the energy from the room. Steven's gaze shoots up to a closed off area in the back. That's forsure where the vibration came from but he is almost too afraid to ask.
"What in the hell was that?"
She cannot remove her crooked smile as she taps her walking stick on the ground three times. One. Two. Three. She motions for Steven to follow her, with the warning that it'd be wise for his friends to join them. With the strong possibility that Steven is the only mortal in this room, he agrees, calling out to Homer and Apollo.
"Find a lighter?" Homer wonders with a stack of books in hand.
Apollo's not far behind him, "What was that noise?"
The Shopkeep chuckles. She waves her walking stick in a ceremonious way, her sleeve slides down to reveal a rose tattoo above her left wrist.
"What you've witnessed thus far is that of which is to be mentioned. I have yet to brief ye on me unmentionables."
Apollo rubs his chin. The Shopkeep may be getting older, but the idea of a chance 'sailor's encounter' doesn't sound like such a bad experience. If that were to be the worst case scenario in his mind, he felt safe in indulging his curiosity.
"... What kind of unmentionables?"
She glares directly into Apollo's eyes. After a moment, she shifts her full moon stare back to Steven, then to Homer.
"Forbidden items of wonder and intrigue." She coughs, "Each of which will leave you more mad and least lucid than the last."
Homer raises an eyebrow, the Shopkeep ignores him, burrowing her glare into Steven's soul. Neither of them blink once. Steven tries to decide on a comfortable facial expression so he doesn't feel awkward... Nothing works... Sweat drips down his anxious cheek. The intensity of the Shopkeep's eyes grows, they dilate yet her deadpan expression remains unchanged.
Homer clears his throat, "Uh, I think we'll take that lighter and be on our way."
"Come." She waves her staff.
As they move closer to the closed off room, mystic vibrations become more apparent. The sound of rhythmic beating jungle drums echo from inside the curtain. Homer at the back of the line. Not as eager to see what's back there as his friends.
"So... These items of intrigue. They've driven you mad?" Homer softly asks.
"Every night the depths of my mind be cursed by images of a thousand seas. Each of which look spot for spot identical to both the eye and soul." there is a heaviness in her voice, "Calling to me she be. A voice of trespass whispering into me ears through telepathic means, awaiting my return. The images more real than you or me, boy. I can taste the salt of the seven seas in me throat, feel the perverse ocean air violate me hair. Even now, I hear her waves striking at the shore as I batten down the hatches of me mind."
"Doesn't sound so crazy to me." Apollo admits.
The woman grins, "This ain't no pond, lad! I have yet to witness the sea once in the entirety of my life! And yet I see her image as clear as day?" she erupts with howling laughter, "Any else witnessed what I ad, would've been what unhinged em. But not I." Her whistling and chortling guide past an obscure plethora of Pacific Ocean paintings. "Sane as a sailor's whistle."
With her wood cane, she pulls back the curtain to reveal a cracked door. Deep drumming growls louder. They sound angry...
The rapid drumming crescendos as our heroes enter. Concentration is impossible. The sound alone overwhelms their senses... "Keep quiet!" The Shopkeep shouts as she smacks a highly detailed wooden board game. The drumming comes to a breakneck halt. The room drops silent. Our heroes survey the cluttered room until they are drawn to a hefty safe in the back, a glass case that contains a wide variety of smoking utensils, most of which appear to be from other centuries or planets.
Face pressed against the glass, Steven's attention is stolen by one piece in particular. A mighty bubbler that stands above the rest. With triple blown glass and a chameleon-like design. The colors change depending on what angle you look at it. With a gold plated base embroidered in shining emeralds and rubies. All of the other unique pipes are an embarrassment in comparison to this Holy Grail of glass. Steven's eyes are glued to his wonder-pipe until his glance drops down to the brute reality of the price tag.
"Twenty thousand?" He questions with a frown... "Is that yen?"
"No. Twenty dollars." The Shopkeep answers.
Steven responds with a suspicious squint. That just so happens to be the exact amount of money he has in his pocket. He knows a good scam when he sees it.
The Shopkeeper smacks him in the head with her walking stick.
"Walking stick? More like walloping stick." Homer jokes.
Apollo sighs with a slight chuckle... "Shut the fuck up, Homer."
Steven massages his head, "What was that for?"
The Shopkeeper is as helpful as ever.
"I think Davy Jones himself would be out of harm's way in suspect'n this is the item you lads seek."
"It is seriously sick..." Steven admits before blurting out, "What's wrong with it?"
"Billows like a lucid dream. A hit so smooth and satisfying that the sea herself couldn't prevent the events that transpire. Lighter included... Although the brooding waters often warn-"
Steven excitedly waves the twenty dollar bill that his mom gave him to use for lunch money.
"We'll take it!"
The Shopkeep nods. She opens the glass case, swats away the dusty cobwebs, then hands the wondrous bubbler over to our heroes. Sold. With eagerness in their eyes, the three of them quickly pace away with their prize in hand, heading for the bright green exit sign to go pack some green of their own. Until, the Shopkeeper stops them to reveal one last anecdote of advice...
"Remember. Many have their way with destiny but what happens when destiny has its way with you?" She asks before boiling over into a hysteria of laughter.
The crew doesn't know how to respond, so they just turn toward the exit.
"Boys!" She calls out.
Apollo, Steven, and Homer once again stop in their tracks.
"Don't forget your lighter."
They smuggle the bubbler and lighter back to their favorite smoke spot, Steven's garage attic. An attic turned stoner clubhouse, aptly nicknamed, "The Fort." One by one they ascend the same rickety ladder that's been hanging there since the seventies. They pull themselves onto a lush green shag carpet into a room lit mostly by unconventional means, black lights, lava lamps, and Christmas lights strung across the slanted ceiling. The walls are decorated with movie posters and psychedelic imagery. A crime surveillance computer is tucked in walled off section in the corner, across from a sprouting marijuana plant. At the center of the room are four chairs, all grouped around an old coffee table to face an old white box antenna television with multiple vintage gaming systems hooked up.
Steven twists the turn dial until he lands on a comedic channel. Not even paying attention to the TV, he scoots his gas mask bong aside and places the new robust bubbler at the center of the table where it shines in the sunlight. He opens a rusty Huey Lewis And The News lunch box to retrieve a secret stash hidden inside an Abbott & Costello cassette case. As well as a Pokèball themed grinder. He pours out the pre-ground contents from the grinder onto the rolling tray and hums to himself, "Gotta pack em' all. Pack the bong."
{WHO'S THAT STRAIN?
A potent sativa with effects that hit like the freight train at the end of Batman Begins. Mexican and Thai Sativas were bred with Afghani Indicas to produce this Northern Californian sweet lemon and spicy pine aroma. This strain begins its speedy hurtle through the mind with a surge of euphoria, which awakens creativity and happiness. Migraines, pain, and arthritis are aided by the high-THC content, and many patients use it for the relief of anxiety. These flowers are ready for harvest after 8 weeks.
WHAT'S YOUR GUESS?
ARE YOU READY?
.....
.....
... Its Train Wreck!}
Steven's arm rubs up against the bubbler as he reaches for the slide. Suddenly... He changes his mind and hands the bubbler to Homer instead.
"Needs water." He says, grinding up more weed.
"Fine." Homer replies. "Oof. This shits dustier than- What's this?" some sort of inscription on the side. "I can't quite make it out." He delicately polishes the bubbler with his hand...
"Don't scratch it!" Steven cries out.
"Hmmmm." Homer mutters puzzled. "How am I supposed to read these hieroglyphics?"
Apollo scoffs, "Let me see."
He wipes off the remaining dust with his poncho sleeve.
"Oh. They're literally hieroglyphics... Fuck if I know. Do I still have Ra's number? Maybe Roger can translate?"
Steven snatches the bubbler back. He filters out the water several times to properly clean the old piece. Since he paid, he gets the first hit. With a spark of the new lighter, he inhales the smoothest toke of his life. He holds it. Then exhales a glittering smoke cloud. Both of his eyes slant and fade to a crimson red as he sits in a sparkling hotbox. Now he's in the right state of mind to examine the writing on the side of the bubbler.
"Well, there's a bird. An eye. A dog and then some squiggly guy... Hmmm. Perhaps... In canus corporae transmuto?.. Oh! Wait. Birdesstrumadom es be cottum. Eyexamium Delorous rey esquatum. Wonkatania. Gogtkcha!!"
There is no response. Homer and Apollo aren't quite sure what to make of Steven's translation when the silence is broken...
"What if this thing is cursed?" Homer asks.
"There's only one way to find out." Apollo replies.
Three bowls later, our heroes sit stoned, ripped, twisted. Good people. No curse in sight as they reminisce about their latest visit to the Area 51 Drive In, the only theater where rules and regulations are truly optional. Where anarchist law rule. A unique movie going experience that has become a summer staple of their friendship.
When suddenly...
"Weren't we supposed to meet up with Roger?" Homer remembers.
Oh shit. The crew gathers their belongings. Steven switches off the TV, carefully wraps a cloth towel around the beautiful bubbler, just about to stash it into his lunch box when an unknown voice calls out...
"Your offering has been deemed acceptable."
An enchanted tune resonates from the ancient bubbler. Steven ditches the "talking" pipe and drops it onto the table. The smoking utensil quakes so forcefully that the entire garage shakes along with it. The wood walls split. Then the trembling suddenly stops, dazzling black smoke emits from the mouthpiece, neon vapor enclosed by whirlwinds of tiny celestial orbs gusts into a shapeless anthropomorphic being.
It's face is concealed by a lavish mask, fashioned out of a dragon's skull. The creature wears an emerald hemp gown that drapes down it's wispy ghost-like tail. The only visible detail of the being's face are it's soft green eyes peering from behind the bone veil. At the center of the crafted mask is a glowing gem, flowing from one color to another.
" ~θ I am the intoxicated Jihnn of the upmighty bubbler- Huuuuoooffggh. Upon this snazzlin' summoning... ... ... ... You are granted- ... ... Blegh. Where's the trash can!? I'm going to fuckin' puke! θ~"
Chapter 2: Smoke and Wishes
"What does a wish become once it's granted?"