Get to know my other OC’s! (always accepting)
Bubba Ray Spiner is a cactus farmer.
That is to say, he’s a farmer who’s also a cactus, not a farmer who farms cacti.
Specifically, Bubba grows marijuana. He grows copious amounts of it, and although he’s familiar with the concept of “don’t get high on your own supply” he doesn’t really agree with it. Why pass up on a good thing?
Bubba’s marijuana is the best. It’s so good, in fact, that when a couple of teens stumbled across a field full of it apparently growing wild in southwestern Arizona and then noticed a cactus wearing overalls and a trucker cap with a spliff hanging from his mouth and a shotgun tucked in the crook of his arm, yelling at them in a nigh-incomprehensible hillbilly dialect, they thought they’d just got contact-high off of it.
The local sherrif’s department thought much the same thing of the teens’ testimony about a shotgun-wielding, spliff-smoking cactus man, but the report of a field full of hemp warranted investigation. The cops followed up, and Bubba, panicking at his operation being busted open, opened fire in order to protect his property. More cops were called. Reports of the shootout and ensuing standoff began to circulate. The boys were interviewed by a local radio station, and Area 57′s SIGINT analysts began catching mentions of the so-called cactus man in Twitter mentions. Deciding it warranted further investigation, a Field Response Team was dispatched to investigate.
The team’s own negotiators did from up close what the cops had failed to do over a megaphone, deciphering what they initially took to be Bubba’s alien dialect but eventually realized was just a rapid-fire, Boomhauer-like slew of yokel interjections about constitutional rights and how he didn’t do nothin’ and the dang ol’ cops didn’t have a warrant or nothin’, trespassin’ on his dang property.
Having run out of joints and shotgun shells, Bubba reluctantly agreed to be escorted off the property when the ATF and DEA closed in; overjoyed as they were about having secured a PR victory in the form of upwards of ten million dollars worth of weed being secured and destroyed, they didn’t pay much attention to what appeared to be a SWAT team ushering their hooded prisoner into a transport van.
Initially despondent over the loss of his farm and his weed, Bubba is now quite happy at Area 57. He gets to watch NASCAR and wrasslin’ to his heart’s content, is allowed to maintain a small garden, and the facility’s guards generously turn a blind eye to his dealing to the other residents. He even some of the staff, the guards themselves included. As mentioned before, it’s good stuff, and while drug usage technically violates site regulations there’s not a lot they can do to stop him growing it.
He’s also taken to shaving down his thorns, so as not to prickle anyone who goes to shake his hand or give him a hug, and while the facility’s researchers are no closer to learning his nature or origins he was quick to be classified as low threat once the Field Response Team had convinced him to leave the shotgun behind.
