Okey Dokey Smokey Grey

Since working with Pod Central, Smokey had a pack of bad pod puns playing about his brain – such as… do pod people listen to Peter, Pod & Mary? … did pod pervert pound peter pod over pod porno?  … could a pod piper placate a pickled pepper’s pink peccadillo?

He watched folk a lot closer now, trying to see if they were pods, or people.  Some seemed both.  And so far he thought he’d placed three separate pod phylum: Plant People Pods, Pod People Pods, and People People Pods.

There were also the strange defective ones, the none of the aboves. Smokey called them the pod won’t-a-bees.  They chaffed at hive behavior.  Knocked the mass ought they were taught.  Could mask their must.  And musk.  Unlike the pod wannabees  – the People People Pods – humans who wanted to be pods… and wanting was generally enough.

He learned Pod Central was run by plants – who were good – while Pod Centrum was run by pods – who were way bad.  Pod Centrum also controlled TV.  Most humans knew of neither, but did watch TV, so were part of the poop.

Pod Centrum also hunted down and destroyed pod defectives, lest they infect the pod sheep. And Smokey thought he had met one of their weapons – a Judas Goat – a failed pod they let run free to trap others.

His name was Radish.  Smokey knew him because Radish attracted good smoke. They’d met in Amsterdam, talked while sharing some White Widow weed laced with black gungy hash.  Radish was the first person he’d met who smoked as much grass as he did.

Smokey had been researching a case for the Demoplants – they’d hired him to trace President-Pretend Bushshit and Vice Torturer Cheney’s roots.  Turned out Dick Cheney started life as a plant controlled pod for Pod Central, but then went bad, voluntarily defected to Pod Centrum to become a Pod Pod… bad plant pods were the most evil of all pods once they went to the dark side, became tubers.  George W. Bushshit was less focused, just a plant pod that couldn’t grow right in sunlight – his brain cells didn’t glow, and so was extra susceptible to the dark tuber tumor Cheney. 

The over/under side of all this was Smokey discovered the good pods of Pod Central used birds as information collectors and message reflectors, while the bad pods of  Pod Centrum commingled with the rats of Rodentia, for the same reasons. 

It was while following a blue bird following a black rat following Radish that Smokey first saw Lady K in sektor 7.She lifted in unknown ways his weighted heart, so he kept following them.

One night Smokey overheard him joking with Lady K about being a Judas Goat for the Pods – Radish told her he was a defective pod, but they let him run free because other defective pods were attracted to him, so they watched to see who responded. They weeded out the non-programmables that way.  She replied she wasn’t defective, just efficient. He said she certainly had efficiently escaped her pod sektor. She asked if he were going to turn her in. He said no – her efficiency interested them, they were letting her run free with he to see if her defectivity had any potential military applications. She asked how they knew she wasn’t a viable pod.  He replied she’d never worked pod right – ever, even as a child. She’d always been rogue: she’d lost her assigned weight, assigned husband, assigned profession, assigned possessions, assigned prejudices of pro-familiness, pro-parentness, pro-grandparentness, pro-apparent apparentness. And now she was unpredictable. Couldn’t be run for guilt nor money.  Had even stopped watching the same brain planners’ daytime TV, which was the final tip-off straw that broke the camel’s needle dick back in the haystack.

Not watching TV was a crime.  Always proof of defective pod.

She was first attracted to Radish when he claimed Republicans tasted just like chicken, that the voters were going to rise up in November and eat the Republicans because Radish had promised them one in every pot. Radish was good with pot. Had pot luck. But he was a pod – or rather wasn’t a pod, because he’d escaped Podville where everyone watched pod TV and talked about it the next TV pod day at TV pod work over their TV pod walls in TV pod buildings with TV pod parking and hot TV pod dogs patrolling the TV pod premises.

Smith and Lady K’s joking brought to mind Freud’s premise there are no jokes.  So Smokey checked around. Radish indeed appeared to be a free range roaming pod wont-be-never-ever-will-be.  Pod Centrum should have sent him to the Brain Camps years ago, chopped his roots, replanted him.  Definitely Judas Goat material.

Normally Smokey didn’t care, wouldn’t interfere – but there was something naive, innocent, charming about Lady K.  He thought of her as the Woman from the Elf Woods.  Wanted to save her.  Perhaps save himself in the process. Maybe even get laid.  But more than that, he wanted to help her.  For free, no string theories attached. Smokey felt he should at least tell her what he knew, but didn’t know how to go about it.  He was fairly shy and socially inept for an old dude.  So he kept following them, discreetly.

Sitting in yet another coffee shop – Radish seemed as enamored of coffee as he was of weed -  Smokey watched as Lady K got up and came over to his table, sat down, said “That’s your third cookie this morning.  You have quite the sweet tooth.  Why do you eat so many sweets?”

“They’re ready made food units.  I don’t have to prepare them, they’re there when I need them.”

“Then why not eat carrots, apples, toast, bananas?”

“Toast is good, but it has to be prepared – needs cooking, buttering, leaves crumbs.  I like bananas – they come with built in wrappers to keep your fingers clean.  Carrots and apples aren’t really food, don’t satisfy, and apples are slimy as well, juice the fingers.”

“So what do you eat?”

“Coffee, cookies, ice cream, candy, pizza.”

“But that’s so bad for you.”

“No, that’s misconception.  We’re all the same thing – protons, electrons, quark by-products.  All this difference is illusion.  Doesn’t make any difference what I eat except convenience.”

“Then you could eat rocks.”

“Yes, if I could get my mind in the right place.  Rocks are made of the same stuff we are, they just move slower.  Actually I need to get to the place I can absorb what I need from the air.  Solve my problems.”

She searched his face awhile, then said “You’ve been following us for a week now, and I need to know why.”  

So much for discreet.  He sipped his coffee, watched her.  She was even more charming up close.  Didn’t appear angry.  She watched him back, polite, waiting.

“Mostly you,” he replied.  She sat there, silent.  “You tug at me and I don’t know why, or what to do about it. But if that were all, I’d not follow you like this.  I’ve stumbled across stuff you should maybe know.”

“Such as?”

“Radish.  This is awkward.  He has a checkered past.”

“I know, he’s told me… says not only does he have a checkered past, he has a checkered present as well.  He’s told me about stealing cars, his two armed robberies, his year in jail, his drug use… he says he’s the danger side of possible, and I believe him.”

“What about the Judas Goat for the Pods?”

“Told me that too.  Not sure I believe it.”

“You okay with this?”

“You need to understand – Radish honors me, treats me with respect, tells me the truth, is interested in what I do, listens to what I say.  Makes me laugh.  Really loves me.  Plus I never know what crazy thing he’ll do or say next.  You must know how unusual that is with men, being one yourself.”

“Yes.  I don’t respect many men.  Or women.  Do like plants and animals though, and children – as long as they’re some one else’s and go away after awhile.  Okay.  I’ll stop following, leave you two alone.”

“What’s your name?”

“Smokey Grey.”

“Don’t you think I’m a wee bit young for you?”

“Way too young.  Can’t help that.  But I can still help.  If you need me, call.”

She looked at him, watched his face awhile, silent.   Smiled.  “Okey dokey, Smokey Grey.”  And walked away.

Smokey watched her disappear.  Looked down, saw a cookie crumb.  Ate it.  Looked around.  Saw the black rat watching him.  Looked about for the blue bird.
                                     

Steven B. Smith – 11.11.2006