The Green Grass of SILVER BROWN

Her Majesty’s High Again, or The Silver Bullet

While we’re waiting for the abomination to hatch out of its cocoon (it’ll start raining dead birds at that point so I hope y’all have your umbrellas ready), let me treat you to a guided tour of my glassware. The use of a bong is my preferred method of smoking these days. I used to be strictly a joint man a few lifetimes ago, but that began to change sometime in the second half of 2013. It had something to do with the shattered remnants of dashed hopes and broken dreams. I shan’t elaborate on the hairy details, but it was in the midst of it all that I gained a newfound appreciation for the more powerful punch that a bong packs, and it’s been my go-to smoking implement ever since.

The first bong I ever owned was this guy. In Toronto, there’s practically a head shop on every street corner. Hell, even the convenience stores sell glassware. They’ve been doing so for years, since long before the herb became legal in Canada. I picked this one up at one of the city’s most well-known head shops. They were having a sale on all their glassware at the time, so this piece was a real bargain…


Do forgive the surrounding bubble wrap and the unsightly filth and whatnot. At the time this picture was taken, the corrupt Wahhabist dictatorship of a company I worked for had forced me to live in squalor just so they could save themselves a few bucks (and with all that money they saved, they did stuff like this). There’s a compelling story about that somewhere on this site, if you know where to look.

Anyway, in the bad old days when our country was ruled by the Pissed-Off Westerners, having a bong like this was the shit. You could sit on your front porch with this thing in your hand, never having to worry about any police cruisers coming down the street. The cops would just go on their merry way, fully under the impression that you were engaging in the perfectly legal activity of enjoying a cold one on a hot summer’s day.

I would get five years of loyal service out of the Highagain bottle before it unfortunately met its end in September of this year. A guy I was living with at the time destroyed it in a moment of gross negligence. He had moved my bong to the edge of the table so he could make room to set up his Xbox gear, and somewhere in the middle of a game he fell asleep and kicked the table. I would come to the garage the next morning to find him fast asleep with the Xbox on, my bong reduced to a pile of green shards strewn all over the floor. He said he would pay for a replacement, but almost predictably, he never did.

Speaking of the Pissed-Off Westerners, our former Pastor-President Brother Stephen, Man of God would frequently preach of the supposed evils of the ganja in his sermons. Those of us who don’t wear the love goggles of the Reform Conservative Party and get their news from a source other than The Rebel Media know the reason why. Our so-called leader was nothing but a BITCH of the big oil companies in Calgary and Texas. He acted like a docile and subservient wife to Big Oil, who most certainly would have beaten him to a bloody pulp if he didn’t obey their commands. The spin doctoring job he used was the tired old argument that legalizing ganja would ultimately lead to the ruination of our society. Here’s a picture of him consuming the one substance that statistically has wrought more societal ruin than any other.

I actually went a whole month without a bong, relying entirely on the silver bullet for all my smoking needs…

i.e. this thing


…and once it became clear that the guy who destroyed my first bong would buy me a new one sometime around never, I had to take it upon myself to arrange for a replacement. But oh, what a replacement she was! I picked her up at a head shop just off campus. A little on the pricey side, but worth every dime. The first time I took her for a test drive, she revealed to me her name. She is called Her Majesty. This is Her Majesty’s first official royal portrait…


The Soundtrack of SILVER BROWN

“Oh God, not you again…”

There’s a lingering part of me that still wants to despise the holidays. It’s not the feasting and the merrymaking and whatnot. I definitely don’t have anything against that. The custom of having some kind of celebratory orgy to commemorate the winter solstice is one that has been observed by multiple societies throughout history; it’s a tradition almost as old as civilization itself. So it’s not that. It’s more the sanctimonious Trumpist types who throw temper tantrums in Aisle 4 whenever somebody uses a religiously neutral phrase like “Season’s Greetings” or when their Starbucks coffee cup does not prominently feature an image of Jesus Christ. Yeah, it’s more that. Those people annoy the fuck out of me. If any such MAGAloids are reading this, axial tilt has been scientifically proven to be the true reason for the season, and your Jesus is little more than a bumper sticker that you rudely stuck on the back of the Saturnalia party wagon without bothering to ask if it was okay with the charioteer. So kindly shut the fuck up.

Then there’s the music. Oh, God. The music! Mariah Carey was hitting them impossible high notes long before Autotune became a thing, so I guess I can respect her as a musician just for that, even though her personality (according to the tabloid press) is like one of those eldritch abominations straight out of Lovecraft that would turn you into a pillar of coal if you looked directly at it. That doesn’t mean I want to listen to Ms. Carey’s interpretations of holiday standards for a whole freaking month. Can whoever is in charge of choosing the music we hear in the malls play something more like this…?