The Garden of the Gods

There are times when Sister Madly prefers the world she creates rather than the one that was created for her. Yet every once in a while she comes across an individual who lives in such sweet naivety that her world seems dull by comparison, such as the case of the Little Hippie- a customer she encountered some years ago who had but one complaint: the hemp seeds he had recently planted- the ones he had cut from a bracelet purchased a month before- never sprouted.

It was at Utopia, a bazaar of sorts once described as ‘a bunch of weird people doing weird things.’ At best, they were a bunch of incredibly dull people doing incredibly dull things, frequently regarded by the devout about town as heathens in search of a ripe little soul to snack on. This was patently untrue, as several of these Utopian Sweethearts were vegan and wouldn’t dream of consuming any animal or its byproduct- souls included.

As it was her duty to provide excellent customer service – and as it was nowhere near soul-snacking time- Sister Madly guided the Little Hippie’s attention to the word STERILE boldly stated on the bracelet’s tag.

The Little Hippie merely stared with vague comprehension; to him, sterile meant nothing more than an exceptional, if not psychotic, cleanliness- a trait not typical of most hippies in the region. But then, he was rather new to the lifestyle.

In spite of the array of bizarre tasks outlined in her job description, Sister Madly felt that her hourly wages fell short of informing strangers the particulars of the birds and the bees- even when pertaining to plants. That sort of assistance is reserved for Management- should they ever put down their soul sandwiches and set foot out of the office.

So she decided to skip the particulars and just use a rather broad analogy:

Think of it this way, little one: if someone drilled a hole completely through you top to bottom, you probably wouldn’t be able to produce any offspring, either. Or, say, vital signs…

Essentially, it means these little seeds can’t have babies.

Perhaps that wasn’t the best analogy, as indicated by the Little Hippie’s distressed whisper of “You mean they’re, like, impotent?”

There are no words to describe the devastation of that poor innocent who, while still trying to grow into his week-old dreadlocks and hand-woven mukluks, suddenly realized that he had only sober plans for the weekend. It was as though Sister Madly had heartlessly revealed that Rosebud was nothing more than a sled- had he been the type to care about that in the first place, that is.

Of course, she can recommend one of the state-of-the-art fertility gods just in from Africa. Sister Madly can personally attest to them having some form of mystical properties, as they have a tendency to pop off the wall for no good reason whatsoever- especially around Victor, which would terrify him into long periods of celibacy.

“So, I bury the Fertility God with the seeds.”

If that is what makes you happy.

The happiness lasted for all of 2 days, when the Little Hippie appeared once more to return the Fertility God after finding his backyard overrun with dozens of baby bunnies.

THEME SONG: Evil Seeds, The Raveonettes