The True Story of Patience Worth. 1,300 Adult. (standard:Satire, 1197 words)
Author: Oscar A Rat	Added: Jul 09 2020	Views/Reads: 1222/868	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
The other day I heard a knock on my door. It was a hippie I met a long time ago. Wiping tears from bloodshot eyes, he handed a cassette tape to me ... then abruptly turned and left. Curious, I played it and this is what I heard in a female voice.

Hey man, bet you can't guess who I am.  Screw it.  You'd get it wrong
anyways.  The name's Patience, not so patient at the moment, ha, ha.  
Nor worth much in this condition, man.  Oh, yeah, that's my name, 
Worth.  What's the other?  Oh, yeah, yep -- Patience.  Patience 
something or other, I think. 

Hard to talk through this damn hippie's mind, though.  He's smoking what
he calls Primo Grass, looks like weed leaves to me, though.  Last time 
I done saw the stuff was in 17th century Jamestown, or thereabouts.  It 
was, like was'sa growin' all over a place, back then.  We thought it 
was a weed is all. 

Damn, hard to talk through this character, but what else can I do?  His
mind's so far gone I can step right in, without stumblin' none. 
Somethin' I've been wanting to do for the longest time ... to tell my 
story. Your history books done gots it all screwed up. 

And George, Wheeee, George, gorge, gorgeous George, he'll miss me in a
little while, so's I gotta get it out now.  Sheee! don tell no one, but 
George is George Two-Feathers, and I'll bet you can't guess where he 
sticks 'um?  Hee-hee. 

Anyway, hope Georgie don't find me like this when he gets back, here in
Injun heaven.  He'll jump me the way I don't like bein' jumped.  Man, 
all the hemp I done seen way back then in the colonies -- and had no 
frickin' idea you could smoke it. 

Who the hell would've bothered with tobaccy back then, if'n you had this
stuff? 

Well, guess I done gotta get back'ta my story; afore Georgie misses me. 

I came over on the “Saint Bernard”, a dog of a ship, in 1622.  Heard the
money was good if you had the right stuff to sell, and I certainly did. 
 Didn't even cost me extra to haul it over, just had'a drain it over 
the poop deck occasionally. 

Took most'a my money to get over, but I did have a special deal with the
first mate.  That cut down my cost considerable -- that it did.  Found 
out the crew loved an occasional game of dice, which helped even more, 
and I even got to keep my pantaloons on. Havin' my own special dice'ies 
helped, hee-hee. 

Life was hell for a single girl, even a willing and able one. I had'a
take my turn trimming logs for at first fort, and I wasn't even an 
employee of the Virginia Company.  We all had to help. 

Mr. Josephson, my good friend and sponsor, wanted to get out and grow
his tobaccy thingies, but John Smith wouldn't let him. 

"Everyone has to help build the forts," he told Jake. "No exceptions.
Not if you want to use it for shelter later." 

"I don't need no damned shelter," Jake told S'mitty, gettin' angry. "I
gots me a deal with these natives.  I gives them some tobaccy and they 
done leaves me alone to grow it." 

But John wouldn't listen none, so's we had to work our tails off on that
damned wooden dog cage. 

"Gimme another toke, Jerry, will ya'?"  Silence and a little giggling on
the tape. "Uhhhyeeee, goot stuff, mon," and the voice continued. 

So, then we goes out in'ta the woods so's he can grow his pipe-fixin's,
see?  It takes a lot'a time and shit to get the land cleared, but the 
natives does a lot of it.  They done cleared a big patch and Jake shows 
them how to plant the tabaccy.  For some reason the seeds don't seem to 
stretch, an at's all the seeds my Jake's done got, too. 

We go to the native village to see this guy Powhatan, he's the big boss
there.  It seems the natives like tabaccy so much they can't wait for 
the seeds to grow.  One'a them's been stealing and passin' seeds to the 
others to get them high -- or so he says.  They been taking them like 
medicine -- swallerin' the things like pills. 



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