On the Cannabus: A Short Story

MOM, Grandpa’s smoking weed again!

When did you turn into such a little rat?

You told on me when I was making dance videos and was supposed to be studying, Little Brenda said.

You’re 16.

You’re 70.

Yeah, but I’m retired. Your mother has to work, cook, clean and buy groceries. I watch cartoons at 10 in the morning when you’re struggling with trigonometry. Maybe I’ll start making dance videos.


Grandpa butted the joint and put the roach in his pocket. Turning on the TV he punched in the number for the Three Stooges Channel.

Woopwoopwoopwoop, he said.

Curly was his favorite, of course.

Nyaknyaknyaknyak, Grandpa said.

Big Brenda stood behind her father.

How many times have I told you not to smoke around Little Brenda?

I gave up Marlboros, what more do you want?

Smoking weed around Little Brenda sets a bad example.

I’m using prescribed medical marijuana, Grandpa said.

Your biggest medical problem is you’re stoned all the time.

I’m anxiety-ridden.

Look who‘s talking. Living with you is turning me into a wreck.

So move. I’ll pay for the U-Haul.

You know I can’t afford to move.

Then get offa my cloud.

Listen to Mr. Flower Power, Big Brenda said.

Grandpa bristled.

I’m not just some pothead like your Generation Zero.

What are you other than a leftover 60s guru?

You’re either on the cannabus or off the cannabus, Brenda.



Where’s my attention deficit medication?

See, Grandpa said.

See what?

Instant Pharma’s gonna get you. A little medical marijuana might do her the world of good, he said.

Big Brenda turned and walked away cursing to herself as Little Brenda came racing into the kitchen as Grandpa pulled on a black skull cap with a marijuana leaf embroidered on the front.

See what you started, kid?

I wish I could watch cartoons in the morning, Little Brenda said.

How about the Stooges?

Mom says I’m supposed to eat breakfast.

Grandpa put on the smug face he reserved for special occasions.

Breakfast of champions?

Opening the cupboard door he reached to the back and pulled out a cereal box. Raising his index finger to his lips, he shushed his granddaughter. Emptying a pile of toasty, oatsy cannabis flakes into two bowls, he offered one to Little Brenda.

Shut up and eat your Weedies, he said.