The sunlight coming through the windowpanes of her bedroom at MedLand manor stirred Ms. MedBud from a bad dream about the town formerly known as Portland. Reality came into her consciousness a bit slowly as she took in the surreal surroundings at MedLand where she could see past the meadow to the lake where Villainous Villy (Medland's resident orca) tossed a deer he'd snatched from the edge of the shore into the air before gulping it down like a hungry patient devouring a Twinkie. The MedLand pygmy goat herd played in the meadow while Cannabis Cal wandered about with a blunt hanging off his lower lip, carrying a bucket filled with goat milk he'd collected from a few of the more patient does. MedBud stood up, pulling the 'shroom-print design moo moo she'd just made over her soft, supple, voluptuous flesh. Beagle Barney ran into the room carrying the morning paper he'd brought through the dog door after hearing MedBud stir. Mama tossed him a medicated biscuit, began brewing herself a cup of tea, then settled into a kitchen chair where she customarily read the morning news.

On page C1 of the April 14th edition of the Oregonian newpaper, Mama noted the article about research into the medical value of psychedelic mushrooms. Paul, MedBud's significant other lay sleeping on a mat in the living room where the Old Thai Woman's husband had administered raw opium to him the night before. Mama called to him, but he didn't respond and MedBud decided to let him sleep. Mama picked up the fPhone she uses to provide phone sex for lonely men, calling the facility conducting the mushroom research in Portland And it was a done deal as she rounded up Jack Loft and her driver to run the MedMobile to the Portland Psychedelic Research Center (P2RC)

Jack looked at Ms. MedBud as they drove north on I5, "Why do you want to be involved in the medical research they're doing up here? You're too important to the community to allow yourself to become a research subject."

"It's not for me Jack, or even those who might benefit from the research. I'm going because Portland's mayor is participating too. He's suffering numerous psychological afflictions related to living in, and leading Portland. The good doctors at P2RC feel that having me involved may be beneficial to Mayor Ron Adan, who is faltering both physically and mentally after an extended fast. Portland has no compass to guide it through the turmoil it finds itself in after the sacrilegious acts that fell the MedTree of Life left the city somewhat ungovernable, despite Adan's best efforts. It's a sad situation, but all of us Oregonians are in it together and I feel obligated to help Portland find her way out of the hell she has created for herself. After all, Portland is a place overflowing with diversity, along with a rich human history that predates the pioneers we think of by many millennia."

Drivers behind the MedMobile smiled at the sight of a piece of art that both Dale Chihuly and Tommy Chong might be proud of. The recycled glass formed over the hybrid electromechanical aspects of the vehicle create a rather surreal illusion Salvador Dali smiles on. A couple of times the Oregon State Police have stopped the vehicle as it transports prominent members of the MedLand community to various locations throughout Oregon. The police tend to give new immigrants into the area quite a bit of leeway, but Mothers Against Drunk Drivers rightfully howled about the big blue chauffeur tossing Sang Som bottles along the road. Ms. MedBud tried to stop the Blue One, but they're not the brightest of sorts and tend to learn slowly - kind of like most people. While the Blue Ones seemed to ignore warnings from the police, a visit from the founder of "Dogs Against Docking," Bo Obama, was able to convince them to modify their antisocial behaviors by showing them graphic images of the docking procedure while the MedLand Monkeys used machetes to harvest a crop outside the classroom window. Bo laughingly said, "You thought those blue folk had big eyes before, but you should have seen them looking back and forth between the film, the harvest, and their tails ."

As the MedMobile pulled into the parking area below the aerial tram, Loft and Mama climbed the ladder in the upright glass tube that provides access to the vehicle. Emerging into the overcast haze of a typical day, the couple became alarmed after hearing terrified people screaming. Climbing off her transport, Medbud stopped a well-dressed young guy carrying a briefcase and some textbooks. Queried about the commotion he pointed to the tram that harnessed people swung from, saying, "That's' our acrophobia study. The subjects have been given doses of psilocybin, then suspended below the tram to see if it helps them overcome their irrational fears." As the man spoke one of the harnesses broke, allowing a fatal tumble. The man went on: "yeah, we told the administration not to buy those Chinese harnesses from the Dollar Store, but the research show must go on." Loft, Mama and the Blue One all looked at each other, almost simultaneously lighting doses of medication. The Blue One passed her Sang Som to the young guy, who gratefully took a pull.

Loft was a little concerned about the tram ride before the Magnificent One let him snuggle in close and hold a Meddy bear she brought for such occasions. Arriving at P2RC they entered the lobby, sitting a while before a guy in a lab coat escorted them to the area of the facility toward where the study would be conducted. Walking through a court-like area the visitors, again, became alarmed after hearing a gunshot that echoed through the hall. The tall, thin, lanky guy with the inverted bowl haircut said, "Hey, c'mon over and check this out."

Approaching a one-way window, like you see on cop shows, the visitors looked into another large, unfurnished area where a man dressed in western garb sat on the only piece of furniture there, It was just a simple chair he leaned precariously back in while playing with an old Colt revolver in one hand, sliding his other inside his jeans past his oversized belt buckle bearing the image of an armadillo. He wore a fine pair of cowboy boots and a hat that seems the size of Texas. The man glanced over his shoulder toward the window as Loft gasped, "Is that Dick Cheney?"

The lab guy responded, "I don't know; we get all kinds of weird folk who come through here."

Loft went on, "What the hell is he doing in there?"

The lab guy played with his name tag that listed him as doctor so and so with half the alphabet following his name. Satisfied that everyone had seen it, he responded to Jack, "Well, you have the MedLand Monkeys who work down in MedLand, so it doesn't seem as strange to see monkeys as it is to see full dress cowboys. Those primates in front of him are research subjects. We're doing a study of the therapeutic benefits of dance funded by the lobbying arm of the Society of American Dance Instructors (SADI) Try as we might, we couldn't get the lemurs to dance, so Cowboy Cal in there pops off a few 45 rounds at the floor around the critters. No one gets hurt, but they sure do a lot of dancing' now - especially after Bo Obama showed them that film Dogs Against Docking made. You'll note the lemurs have prehensile tails they want to hang onto."

MedBud looked at Loft for a moment as he hugged his Meddy bear closer, then turned toward the lab guy, "I think the therapeutic advantages of dancing are evident. Why do we need this study.?

The lab guy adjusted his glassed, then began thumbing his nametag again, "Well, the SADI folk would like to receive government funding to pay for dance class, therapies, and everything else associated with the art. This is a two part study - this being the first part. If we don't tell SADI what they want to hear, the second part is cancelled. It's like everything else in most societies - but especially American - meaning it's about money."

"We have a different way of doing things down at the MedLand Dance Hall. All of us get together, including the Medland Monkeys, the Big Blue Ones (who currently have their tails), and all of the residents there. We just crank up the music and get down, throwing a few high quality strains of medicine into the IMF (Indigent Medication Fund) barrel if we've got it. By the way, what do all those letters after your name mean."

"They don't mean anything. I'm a research subject too; participating in the self esteem study where we pretend to be whatever we want. The only thing that's kind of fucked up is that some folk dropped out of the study to start their own practices as lawyers, doctors, veterinarians, aviation mechanics, air traffic controllers, police folk; you name it."

Loft looked up at the Lab Guy, holding his Meddy bear tighter while asking in a fearful voice, "You're not kidding, are you?"

MedBud pulled Jack's head in close to her navel as the Blue One passed him the distilled medication from Thailand. Ms. Medbud's sizable surgically enhanced bosom began to swell with the righteous indignation so many fear. Then the Tide of Eternity washed over her neurons and her maternal instincts relaxed. She just looked at the Lab Guy and said, "Let's go check out this psychedelic study. And while we're at it you can quit humming "Rocket Man."

The Lab Guy looked a little hurt, but apologized saying, "it's just my job five days a week."

Walking down a long corridor through the eighty-six story research facility atop the mountain, the visitors noted a small room where men sat watching pornographic films of a homosexual nature. All of them appeared naked except for a lap blaket. All of the visitors looked confused as the Lab Guy began to explain.

"This study will confirm, or disprove, the urban legend that says smoking marijuana triggers a gene carried by most men, causing them to become gay. Beneath the lap blankets you will find old style rolls of stamps - you know, the paper rolls with the perforations. The research subjects wear mittens that can't be removed and will give them a jolt if they try to tamper with the rolls of stamps, or masturbate. They are then given moderate doses of a medicinal strain known as "Purple Pervert." The research assistants wrap the rolls of stamps around flaccid penises, show the film, then check to see if any of the perforations are broken. Some research assistants refused to participate, but they were replaced from a long list of volunteers who became subjects of another study. So far, the research is showing a clear correlation between marijuana use and gaiety."

MedBud Mama brushed her long, beautiful flowing tresses off her sensual shoulders, shaking her head and kind of chuckling. But she didn't say anything because it's hard for a Dutch transsexual medical marijuana advocate to put their two cents in on such a subject.

As the group approached an area at the end of the hall they could hear alternate screaming and moaning interrupted by garbled speech. Walking into the room MedBud saw Portland Mayor Ron Adan sprawled on a large papasan chair. Aging men and women in Nehru jackets stood by - some behind one-way glass windows - monitoring the research. Mayor Adan looked fried. His stern, Robert Mitchum-like facial features bore a thick, furry shadow and everyting about him seemed disheveled. His eyes were a tired red hue that seemed baffled. His clothing was ruffled and torn, dirty and rather odiferous - although in a musty, kind of pleasant, way. As MedBud approached, Adan's eyes focused on her lovliness and the hint of a smile framed on his lips. The Lab Guy jumped right in amongst the real researchers and their assistants, asking, "Can I have an assistant to supervise today?"

The lead researcher kind of sighed, then said, "OK Lab Guy, but just one. Two of the assistants you supervised last week quit and the other is the guy who cut his harness during the acrophobia study. We'll give you Krimoloft. He never knows what the fuck is going on anyway."

The Lab Guy Smiled happily, and authoritatively, then began giving Krimoloft orders, "OK shitbag, increase the subject's psilocybin drip to 50 cc's, undiluted, per hour. Then give him a couple of 'shroom suppositories via the Enematron."

Mayor Adan's tired eyes grew wide as he heard the Lab Guy's orders. He started screaming as hallucinations and delusional reality set in. The overcast day outside became much darker and the room became silent while the interior lighting flickered on the scene. The researchers, both real and pseudo, lined up, clasped their hands in from of themselves and bowed their head before the eye of the storm hit.

The quiet, calm humble, benevolent woman all know as MedBud Mama looked around the room showing visible signs of outrage. Her height seemed to increase to almost that of the Blue One and she began puffing up like a scene from "The Incredible Hulk." Then she spoke, "Do any of you believe that psilocybin has any potential to help Mayor Adan with his PTSD? We're dealing with a man who hitchhikes by funeral processions and climbs into coffins hoping to be buried alive."

The Lab guy started to speak before MedBud's booming voice began to roar, "Shut the fuck up Lab Guy! What this man needs is the people of Portland to get off his back long enough to do the job they elected him to do. Not everyone is going to be happy, but who's kissing, or sleeping with who, is not relevant. If, perhaps, he had been harming a significant other with his actions, things might be different..."

Suddenly a parade of plastinates marched through the facility, followed - oddly enough - by the Collins Beach Clowns who were followed by the Big Blue Ones who were followed by the Old Thai Woman who pushed a cart of Sang Som while smoking a blunt of Purple Patron. Loft smiled in recognition, hugging his Meddy bear tightly. MedBud visibly relaxed after having made her point. She took a call from Father Maier, then put an arm around the Mayor, who was obviously relieved to escape the mad scientists. The Mad Lab Guy had changed suits to become a federal marshal providing security at the party and looked happy again.

Jiminy Jones sat in his office at MedLand Law, chewing on a medicated toothpick while wondering what Themis might be up to.