Top Pot Tops…
Col. Moncrief liked to take his cannabis infused honey by the old Palmetto tree. He would spoon out a heaping dollop and hold it up to the sun as a sort of communal experience between civil war veteran and sun. He would mix it in his tea and pine for simpler times. The good colonel’s bones and gait were not what they used to be. He got around using a birchwood cane and sometimes he would just use his nephews head as a means to keep himself upright. Most of all he depended on his Honey Pot Cannabis Topical to sooth the wounds of Fort Sumter and drown out the screams in his head. It was a giant head too—held together with wild strands of greying hair and an oversized fieldhat peppered with cigar burns and a bullet hole courtesy of an Enfield musket.
It was a reminder of all the close scrapes Col. Moncrief encountered in his long if not distinguished career. The Times-Picayune called him “A roadmap of scars and battle wounds.” Such talk always made the good colonel chuckle because he knew his failing body needed coaxing these days. To that end, Honey Pot was a godsend—and somewhere between the cries of Valhalla and the blissful setting of his Charleston estate, Col. Moncrief would wonder what was so civil about war anyhow.
It would be under that favored Palmetto tree of his that the body of Col. Moncrief was found, encased in a gelatinous mold of cannabis honey. He was 100 years old, mummified, and infused for eternity.
Imaged source: Honey Pot Products
