In December 2008, a Southern Humboldt blogger began posting fictional tales of the marijuana culture. Some people were appalled. Most were enthralled. For three months her stories gripped the online community and then, abruptly, she was gone. Even though SoHumBorn pulled her blog, for months her stories were available in the cached version but eventually they, too, were swallowed into the dark abyss. Recently she gave me permission to revive them. I’ll be doing one each Sunday for awhile. Do you have a favorite? Let me know and I’ll try and include it. The stories of this culture, true and fictional, need to be saved.

At the bottom of the post are links to all the other stories published so far.

Here is an example of a true experience she related on her blog.

They were sitting at the table directly behind me.  The two boys (probably technically young men) in that booth were so true to the stereotype, that they were very nearly, a satire of themselves.  White ball caps 6017-dolce-gabbana-sunglasseswith gold graphics turned sideways snugly encasing each of their craniums.  The shorter one had a large diamond stud in one ear,  giving me an out of place flash back to some football star’s post game interview.   The over sized pants riding mid rump gave them the distinct penguin like walk that, combined with the right brand hoodie and T-shirt spells out to the rest of us who they are.  They wore the uniform with pride.  Humboldt’s League of Young Dope Growers.  The girls too were distinct in their appearance.  The blond hair with the underside dyed dark, sunglasses marked withe the huge glittering logos for Dolce and Gabana or Coco Channel.  A mini puffy coat tops off  a long skinny t-shirt over mini skirt ensemble, that is for reasons still unknown to me, completed with the fluffiest pair of Uggs on the market.   Just looking at them makes me smile a little.  So I watch them in the mirror on the far wall.  Eavesdropping on their boasting talk of what should be private business, was far more interesting than listening to my own lunch companion list the same long, tired litany of her Husbands shortcomings.

Apparently there was a dispute.  Over whether they should wait for their regular middle man to get back from vacation, so they could sell him the rest of their pounds, or go through some friend PinkCellPhoneGirl had.  One  boy wanted to wait.  He lobbied for the cause of the regular guy by reminding his friend (and the rest of the restaurant) of such facts as  “Man, he got us those clones.”  and “I promised him he could move the rest of that sh*t.”  His companion countered with the fact that they needed to get replanted cause  “F*ckin’ room just sittin’ there ,ain’t makin’ no money!”    They debate the issue until there is finally a consensus.  Every one agrees that ten pounds will go to the new buyer, so that everyone has extra money for Christmas.  While the remainder will be held back for the regular guy assuring that they will not piss off their clone connection.  PinkCellPhoneGirl is given the O.K. to call her guy & get this deal moving.  I watch her pick up her very cool phone and dial. “Hi Mom…is Dad around? Thanks….Hey Dad my friend still has those extra fence posts if you need ‘em?  Yeah..uh 10.  O.K.  See ya in a few.  Looking at the boys she says  “He wants us to bring ‘em by when we’re done with breakfast”   EarringBoy questions “What’s the didg?”  popping a strawberry from the side of her plate into her mouth her muffled reply is “Thirty-seven to you, he and I will split the buck.”

Mind drifting back to my own table I hear the end of my lunch companions tirade  “Can you believe he would do that?!”  I look at her my mind still wading through the unexpected conclusion of business at the next table.  “No I can’t, I really can’t…”