bad nones from the zones tumblrwones

m ❦ he/xe/it dni/byf (don’t worry I’m chill) my original posts tag ⊹˚˖

[queendayne]

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[quinloki]

It was a Tuesday in 1981 when the San Francisco police kicked in the door.

Inside the small apartment, they expected to find a hardened criminal. They expected a drug kingpin. They expected resistance.

Instead, they found a 57-year-old waitress in an apron.

The air in the apartment smelled sweet, thick with chocolate and something earthier. On the kitchen counter, cooling on wire racks, were 54 dozen brownies.

The police officers began bagging the evidence. They confiscated nearly 18 pounds of marijuana. They handcuffed the woman, whose name was Mary Jane Rathbun.

She didn't look scared. She didn't look guilty.

She looked at the officers, smoothed her apron, and reportedly said, "I thought you guys were coming."

She was booked into the county jail. The headlines wrote themselves. A grandmother running a pot bakery. It seemed like a joke to the legal system, a quirky local news story about an older woman behaving badly.

But Mary wasn't baking for fun. And she certainly wasn't baking for profit.

To understand why Mary risked her freedom, you have to understand the silence of the early 1980s.

San Francisco was gripping the edge of a cliff. A mysterious illness was sweeping through the city, specifically targeting young men. Later, the world would know it as AIDS. But in those early days, it was just a death sentence that no one wanted to talk about.

Families were disowning their sons. Landlords were evicting tenants. Even doctors and nurses, paralyzed by the fear of the unknown, would sometimes leave food trays outside hospital doors, afraid to breathe the same air as their patients.

Men in their twenties were wasting away in sterile rooms, dying alone.

Mary knew what it felt like to lose a child.

Years earlier, in 1974, her daughter Peggy had been killed in a car accident. Peggy was only 22. The loss had hollowed Mary out, leaving a space in her heart that nothing seemed to fill.

When the judge sentenced Mary for that first arrest, he ordered her to perform 500 hours of community service. He likely thought the manual labor would teach her a lesson.

He sent her to the Shanti Project and San Francisco General Hospital.

It was a mistake that would change American history.

Mary walked into the AIDS wards when others were walking out. She didn't wear a hazmat suit. She didn't hold her breath. She saw rows of young men who looked like ghosts—skeletal, in pain, and terrified.

She saw "her kids."

She began mopping floors and changing sheets. But soon, she noticed something the doctors were missing. The harsh medications the men were taking caused violent nausea. They couldn't eat. They were starving to death as much as they were dying of the virus.

Mary knew a secret about the brownies she had been arrested for.

She knew they settled the stomach. She knew they brought back the appetite. She knew they could help a dying man sleep for a few hours without pain.

So, she made a choice.

She went back to her kitchen. She fired up the oven. She started mixing batter, not to sell, but to save.

Every morning, Mary would bake. She lived on a fixed income, surviving on Social Security checks that barely covered her rent. Yet, she spent nearly every dime on flour, sugar, and butter.

The most expensive ingredient—the cannabis—was donated. Local growers heard what she was doing. They began dropping off pounds of product at her door, free of charge.

She packed the brownies into a basket and took the bus to the hospital.

She walked room to room. She sat by the bedsides of men who hadn't seen their own mothers in years. She held their hands. She told them jokes. And she gave them brownies.

"Here, baby," she would say. "Eat this. It'll help."

And it did.

Nurses watched in amazement as patients who hadn't eaten in days began to ask for food. The constant retching stopped. The mood on the ward shifted from despair to a quiet sort of comfort.

Mary Jane Rathbun became "Brownie Mary."

For over a decade, this was her life. She baked roughly 600 brownies a day. She went through 50 pounds of flour a week. She became the mother to a generation of lost boys.

She washed their pajamas. She attended their funerals. She held them while they took their last breaths.

She did this while the government declared a "War on Drugs."

By the early 1990s, the political climate was hostile. Politicians were competing to see who could be "tougher" on crime. Mandatory minimum sentences were locking people away for decades.

In 1992, at the age of 70, Mary was arrested again.

This time, the stakes were lethal. She was charged with felonies. The district attorney looked at her rap sheet and saw a repeat offender. He threatened to send her to prison.

One prosecutor famously whispered to a colleague that he was going to "kick this old lady's ass."

They underestimated who they were dealing with.

They thought they were prosecuting a drug dealer. In reality, they were attacking the most beloved woman in San Francisco.

When the news broke that Brownie Mary was facing prison, the city erupted.

It wasn't just the activists who were angry. It was the doctors. It was the nurses. It was the parents who had watched Mary care for their dying sons when the government did nothing.

Mary turned her trial into a pulpit.

She arrived at court not as a defendant, but as a grandmother standing her ground. The media swarmed her. Reporters asked if she was afraid of prison. They asked if she would stop baking if they let her go.

Mary looked into the cameras, her voice gravelly and firm.

"If the narcs think I'm gonna stop baking brownies for my kids with AIDS," she said, "they can go fuck themselves in Macy's window."

The quote ran in newspapers across the country.

The court didn't stand a chance.

Testimony poured in. Doctors from San Francisco General Hospital wrote letters explaining that Mary’s brownies were medically necessary. Patients testified that she was an angel of mercy.

The charges were dropped.

Mary walked out of the courthouse a free woman. But she didn't go home to rest. She realized that her personal victory wasn't enough. As long as the law was broken, her "kids" were still in danger.

She needed to change the law.

August 25 was declared "Brownie Mary Day" by the San Francisco Board of Supervisors. It was a nice gesture, but Mary wanted policy, not plaques.

She teamed up with fellow activist Dennis Peron. Together, they opened the San Francisco Cannabis Buyers Club—the first public dispensary in the United States. It was a safe haven where patients could get their medicine without fear of arrest.

But Mary wanted more. She wanted the state of California to acknowledge the truth.

She campaigned for Proposition 215. She traveled the state, despite her failing health. She spoke in her simple, direct way. She didn't talk about liberties or economics. She talked about compassion. She talked about pain.

She forced voters to look at the issue through the eyes of a grandmother.

In 1996, Proposition 215 passed. California became the first state to legalize medical marijuana.

It was a domino effect. Because one woman refused to let her "kids" suffer, the public perception of cannabis shifted. The Economist later noted that Mary was single-handedly responsible for changing the national conversation.

She never got rich.

She had always joked that if legalization ever happened, she would sell her recipe to Betty Crocker and buy a Victorian house for her patients to live in.

She never sold the recipe. She never bought the house.

Mary Jane Rathbun died in 1999, at the age of 77. She passed away in a nursing home, poor in money but rich in legacy.

Today, over 30 states have legalized medical marijuana. Millions of people use it to manage pain, seizures, and nausea.

Most of them have never heard of Mary.

They don't know that their legal prescription exists because a waitress in San Francisco decided that the law was wrong and her heart was right.

They don't know about the 600 brownies a day.

They don't know about the thousands of hospital visits.

Mary didn't set out to be a hero. She told the Chicago Tribune years before she died, "I didn't go into this thinking I would be a hero."

She was just a mother who had lost her daughter, trying to help boys who had lost their way.

She proved that authority doesn't always equal morality.

She proved that sometimes, the most patriotic thing a citizen can do is break a bad law.

Every August, a few people in San Francisco still celebrate Brownie Mary Day. But her true memorial isn't a date on a calendar.

It is found in every oncology ward where a patient finds relief. It is found in every dispensary door that opens without fear.

It is found in the simple, quiet courage of anyone who sees suffering and refuses to look away.

Mary taught us that you don't need a law degree to change the world. You don't need millions of dollars. You don't need political office.

Sometimes, all you need is a mixing bowl, an oven, and enough love to tell the world to get out of your way.

Sources: New York Times Obituary (1999), "Brownie Mary" Rathbun. San Francisco Chronicle Archives (1992, 1996). History.com, "The History of Medical Marijuana." Weird Everything, FB december 12, 2025

Edited To Add: The wiki entry should be in here vs the history.com link - so here you go.

[my-t4t-romance]

ok so tumblr has just decided to give me an error message for everything I do despite my likes and reblogs going through just fine. weird

[gerardwayjigglephysics]

shes died

[vampire-sorrows]

📹 Secretary stomping after Ray...

[milligramspoison]

i’m so ill rn

[nozaeron]

WOW

[clowns-ofthesame-circus]

Nashville Mainstage Recap!

As always if I'm missing anything let me know!

Return of MCR official streams with join my fanclub heart!

Official song was “We’ll Meet Again”, but they played “I Wanna Hold Your Hand” by the Beatles (in German) right before that

Standard fetish opera routine

Live dictator! Cam showing him fiercely entering to his throne. Mary Ann singing the anthem!!

Ray entered looking up, not confused. G entered confidently

Secondary screen is a livestream of the Dictator (shot from shoulders up, unlike his old hands only)

Woody Woodpecker tonight!

Regiment dialogue incoming

G went up to Clerk cockily (?) for the Sharpest Lives, Clerk told them to take the jacket off, G did with the help of Clerk, Clerk gave note, looked back and waited for the Director to leave, then handed G another note, sort of drug deal like. I believe G crumpled the OG note and tossed it into the audience. The second note they placed on the stage.

G added a second tally to the podium!! Then pointed to the Clerk like “I’m watching you!!” Chicken danced, ran up to the podium, gestured at it theatrically, and bowed

Some sort of funky music playing before elexecution

“Four contests have made it to the final round and the final question, Contests can you hear me. For all the prizes: Which of the following Black Parade regiments died in the great car fire of 1916? A: the 8th regiment B: the 22nd or C: the 51st?(G drumrolling?) The correct answer is all three, literally you could’ve said a b or c and you would’ve gotten it right. Yea: a trip to lake tahoe, or Nay: A trip straight to hell. Well, let’s show them what they’ve won. Roll! Ready! Aim! Fire!” Yackety Sax plays

Director voted Yea

Extended Wolves intro as G got something they needed– “Can I get some [?? oxygen?] up here?” – lots of metallic screechy noises, bells ringing, screams. Creepy noises. Then pre-recorded howls

Some twitch chat is saying the Gentleman is walking around the audience!! Searching for proof!!

g has gentleman with them for second note. Clerk seems kinda awkward. Gentleman waving. Clerk acting odd. Hands note G made gentleman twerk?? They played a little, mimicking their games from the MOAT. Director took the Gentleman, slapped Clerk, then turned around and slapped G

G didn’t slick their hair back for Mama! Which is interesting!

Hello! How are you! Youre looking better! Feeling quite well? (regular dagger song) My treasonous deeds, plan of ours needs, animal needs, my dear ann. (bonus war is the son of us all)

Clerk swaying, doing jig with little head movements. Eventually dancing with the Director. Director may be on the phone??

G doing the la la las. 

Ello! Mary Ann! How wonderful it is to have you back! (audio was too quiet to make out) Wave to the tourists! Wave to the front! Wave to the side and they people way up tall. The thing about Mary ann, when shes sing s, she can see everything, so we’re gonna count her in. (count in practice)

“Thank you, thank you Mary Ann. See ya… see ya later…” (wailing)

Secretary dragged the Clerk offstage!

Sleep reading time! Baby is back!! Putting him in his own little chair. Reading about chess. 

Tyranny tonight during Sleep!

Clerk beckoning G over. G goes wait. Explaining something with hands. Grabs jacket. Clerk takes off his jacket!! Jacket swap again!! Clerk gets his jacket put on first. Then g! Clerk does a little excited emote! Director is pissed, comes and drags him off by his ear

G doing the your turn/my turn woah ohs during Disenchanted

G hugging the Gentleman at the end of Disenchanted

Frank fucking that damn guitar! Fuckin it pretty slowly this time! Using the pick and metal thingy to fuck the guitar. Nothing too crazy, just some regular ol guitar fucking

G gave clown!clerk the second note from earlier before Blood

G points to where to stab, Stabbing them, stumbling back. Looks shocked for a second, then puts on a big smile and starts dancing and laughing. Ray isn’t limping. Secretary came out over the body during kidnapping. Clerk picked up phone and started yelling, pointing into audience. Dictator is seen on the other end of the line. From his chair. Charlie sort of kicks rocks. Nevermind ass slap. Doing his dance.  The note thrown was a washington DC postcard with “You should see the cherry blossoms” written on the back. In english. Normal dancing, no dramatic bomb reveal, just rips jacket off and places on G, gets audience louder. Kaboom!

Dictator standing ovation at the end

[infectiouspiss]

gerard asking to get stabbed and telling the clown he did good ^_^

[gerardwayspostnutclarity]

the double slap

[badymaru]

i think its funnier if they dont know about the xboyherox posts going around recently because it means they just started asking the crowd if they can vomit on command without realizing that we all have it fresh in our mind that it is specifically a sexual kink for them

[milligramspoison]

Nashville’s elexecution!

[give-them-hell]

Wake up babe, new official Rayrard photo dropped

[gerardwayspostnutclarity]

the swap

[murdermonthly]

put it right. there

[whatyouvegotunderyourskirt]

Visit Original Link

[smeagles]

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