A Parable of the Harvest

From: pkitty@netcom.com (Pee Kitty)

Here's a parable that I've actually used a coupla times to explain to an uninitiated one just what the hell the whole X-Day thing is about. It makes it a little easier for them to grasp, I think...

-= A Parable of the Harvest =-

- As told to a young Rev. Pee Kitty every night before bedtime -

The jeep drove down the barren stretch of road, the hot equatorial sun beating down upon the hood. The man in the passenger side shifted his rifle, trying to find comfort in the hard seat. The last field had been almost half an hour away, and it was a great relief to see the anticipated rows of poppies growing in the stretch of land a mile or two ahead. The Gringos from Nation X, or Xists, began preparing themselves for a little wanton pillaging. Rifles, of a technology these backwoods people would never know, were checked and readied. Smiles were exchanged. It looked like a good harvest.

The tires skidded to a stop, sending the dust of the road flying into a cloud. Doors opened and Xists piled out, remembering the last field. The caretakers had grown a wide variety of flowers; nothing spectacular, but the stuff didn't have to be golden to get the junkies high. The folks in charge of the field were braver than usual--even when confronted with the superior firepower from Nation X, they fought back. The Xists had to give them some small amount of respect as they mowed them down unmercifully in a barrage of artillery and went on to harvest the fields of poppies. The flowers were removed and placed in the metal cylinders in the trunk of the jeep. Another successful harvest.

The smiles grew as a lone caretaker stepped out of the makeshift hut in front of the field. Oddly enough, he was smiling as well. The smoke from his pipe curled around his head as the Xists leveled their rifles at his eyes. The small one spoke. "Our bosses, the Elder Cartel, need stuff to sell to the junkies. You've got it. We're taking it." And, as he had done a thousand times before, he tensed the muscles in his hand, squeezing the trigger to send this backwater fool into the next lifetime. But this time, something was wrong. The smile didn't fade, didn't waver. He just stood there, smiling and smoking, and there was something in his eyes... something that screamed, "I know much that you do not," and that look prevented the muscle spasm from ever reaching its destination.

"What the hell is the matter with you? Don't you get it? We're here to kill you and rape your fields! We're talking all your poppies!" He gestured toward the vast field, and then he noticed. Something wasn't quite right in the colors. "Hold your fire. I'll be right back." He walked into the rows of flowers and saw what the difference was. The uniform pink was tinted by a slight blue... blue from every hundredth flower or so. A soft, but noticeable, blue tint to a flower here, a flower there. He had never seen this before.

"You! With that shit-eating grin! What are these?" he demanded, ripping out one of the blue poppies and holding it up. The grin on the strange caretaker's face widened, if that was possible, and he spoke for the first time. "Those aren't normal poppies. They're a special mutated variety known as Bobbies. Why don't you try one?" Try one? Very well, the Xist mused. He fetched a miniature processor from the back seat of the jeep and fed the flower into it. A few minutes later, a fine powder came out. "If anything happens to me, kill him." He snorted the powder and waited.

He didn't have long to wait. Within seconds, he was rocked by the most sensational high he'd ever experienced. It felt like an orgasm was making its way through every nerve of his body. A minute or so later, the small amount of powder worked its way out of his system, and he came back down to earth. "Jeezus! That was indescribable! What are those 'Bobbies'?"

"I told you already. Special mutated poppies, transformed by my own secret process. And that, my friend, is why your men are going to put their guns away, and we are going to talk business. Because right now, I am the only person in existance who can make the flowers that just gave you such an OoZquirting high. You can work with me, in which case I'll set you up with a mix of pink poppies and Bobbies that will blow the shit out of your bosses' asses, or you can kill me now and take all the flowers in the field. Of course, since they don't breed true, you'll only get one batch out of it, as opposed to the countless, unending batches I could set you up with. Now, let's cut a deal."

Something about the way he talked scared and impressed the men, but it didn't take them long to realize that his words were true. Their bosses would certainly be pleased with an unending supply of such a potent mix, even if it wasn't as strong as the pure Bobbie. "Sir, what would you like, and how soon can you have it ready for us?"

The caretaker smiled, and in his deep, baritone voice replied, "I'm just a simple man, and I don't want much. Just give me a few of those jeeps, and set me up with some special accommodations for my Yetinsyny poppies--some special breeding tanks with Alien Sex Goddess brand plant food oughta keep them happy."


The man gestured to a set of plants in the house--poppies a deep, rich shade of blue, with no tinge of pinkness. "Those are my special poppies from Tibet. That is my personal garden; it's off limits, sorry." He pulled the Xist aside, "Of course, if you can offer me something really, really good, we can always talk... um, but let's not get into that now." He turned back to the others, "If you can give us, er, me, transportation and those special accommodations, I can guarantee you a batch big enough for a full Elder Cartel, that will send anyone to heaven for a weekend and a half. I can have it ready by... July 5th, 1998 sound good?"

"Hell, that's only a decade or two away! Sure, we'll go out and get your stuff, and be back by 1998." This was strange. They had never actually done business with one of these backwater caretakers, but this man seemed to have a true win-win situation for everyone. A few jeeps and some plant food, for a stash of the best stuff anyone had ever come up with? What a deal. Could he produce it? They could only hope so... and they were optimistic.

As the jeep sped off, the pipe-smoking man walked back into his hut and collected the deep blue poppies. "Ah, my treasured Yetinsyny, we may be looking at a bright, bright future after all. But I'll need your help. We have far too many pink poppies out there. With your help, we can make Bobbies, and perhaps even Yetinsyny, out of a few of them. We have the weeds of the Con to fight off, and the alien predators of the plains to deal with, but if we can do it, you'll never be subject to this world of shit again." He began planting them amongst the other flowers. "Now get out there and start converting. You have the power to do so, and you may rest assured that I'll be pulling the weeds out wherever I find them, even if you don't see me doing so. Have faith."

With the pink poppies all around us, and the clock ticking until the return of the Xists, we began diligently spreading our pollen of Slack throughout the field. But my friends, the clock is almost at the zero hour. Only three more years until X-day, and, I'm sorry to say, the fields have to be a lot bluer to pull off the kind of mix that Dobbs needs. So get out there and spread the word for the Church. Remember that every dollar in Dobbs' pockets is another dollar he can spend on weed-killer and 'frop (the powerful Yetinsyny/Bobbie fertilizer), and every pink converted, even if only a little, is one more gram to toss into the mix. With your help, we can be off this field of pink and safe and secure in our hydroponic tanks, feasting off what the Alien Sex Goddesses have to offer us. Sure, it's a bit of a dismal hope, knowing that the best life we can have is to be a treasured batch of drug-producing flowers, but if it is the best life we can have, then we'd damn well better get started working towards it, because personally, I don't want to miss out on it.

So get out there! Repent! Quit your job! Slack off! And always remember to pollinate 'em if they can't take a joke! --

Rev. Pee Kitty, of the order Malkavian-Dobbsian

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Original file name: Pee Kitty's X-Day Parable

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