free money! the night I dash for cash

[nitepharmer]

I'm an old crusty crackpot, you've got to be to do what I do. I'm a outdoor marijuana grower smackdab in america's heartland, the cornbelt. Let me tell you the tension just builds and builds as the plants first grow huge then start packing on bud. You indoor marijuana grow boys ain't nothin but a bunch of pussies, carressing your indoor girls like they was persian lap cats. Outdoor buds arn't just big, they are obscene, buds the size of a womens calf. Buds so big the biggest problem in the fall is branches snapping off from the weight of them. Finally the right night comes and me and my trusty sidekick,

budboy head out to do the deed. Its twenty grand or two years at the buttfuck motel tonight baby, Its high stakes and its high tension.
"We're one hundred and fifty miles from Chicago, its dark and we're wearing sunglasses" A quote from the Blues Brothers movie.
Close, close indeed, except budboy has his night vision goggles on ready to hop out and head into the corn. I'm eating Tums like candy, in a few minutes I'll drop off Budboy and wait for his call for pick up. Budboy is young and fast, if the site is staked out he'll be off like a shot into that corn and no one will catch him. The plan is for him to call me later with his GPS location and I'll come pick him up.
"I've got a folded knife in my back pocket." Budboy announces in a wobbily voice.
I know what he's thinking, he watched the TV show cops and some poor bastard running from the cops had his ass chewed up by a police dog. He's terrified of police dogs. I don't go there with the conversation.
"The coyotes will be out hooting and howling, don't let them rattle you," I tell him. If some friendly dog comes up to lick his hand the poor critter will be attacked by budboy.
"You've got plenty of garbage bags in your back pack, makle sure you double bag 'em, I don't need the whole truck stinking any more than it has to . Tie two bags together with the rope I have in there and bring 'em out two at a time."
"I know, I know, how much do you think in there?" Budboy asks.
"When I walked by it two days ago, I counted fifteen plants, and I'd guess ten ounces per plant. Thats fifteen times ten, oh somewhere around ten pounds. It usually works out to two pounds of cleaned bud per jam packed garbage bag so thats five bags. Its going to take you three trips just to haul it out. Maybe two."
We are diving down some farm roads in the dead of night, getting close to the drop off spot.
"Have you got your cell phone turned off," I ask again.
" Yeah, yeah, its off," Budboy answers. They all have GPS trackin on them now, so we turn them off and use a two way radio for essential communication.
The drop off spot is right down the road now, I see no headlights in any direction, so its a go.
"Put that pocket flashlight in your teeth if you have to, do not throw any moldy buds in with the good stuff."
"I know, I know," he answers as he adjusts the strapped on night vision goggles on his head.
"Don't let a police train run you down this time." I added, trying to lighten things up. Last year while walking down the tracks hauling as much as he could carry a train came out of no where scaring the absolute shit out of budboy. He got all scratched up talking a flying leap into some bushes down by the side of the tracks. On our drive out he kept insisting I should have warned him about trains.

nitepharmer Reviewed by nitepharmer on 02-19-2007. free money! the night I dash for cash I'm an old crusty crackpot, you've got to be to do what I do. I'm a outdoor marijuana grower smackdab in america's heartland, the cornbelt. Let me tell you the tension just builds and builds as the plants first grow huge then start packing on bud. You indoor marijuana grow boys ain't nothin but a bunch of pussies, carressing your indoor girls like they was persian lap cats. Outdoor buds arn't just big, they are obscene, buds the size of a womens calf. Buds so big the biggest problem in the fall Rating: 5

[nitepharmer]

If it sounds real it fucking is

[nikweiser]

keep typin...

[nitepharmer]

"What the fuck did you think would be on the train tracks, a fucking boat?" I remember responding. Budboy is almost as crazy as me. That fool has a quarter brother! His half brother has a half brother, his family tree is a low lying shrub.
Meanwhile back at the ranch its drop off time, I pull up to the right spot and Budboy spills out, as I pull away he is already dissapearing into the tall corn. You'd think the harvest job, the high risk job is one that make you most nervous, you'd be wrong. I've done both and let me tell you waiting hours for that pick up phone call drives you nuts. When you are out there in the moonlight frantically stuffing garbage bags with fresh sticky bud, you are doing something, you are occupied. The waiting game is a nerves killer. Jesus H Christ I want a beer, but I can't have one, not yet, not until the harvest is all safe and snug in Dan's basement. Then I'll pound three of four just to normalize.
I gotta tell you what its like out there, on the night you dash for cash. When all those organic cash machines you've been tending for six months come home. You are alive, completely and totally alive. It's not, enjoyable, don't think that for an instant, it's stress beyond stress to somewhere else, to somewhere all you smarmy suburban fucks never go in your boring know it all cubicle crouching lives. It's my crack, Ill do it till I'm busted or until my heart gives out. It's just you and the screetching noisy critters. You know you are intruding, the owls, coyotes and farm dogs tell you so. You can walk the same place in the daytime and its completely different, no sign of wildlife. But the night is not our time, we don't belong there, and the varmits tell you so in no uncertain terms. It takes some getting used to. The night vision goggles aren't as useful for harvesting as you might think. I bought some cheap ones and they are always falling out of position away from my eye. A pencil flashlight held in the teeth is what works best for the actual cut and pack work. But that night vision monoscope works great for calming the nerves. You can't see well but at least you have an idea of whats around you. The pitch dark is just too nerve wracking. You always half expect a floodlight to go on and a booming voice to announce, YOU ARE UNDER ARREST. Budboy had a train come up behind and come close to running him over, no lie. Can you imagine? There you are, trudging down the tracks , carrying all the fresh bud you can possibly carry, nerves already shot to shit, when all of a sudden the bright light and the blasing horn of a fast moving night train. On the whole drive back to Dan's house poor Budboy kept insisting I should have warned him that trains acually used those train tracks.
The hours crawl by and finally, finally budboy two ways me for pick up. sometimes it takes two three drive bys to finally get to the pick up spot with no sign of headlights either direction. First time works this time, so I pull over turning off the lights. I hop out and help him load six garbage bags into the back of my pick up truck.
"You stink," I tell him, "take off your sweatshirt and throw in the back." He kind of resists this walking towards the side door to hop in.
"Take off those stinking clothes and throw them in the back!" I yell this time. He does it as quick as possible and then we're off. You don't calm down right away, not with what you're carring in the back. It's a long drive to Dan's and the tension only fades when you get there.
Dan has a nice little house, his wife takes his teenage daughter on a weekend trip every year at this time. Can you guess why? As soon as we get ther we haul the booty up to his attic. I have a room up there sealed off with plastic and a humidifier sitting in the middle of it. Now the mood changes, now we can relax, we dump the bags out on card tables and commence to truly party as we spead the fresh bud evenly out on window screens
saved for this purpose. I can't see budboys head even though he's sitting straight across from me, the bud is piled that high. We don't have time to manicure it, theres too damn much of it, we just spread it out on screens looking for any mold so it doesn't spread. Another year successful, another year complete. It'll run out in six months, until then the living is easy.

[nikweiser]

cool story

[Plastic Jesus]

... so it this good weed?

[nitepharmer]

cindy 99 baby, lets just folfs is happy

[TheAtomicPunk]

Great story man :jointsmile:

[nitepharmer]

typed that too fast, I got interupted, it was very good but not great

[nikweiser]

you should post pics of the buds