Tyrone's Story

Please allow me to introduce myself... Tyrone Herbert Cole, although I do prefer to be called Herbie. Dr. Kronic took me in at a time of need and has persuaded me to tell my story. I was found in the bottom of a bag of shake and I would like to share with you how I came to be there, and the reason for my long silence.

I was born Tyrone Herbert Cole on April 20, 1999. I was the only child of Beatrice and Thomas Cole. I was raised by very conservative parents in New York. One summer day, I watched in horror as my parents were captured and sold to a national pet store chain. I have not heard from them since.

I knew I needed to leave New York and start a new life, so I began my journey westward across the continent. Eventually, I found myself drawn to the west coast of Canada. I spent a spring planting trees in western British Columbia. It was with this group of close friends that I enjoyed my first joint. I quickly acquired the nickname “Herbie the Tokin Turtle”. While I was a hard worker, I was too slow and thus my employment was ended. I just wasn’t suited to land based work. Sadly I was forced to leave my new friends.

Being a turtle, finding work is not easy. I was met with the same rejection over and over again, “You seem highly motivated but I just don’t think we have a place for a turtle in our organization.”

After several months of frustration I received a Christmas card from an old tree-planting buddy. He had heard about my troubles finding work and put me in touch with a friend of his, Dave.

Dave ran a large hydroponic grow operation and supplied local compassion clubs with medical cannabis. It was a match made in heaven. He needed someone to work in the tanks and I needed to work in water. I enjoyed my time with Dave and during those months I felt like I was really helping people and being a useful member of society.

I would spend my days swimming the tanks ensuring the algae didn’t get a foothold. The hours spent in the nutrient rich water did wonders for my shell. Trimming and pruning was an easy task for my powerful jaws. Dave soon realized I could do the work of 2 or 3 people with scissors. Harvest was always a hectic time but very rewarding. Work days were long (12-15 hours) but always ended with a hearty dinner and a big blunt. Dave treated his people with respect and dignity. I thought life couldn’t get any better.

My life was about to change again. All the people in my circle had been very relaxed and nonjudgmental. We all shared a "live and let live" philosophy. I didn’t understand that there was a group of people that saw our activities as evil and dangerous to society. My world collapsed in when the raids came. We were all caught completely by surprise. Everything was a blur. Smoke, guns, screaming, I was terrified.

I was running (as fast as a turtle can run on concrete) for cover, under a pile of curing buds. I think it was my small size that saved me. I wasn’t noticed, but instead was kicked around the floor in the pandemonium. I must have looked like a tiny green hockey puck sliding along the floor, ricocheting off boxes and walls. I lost consciousness as I spun into the very pile of skunky buds I had been heading for.

The rest is very hazy. I woke up still buried in buds, but it was very cold and dark. We were rolling on a mountain highway, the smell of vehicles was strong, and I could hear the road noise. I can only assume that someone managed to scoop up the pile I was in and sneak away. The freezing cold temperature caused my body to undergo metabolic changes and I slipped into hibernation.

As I came out of my hibernation I was very confused. Once again luck smiled upon me. Dr. Kronic was the one to find me and nurse me back to health. Entering hibernation without the proper preparations had left me very ill. My long silence was due the length of time required to return to full health. Dr. Kronic has spent many days talking with me and convinced me to tell my story. He was confident that the visitors of Shellshock would welcome me into their hearts.

That is all I have to say for now. I think I hear a bong calling my name.

HHP (hoot hoot pass),

Tyrone Herbert Cole, or THC