Tyrone's Story

Tyrone Herbert Cole's Origin Story

Please allow me to introduce myself.  My name is Tyrone Herbert Cole, although I do prefer Herbie.  Dr. Kronic took me in at a time of need and has persuaded me to tell my story.  As you know, I was found at the bottom of a bag of shake.  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, 1995.  I was the only child of Beatrice and Thomas Cole.  I was raised by very conservative parents in Toronto.  Near the end of 1998, 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 Toronto 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 the spring of 2000 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”.  Sadly, I was forced to leave my new friends. I was a hard worker, but I was too slow and thus my employment ended.  I just wasn’t suited to land-based work.

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, Bud.

Bud ran a large hydroponic grow operation and supplied compassion clubs with cannabis.  It was a match made in heaven.  He needed someone to work in the tanks, and I needed to work in water.  I spent about 18 months with Bud, and during that time, I felt 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 were easy tasks for my powerful jaws.  Bud 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.  Bud treated his people with respect and dignity.  I thought life couldn’t get any better.

My life was to change again.  Up until this time, I had led a very sheltered life; all the people in my life had been very relaxed and non-judgmental.  We all shared a "live and let live" philosophy.  I didn’t understand that there was a group of people who saw our activities as evil and dangerous to society.  My world collapsed in November of 2002.  When the raid 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 skunk bud I had been heading for.

The rest is very hazy, and I am not 100% sure of the accuracy.  I woke up still buried in bud, but it was very cold and dark.  The smell of vehicles and a high mountain highway was strong,  and I could hear 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.  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 to the length of time required to return to full health.  Dr. Kronic has spent many days talking and toking with me and has convinced me to tell my story.  He was confident that the visitors of Shell Shock would welcome me into their hearts.

Dr. Kronic and the folks of Shell Shock have been so supportive and have given me a place to call home.  I don’t know if there is any way I can ever express what it has meant to me.  

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

HHP (Hoot, Hoot,  Pass),

THC

Tyrone Herbert Cole