The mississippi Sativa Cooperative

What...
...if 4 people took cannabis growing to the next level.
...if it is more science than anything else?
...makes them successful?
...makes them dangerous?

Mike, Charlie, Allen and Danny are the mississippi Sativa Cooperative -- two botanists, an engineer, and a security specialist. They are not the first members of the cooperative and they hope to hell they are not the last.

They operate the largest cannabis grow operation in the southern united states. This is their story.

Yeah I wrote this shit. Blame no one else.

The mississippi Sativa Cooperative - Part 1

The mississippi Sativa Cooperative - Part 1

This meeting was not normal. But as the name implies the Mississippi Sativa Co-operative was not a normal business. It has a flat organization chart. Most of our meetings were at each other's homes with our spouses. We make a lot of mistakes and try to learn from them.

One learning is that the safest organization is the closest one; one very close to a family unit but without all of the history and scars and rivalries. That one seems as reliable as gravity. Security meetings were always just the four primary team members. This was one of those.

The Mississippi Sativa Co-op was started in 1994 by four men from a local university. They all possessed a similar interest but with different skills and educations. They are what everyone calls highly functional stoners. Top of their class with red eyes. What caused the organization to form and them to come together happened the year before.

In ‘93 conditions became severe for the cannabis consumer in Mississippi; perpetual drought was the new normal. No weed anywhere, for anyone. Zilch, nothing, NADA! People were driving to Memphis, New Orleans, Mobile just to buy an ounce of unnamed smoke of shitty quality. And once the dealers in these border towns knew what was happening they jacked up the price. Got money? So What! Ain’t nothing to be had in the great state of. Anybody who could grow wasn’t sharing. It hadn’t ever been like this and now it didn’t look like it would ever end.

There were golden days in the 1970s when boats with large Colombian, Jamaican or Panamanian loads would hit the docks and boat ramps near Gulfport and Pascagoula and that no man’s area between Bay St. Louis and The Louisiana border. The Mississippi Gulf Coast is full of many hard to find places known only to the locals. In the 70’s, Mississippi was making a few backwater millionaires, fishing camps with the lights on at 3AM and no ruckus.

Then it all came crashing down. The boats with their beautiful cargo moved on to safer ports in the Florida panhandle, where local cops were either dumb or came with a visible price tag.

More than anything else, it was ended by the murder of two men (James Brinley and Aaron Carter) and a missing truck full of cannabis, worth several million dollars, headed north from Gulfport in the early morning hours of another hot October day, 1975. After that, everyone was just too damned scared to bring loads into Mississippi.

Carter was black. Brinley was white. Police believed that it was a racial killing and investigated it as such due to a racial slur written on Brinley’s chest and forehead. Yep, you guessed…that’s the word, appended with ‘Lover’. The cops were unaware of the missing cannabis. Local klan members were questioned politely and discretely. Nothing. The FBI investigated it but stopped caring after a couple of months. Again, nothing. Murder is not much different here than it is anywhere else. Just that here people expected it a little more and are not often disappointed.

Narcotics detective Bobby Earl Patterson quietly took early retirement the next year and moved down to Cozumel Mexico. He lived very comfortably (like a king) for several years from the proceeds of his crime. But eventually his karma caught up with him.

He disappeared. Back door open, car keys on the counter, used Mercedes convertible parked outside, Chicken and pasta dinner on the table uneaten. Wine still in the glass. And then, nothing further. Signal lost. The local Mexican police chief did not seriously investigate his disappearance; he didn’t like the arrogant gringo since the first time they met. ‘What you people need’… won’t make you a lot of friends.

The end of the glory days in the 70s coincided with the awakening of the white political establishment of the state to the inevitable effects of integration and voting rights. Can’t stop them blacks from registering to vote, feds will make sure of that. Well, unless them boys are in prison … wonder what we can do to help make that happen?

The result was an police rampage against the black community ever since. Even today it continues relentlessly. Down to the lowest levels of the supply chain and consumer level, cops were sending young black men to prison for having any amount of cannabis. But singling out one group wasn’t long term sustainable.

After a few years and in the spirit of the New South the cops had to change. So they cracked down hard on thousands of white boys out smoking a joint with their friends too. At least the black ministers quit complaining and that’s all they wanted -- to shut up the preachers. In the end the difference between white and black stoners in Mississippi is simple: blacks are always charged with multiple felonies while whites only with one lonely misdemeanor. Cops only need one felony to stick … and in Mississippi that ain’t hard to do with mostly white prosecutors and judges. A convicted felon can’t vote in Mississippi. To the observer sometimes it looks like living black in Mississippi is like playing poker with all of your cards showing.

Things were so desperate in 1993 that shipments from out of state stopped entirely for most of the year. On the first day of February they busted 500 pounds in Senatobia out on Interstate 55. A couple of days later they stopped a furniture truck carrying 1,000 pounds near Meridian on interstate 20. State Troopers set up roadblocks on interstate highways, up and down the state. By the end of February they had nearly 3,000 pounds under lock and key. They usually made up some other official excuse for the road blocks. If you think of a satellite image of the united states at night, Mississippi for cannabis went dark the way north korea does for electricity.

The cops weren’t able to prove it but they were a success. Interstates had become no man’s land like some sort of post apocalypse adventure where there are high performance cars and the rest are sheep. Shipments went around regardless of the mileage. Every couple of months there would be the news report of those who never got the memo. High speed pursuits out on the major arteries, watching from the window as the pine trees run past at 115 miles per hour. The blue red colors from the police cruisers at night, inches from the back bumper, engines howling their prayers. In early June a BMW made a departure from this dimension at 127 miles per hour. It took almost a week to identify the driver. And that led nowhere. The math teacher should have been sitting back in Montana grading papers instead of out running.

The state of Mississippi was closed for business. There were only two exceptions. This is the story of one of them. An exception to the rule is always the one asking to be fucked with. In this case a college student made the monthly white-knuckled and sweaty trip down to Florida to bring back 10 kilos. He drove the back road two lane blacktop and dirt roads the entire journey. Popping up in Alabama and getting onto Highway 98 for 1 mile to cross the border into Mississippi, then immediately back off onto the less travelled roads.

The scenic route on two lanes, often without the painted center line. Mail boxes out at the road bring the most substantial link to outside. Mississippi is full of back road churches too. The bright white wooden structures sit like a portal to the past. The marquee with the message standing as loud and with a manufactured urgency like the bright lights of Hollywood, illumination in this dimly lit place. The invitation to submission powered by electricity 24 X 7 because the message is just so damned important. The supply chain for idiocy and intolerance is complete. It extends to the intersection where paved roads meet the impoverished line of dirt roads.

Avoid Lucedale at all costs. Them people are a special crazy there. Even truckers avoid it and they are largely a closely related species. He heard about Lucedale from a couple of truckers late one night near Wiggins. He sat at the next booth, his back to them, his coffee long cold, his eggs too as he listened to their exchange of information and bullshit exaggerations. It was like a late night horror story told to kids to make sure they cry all night. Lucedale cops have a penchant for murder. They do it every chance they get. In the area of human achievement they have smashed all records for small town cops saying ‘I thought he had a gun’.

They sit out in their cars in the middle of the night out on Highway 98. Parked with the lights off on the end of a row of cars at the Lucedale Used Car lot they wait for their prey like a spider. Another patrol car sits on the east side of the bridge over the Pascagoula River on Highway 26. Salem Road is the only nearby alternative for crossing. He knew the crossing well. It is long way around and meanders way out in the middle of nowhere. But in the end it delivers the traveler past the scene of their demise safely. He hated the drive. He really hated the fucking drive.

He had financed his education by selling weed and was nearing completion of his Master’s degree. His family was poor, he was smart. Education was the only way for him to break out of the cycle of poverty and ignorance that stretched far back in his family, as far as there was history.

Stories from his family always included tales of idiot cousins incapable of living a normal life for clinical reasons and sent away to Whitfield. There were also scoundrels in his family tree, probably more than most. They came in two types depending on which side of the bedroom door their scandals lay. His great uncle Peter was a cross over scoundrel. He swindled the family out of a large amount of money and ran off with his first cousin, Becky. He reset the family back into poverty at a level from which they still hadn’t recovered.

After several months of selling ounces he realized that there was less risk and better money at the wholesale level. The switch was easy for him. Honesty is a winning trait in the business. It seems counterintuitive for a criminal enterprise but it was his firm conclusion.

The 1993 supply problem seemed solvable to his industrious young mind. It just had to be. The monthly trips were affecting his mental stability. He dreaded the hours of driving paranoia. He became depressed the week before his trips. He founded the cooperative, as member 1. His Eureka Moment occurred in November 1993 on his last drive back from Florida. He had a vision of subterranean production facilities, high tech growing with a functioning laboratory at its backbone. When the idea flashed into his head he jerked the steering wheel of his car and almost ran off the road. The image was so clear and complete that he could almost touch it through the night on the lonely road illuminated by stars.

1 changed his major to Botany the next semester. He had successfully grown cannabis for two seasons in an outdoor wooded environment, using seeds taken from the best smoke available. He had harvested a few pounds but quickly learned that a great grow followed by a crappy cure is just a crappy grow. Hauling fertilizers deep into the woods, developing an irrigation system, it all was a lot of work for a single person. And while he understood the plant and could optimize its growth, he cursed every time he found another clogged irrigation tube and near dead plants desperate for water. On his first day long trip out to the patch he forgot to bring toilet paper. He never spent money on silk boxers ever again.

He needed help. And he needed skills beyond his field in order for the enterprise to succeed on a larger scale. And he needed muscle, folks who could get dirty doing a job because it needs doing. He recruited from his school. Seemed logical. He drafted a long list of points to use for evaluation of prospective partners. He would carefully interview them. Meet for a beer. Meet for dinner. Meet to burn a doob. Meet for this and that. Deep long philosophical discussions, the kind people have at university in the sunset hour when the light seems urgent. They never knew they were being interviewed; only that he was friendly, passionate about botany and was the most honest person they had ever met. He never lied. He was never late. ‘Ish’ was not part of his vocabulary.

It took him about three months to get the list finalized and then make with the invitations. He had finalized the team skills. 2 was an accountant and handled all financial matters. 3 was a design engineer and the only one not a native son of Mississippi. It seemed important that at least one of the group be from somewhere else. It might just be enough to stop a case of stupid. 4 was the bad boy of the group, chosen for his ability to hurt people. Large, but very, very smart … Mensa level smart.

3 was responsible for the workings principles of the cooperative and all of the facility design and construction. He introduced fair share ideas and a work ethic – where the first question must always be, ‘How can I help?’ That question had become a greeting within the team. It cut to the important immediately. Major items were subject to a vote within the team. Anyone could request a vote.

The skill sets for recruitment remained the same until 2000 when all financial matters were transferred out of team member hands during the revolution; the Revolt of the Wives as it was cynically recorded at the time. Even though one of the strikers was male. The strike lasted less than a month. The team couldn’t hold out even one month without sex before unanimously voting to transfer all financial responsibilities to the spouses. The team would stick to running the operation. The other half now had more skin in the game.

Outdoor plots (‘Deloreans’ in our gallows humor) are grown to give law enforcement statistics to report up to the state and federal level. Meanwhile the main operations continued to produce unimpeded. Cops just never figured out why the plots they raid are full of such poorly kept cannabis plants. One look at the widespread use of cheap slow release granular fertilizers and the lack of weeding would have been sufficient clues for an intelligent cop, but there aren’t any. These days they blame them on Mexican drug gangs pushing further inland, especially since Mike started leaving sleeping bags, some empty cans of Mexican fruit drinks, a few Spanish language porn magazines. Disculpas a mis hermanos.

Each plot only receives two visits, once to transplant the four inch plants and another three weeks later to check on progress and apply the nutrients; then nothing. 100 plants seized in a wooded area in the north east of the state. There were three to four Deloreans every year in the north of the state while the real production is in the south central, on four dairy farms around Wiggins.

The sites are chosen over a weekend of camping. Not too easy to find, but not difficult either. Most years we have to call in tips on them near harvest time because local Law Enforcement Officers (LEO) never found them. And they are even planted in rows to make it easier to spot. Oh look, a wooded area with the usual entropy of the universe arrangement. But wait. Over there. Those plants over there in the clearing are all lined up in neat little rows … c’mon LEO how hard is this?

Despite the good security arrangements, there have been occasional problems. There have been several close calls with police. In one instance there was armed confrontation (1999). So far, no member of the cooperative has ever been to prison or been arrested. Several members of LEO have gone to prison for corruption and bribery after close encounters with the cooperative.

Proving a cop guilty of corruption requires only two elements: unexplained cash and cannabis ... our specialty. Pignation will manufacture a story to fit the circumstances…as they add their own children to the slaughter. These days it is all much more technical; numbers on a laptop. During the 1999 incident, well before my time, LEOs were not afforded a prison meal plan.

Since 2000, it has been an agreed policy (and trust me, we hate fucking policies..we vote almost 80% of them down) where the fuck was I, oh yeah, it has been a policy that a Co-op member and his wife must both have a university degree. Actually that is not quite accurate, as two members of the grow team of four have been women so far. And I know there is about to be a third woman in December, as I am only considering women as my replacement. Choose well, I’ll never know how it turned out.

My wife and another have arts degrees. They are responsible for running an adult education and entertainment program for the families. Jackson Pollock weekends are great messy fun. Sometimes the paintings look really cool too.

Official apology: Since inception, The Mississippi Sativa Cooperative has supported gay marriage as we feel it is fair for a gay couple to be given a seat at our table. But until they are treated equal to the rest of us, legal testimony laws prevents this. Please forgive us brothers and sisters.

Candidates are evaluated on fifty criteria, scored on scoring spreadsheets; the scores pass around anonymously and then scored again by everyone. It was an adaptation on the Delphi group technique for consensus decision making and introduced by 8. Egghead behavioral psychology shit. But it works really well. Skills are important for each member, but teachable. Maturity never has been teachable. Danny was our current reminder. But the little bastard can grow!

Consumer level micro filming devices are the shit, seriously. The team could review every interaction between the sponsor and the candidate. There are many hours of MPEGS of each candidate in ordinary social interactions with the sponsor. They don’t know about what is really going on. The pen in the pocket seems harmless, the ugly sunglasses just a fashion faux pas. We even know whether they have good table manners. We always get the spouse to attend too. Their selection is in some aspects more important, since they will have the least routine to their lives.

The ladies love watching another woman for some reason. Not me, feel like I am eavesdropping. I am just looking to eliminate those with obvious flaws. Too arrogant? Then fuck off. Too egotistical and his cousin too insecure? Definitely fuck, fuck, fuck right off…you are dangerous. Passive aggressives, the tortured souls of the universe? Please get out of line as you can fuck off too, we can’t handle 4 years of exposure to your neurosis. Too greedy, too bitchy, too fucking you name it? F-F-Fuck off. Only happens once a year thankfully. I find it painful to judge others. And I know that I will be sick of their personal quirks after a few weeks anyway. But it is important to keep out the shit storm people, so I am diligent.

Due to term limits, starting with 5, all past members have long since gone to warmer climes and drinks with little umbrellas in them. Like Palestinians, we don't have the right of return. We are required to fuck off somewhere else on the planet, outside of the USA and spend the rest of our lives watching sunsets on a beach or whatever. Any return will result in an untimely death … so departing members are encouraged to bring their parents with them. Or anyone else whom they may remotely give a fuck about. A $1 million price is on the head of anyone stupid enough to ever violate the terms of the cooperative’s operating agreement. Seems fair enough to me. No one has ever breached the terms. Term limits are 4 years, plus an additional month of transition … not a day longer. Every year one member enters and one exits. Yaron keeps the list of names in his safe in Jackson.

In our final year, the member is responsible for finding a replacement candidate in their respective skill area, submitting them to a thorough background check before an offer is extended. Credit scores to criminal records. Many are examined, one chosen … hot shots need not apply, although our record at keeping them out has been bad.

The leaving member acts as a sponsor and a guide for the assimilation of the inductee and spouse into the co-op. Joining requires unanimous consent. The new family starts December 1st and officially takes the role January 1st. The graduating member leaves January 31st.

By security custom, all offers are extended while on an early November hunting trip. 4 in his wisdom, foresaw the potential for a last minute cluster fuck and wanted to provide the opportunity for last minute solutions involving shovels and lime and things never spoken of again. No one has ever turned down the invitation (to the best knowledge of three of the four members of the current team). I am in my final year. That means I am the historian now and know differently.

THe mississippi Sativa Cooperative - Part 2

THe mississippi Sativa Cooperative - Part 2

The history of Co-op was originally written in big leather covered journals. It was a joke. They looked like something out of a fantasy movie, the extra thick covers and the yellow paper on the inside. They were kept inside of an extremely dangerous container. I am glad that I never had to deal with it as I would have no doubt blown myself up one late, stoned night.


Starting in 2000 they have been kept on computer and all past records keyed in. Now they are stored in a file buried far away in a corner of the dark net at a site no one can ever find due to encryption of address. If you don't know about Tor, well you don't know ... yet. Go find out tonight … Google It! It is in your best interest, trust an historian.


The journals record all of the meetings, the action points, the decisions made, the votes, the reasoning, and any other narrative which the historian feels will be helpful. Grow journals and experiments are still shared among the team members, but all other details are not.


So the painstakingly precise designs of underground grow facilities constructed in the late 90’s are not shared; the details of purchasing of the other farms is not shared; the minutes of meetings, the decisions taken, and the history of the incident in 99, the location of 3, none of this is shared. They will learn it when it is their turn to be the historian. And then they can fill out the damned daily logs too.


But the experiments with nutrient regimes over months on a single strain, on a single pheno are shared. The lighting experiments are shared. Sometimes the level of documentation is just remarkable and overwhelming. Each member brings a unique perspective to the venture. 5 was either a genius or lunatic or perhaps both. She was certainly obsessive compulsive. Never seen such perfect Lab notes, ever. Crazy or not, we still use her nutrient formula for high end sativas with significant haze genetics and get about 20% more yield. Thanks whoever you were. It makes long flowering Haze strains commercially viable for us if we squint when we look at the numbers and don’t talk to long about the alternatives. And our customers love it. Danny wants to erect a statue in her honor.
At the end of the year I need only give the password and the navigation to Mike. The journal represents the collective stories of all those lives working towards the same goals, perfection in growing cannabis and living together, peacefully, closely and in harmony with other families for four years. The idea is that with each year the new historian will use the knowledge not to command the group but as a guide to success.


All actions, excepting nomination to the team, required a majority of three votes from the team of four. Since 2000, it has evolved from a structure where the decision making power rested with the team members into one where both husband and wife discuss items and bring items before the group. Each family has one vote. If the team member and spouse don’t agree, they can’t vote until they do. It is not about winning the argument, it about the winning idea, finding it and executing it. The only area where team members have sole discretion is security. Those meetings occur within just the team and are never discussed outside of the team.
The first two weeks in January, the longest serving member of the cooperative is relieved of all duties in order to read the entire history. The material is thousands of pages and represents 12 hours per day of work for two solid weeks. One of the interesting aspects of the history and what keeps a new historian reading is to look sometimes deeply inside of the personal lives of the past families in the co-op.


Some historians have been less willing to put in personal information … some seem to be salacious gossips; it’s like reading a tabloid magazine. One or two also used it as a dear diary. I don’t write too much personal stuff, but this meeting will be documented in detail. The daily log can either be fascinating reading or boring and hopefully a short entry. I will state for the record now that 9 was a self-centered narcissistic bastard, a total prick and I don’t know how he ever got through fucking screening. I am very glad I never had to know him. After a couple of weeks I would have hurt him or buried him. In his defense, he had the yield title three years in row … but still … c’mon. I just hated reading his near 2,500 page over-dramatized opus of insecurities and megalomania. Sometimes he wrote pornography for page after page for no reason except to amuse himself knowing he was going to be forcing future readers to endure it. I don’t really care if he sodomized his willing wife every Sunday afternoon, not unless he recorded fucking videos! Never mind, Mike would just confiscate them. Today’s meeting would definitely make it into history. Sorry Danny.


Almost forgot … funny too. We leave behind $1 million of the payout as a bond, returned upon the successful retirement of their successor, or given back to the sponsor’s family upon a sponsor’s death. So the final paycheck is short. Each family is required to live within the economic means of the dairy farm they operate. The payoff is completely at the end of the term. This is to prevent bling blindness.


You may think you know someone well or even yourself, but you don’t. I’m solid, I am beyond temptation … I am wiser than King Solomon…bullshit! You don’t know yourself until you have money at your disposal. Then you will be amazed at the level of idiocy of which even the sanest person is capable. This is how Porsche exists. Tifanny depends on this.


Fucking 9 actually calculated his payout in basic units, the blowjob, each worth 100 dollars. He cashed out with 140,000 of them. I honestly believe that this one factor (payment at the end) has been the most important contributor to the long-term survival of the co-op. 3 knew human nature well, very well … better than me. But then I am a 3 descendant myself which means I come from roughly the same skills area and with a higher level of appreciation. But I don’t want to sound biased. I am the systems and process design guy.


1 had the good big ideas, big and wide and important. But 3 was the operational fucking badboy. 1 would tell him the vision and 3 would make it work. Subterranean growing is not for the faint of heart. It was a manufacturing plant. Many of the tool and techniques from industry would apply.


3 was a Jew from up north who came with historical knowledge. He wrote about Trotsky ruthlessly building the red army and related it to ruthlessly selecting mother plants for the next hundred clones. (‘Save the sentiment for your real mom’ was the amusingly named instruction manual on the process of taking and rooting cuttings from mother plants with near 100% success. They were approaching 1 in 500 for clone losses).


But he wrote about the humane fairness of Emma Goldman too (equal chores, equal pay). He wrote about each in great detail. And he always wrote as if he was thinking of who would read it in the future. Not like 9 at all. He wrote it like a conversation. Kind like we are having now. Just me and you. That he was Jewish? That was easy, ‘Happy Hannukah motherfuckers’ was his starting journal entry for 8 days. ‘Merry Stolen Rabbi Day’ is the starting journal entry on Christmas day.


His approach was simple, add structure and process to the enterprise but make as few rules and permanent decisions as possible, except about security. If it was sound it would survive, if not, then it deserved to be replaced or amended. I always wonder if other historians are as affected by his work as I have been. But let’s get back to our present problem. Too much digression is the curse of all historians for it is a story which only one person knows.


Danny was in his second year and this was the first time we had to deal with his dumbfuckery. He was the best grower of the group, as most often the botanists and horticulturalists are. His first year he was running Jack Herer, Cheese, Kali Mist, and Hashplant.


Strains are chosen from a hat once a year on Halloween night and each member runs with their strains for an entire year. Newcomers inherit their list the first year. The list is provided by the graduating member under the logic that since it was their last year, the cooperative should grow whatever in the fuck they want, in honor of. If it is high end sativas then that is what is grown. Some graduating members want to run up the value as much as possible for their descendants. Strains like Chronic, Critical Mass will be on their list with a few other obvious names. White Russian is not my favourite strain, not enough subtlety to the powerful high, but we have produced a lot of it over the years and it has made the co-op a small fortune.


Danny grew the best cheese ever. He had popped hundreds of seeds to find his mother and he found much more. He found a zero. A zero is the plant which is better than the best 1 ever…totally meaning no disrespect whatsoever to the best 1 ever for it is truly a great and wonderful plant. It’s just that a zero represents the genetic freak that comes about every several hundred thousand, million or trillion plants but is hardly ever captured and worked, outside of very, very serious breeding programs and even most of them miss. A zero requires as much luck as skill to find and is one of the rarest things ever. It is that seam in the data no one saw. It came from the empty part of the graph. It was magic in plant form.


Danny was the king of cull. Put a lab coat on him and he transformed into the mad scientist immediately…operating on a wave length unknown to others. Fucker had a gift for examining seedlings and finding good and bad things earlier than the rest of us. His plants in the vegetative state were already well along the path to becoming monsters. He would dart around with his pocket microscope and his large Sherlock Holmes magnifying glass like he was a neurotic at the Mississippi State Hospital in Whitfield. Talking to himself, rapid-fire speech, barely audible. Snippets of conversation bubbling up to the surface…never enough for response. Danny always named his mother plants. I bought him the ear-flapped hat to complete the Sherlock look. He wore it every day during winter.


He had good results with a Big Buddha cheese pheno, nice tasting but a bit too indica for me. He popped every kind of cheese available from every seed house, from Alphakronic to Greenhouse to Homegrown Fantasy. When I asked his how many seeds he had germinated, he wasn’t sure of the exact number at that moment but was certain it was closer to one thousand than zero (later confirmed at 610). We usually don’t go over 100 seeds. It was when he hit the packs from Kaliman that he found his zero, a more sativa leaning plant that produced a strong stone to the body alongside a devastating clear, long-lasting and very trippy cerebral high. And it yielded like a monster.


I helped Danny set up a LED side lighting system for the lower bud sites on his first run. The co-op consensus was 'Wow! WTF have you done?' It was so damned good; it was all I smoked for at least three months after work. The taste? Heaven. Nicest tasting weed I have ever had. I have never been a taste connoisseur. I don’t hold my pinkie up while I smoke a joint. Just not my thing. Always been the quality of high judge in the team. This one of the most devastating strains we ever grew. And I have smoked some strains from past generations on the holidays when we hit the humidor and see what previous generations produced. This Cheese won out on every one of them. When Danny finished with his Screen of Green, he had pushed the yield up to almost 3 pounds per 1000 watts. I got to design and help build a screen that was almost 50 square meters. Auto mechanic’s rolling trolleys were used for working below the screen. A ceiling suspension system was built for working on the canopy. I learned to weld in order to construct that part. In the end it was superman suspended by wires over the plants…really fun shit. It was some of the finest work I have ever done in my life. I bet that this cheese plant and then her offspring will be kept and run by the co-op until the end of time. Emily is her name. She is picky about nutrients…she only likes about half as much as the other girls.


We met in the barn of my farm, a security meeting. These meetings are always serious. Charlie entered from the front. Mike and Danny entered from the rear of the barn two seconds later. Mike and his predecessor had drilled me so much on scanning and entering that it is was now just habit. 1 up front, 2 from the rear on the opposite side with a two second delay, safety latch off weapons. That is a bit of training I will never lose. A signal from Mike and safety latches engaged. Danny was nervous, the nervousness of someone who knows he has fucked up.


Mike is security and it was a matter for him. So after the initial hellos we waited for him to lead the meeting. He took his time and finally went and sat over beside Danny. He sat straight, his large frame at military crispness, an indication that he was ‘game on’.
Mike was a strange mix. If you watched his body language, you would know what was really going on. If you just listened to what he was saying, you missed it. His tone of voice was always soothing, even if the words were not. He sounded like the caring best friend at all times … but deeply cold blooded if you watched the entire performance. The previous 4 descendant was creepy this way too.


Mike: Danny, we don't have a choice. This is a CAT 1 bro.


Danny: You gotta be shitting me…CAT 1, no way. This ain’t no capital crime. Not even. No fucking way.


Mike held his response. He wanted to let Danny blow. It would help him get over it faster.


Allen: Mike’s right. You know he’s right. You’re thinking with your dick Amigo


Danny: You guys are shitting me. I can’t believe my own friends are calling me down on this.


Mike: You know what it would do to Tanya if she ever found out. Think about it. It has to end bro.


Danny: C'mon guys, you’ve seen her, don't tell me you wouldn't tap that ass if you could. You’re lying if you say no. You know you are. You’d give your right nut just to hand her a towel when she comes out of the shower.


Charlie: Sorry bro. She may be all that and more. And I agree that there is something real special about her. I can see it in her and I’ve only been around her a few minutes. But she has to go.


Allen: Tanya will put a knife in you if she ever finds out.


Mike: a murder investigation…c’mon Danny…because of you dick?


Charlie: Your wife doesn't strike me as the forgiving type. More of a jealous slasher type ... a cut your dick off and feed it to the dog, sort of woman. (He laughs) God love her cuz that woman ain’t never taken crap from anyone, ever! (He laughs again). By the way, we all really like that about her too. (apologetically).


Mike: Face it bro, you married a badass action figure in female form.


Danny: But she is such a freak in bed ...you can't imagine the nasty things ... things Tanya would never ever consider.


Mike: (annoyed but hiding it and standing up now reminding us from his 6 foot 4 inch frame why he was on the team): Danny you have to end it, now. No other choice bro. No ifs, ands or buts.


Allen: C’mon Danny you know it.


Danny's head dropped like a condemned man, but one who realized he may survive to see tomorrow. He knew not to try to fight it. He cursed himself. He loved these guys but had put them at risk. He felt guilty for it. He had let his partners down. But she could do things…those sorts of things…the kind nobody else ever thought to do to him before…and he liked that.


Allen walked over and put his hand on Danny’s shoulder. He was the oldest in the group, mid-forties, and gray at the temple beginning.


Allen: Danny, I’m sorry brother. You got the shit hand dealt you.


Danny: No kidding


Allen: The universe said ‘hey, let’s fuck over Danny in the one way no man can resist’. Then it did and boy it hurts. Wish I could take some of it from you. But you have a more serious commitment. To us. So if you really care for her, then do the right thing.


Danny: And what’s that?


Allen: let her leave with her life.


Danny stood up fully and squarely: Her life? You gotta be shitting me!


Mike: Listen. Keep your pants on for every woman but your wife for the next couple of years. After that, the world is your oyster. Don't endanger.


Several things will get you busted or buried and infidelity was definitely on the list. All co-op members must be married, no girlfriends allowed for legal reasons.


For the last few weeks Danny began to think that he was in love. That made this the biggest mistake of his life. He knew the other three were right but that didn't make it any easier or hurt less. Dying for love only sounded great in songs. Any action required three votes and he did not want his fate decided by his closest friend in the group, Allen, with a deciding life or death vote.


Danny: Ok. Fuck. So how does this play? What do we need to do?


Mike: She will receive 100K, a flight to Los Angeles and then another 100K when you successfully hand over your membership. Regrettably, she will be told what is behind Door #2 to ensure she can make an informed decision. You will cease everything with her, starting now.


Danny: Can't see her one more time before she leaves?


Mike: (now standing two feet in front of Danny and intimidating): Not alive.


Danny: OK, OK! Fuck, bunch of heartless bastards.


Mike reached out to Danny putting his huge hand behind Danny’s neck and pulled him forward to where their foreheads touch. He spoke softly.


Mike: Listen, this is THE big mistake my brother. I love you and respect you like a brother... but this is the only second chance you will ever get from me. I'll bury you next time. We don’ want you to be unhappy. I don't want to be digging a hole for your body. That's all. Just wait until you are done and sitting on the beach in Thailand.


He released his grip and sat down beside Danny and put his arm around him. He returned to best friend mode.


Mike: How can this really be what’s good for you? Tanya is a great woman.


As part of his security function, Mike made a conscious effort to be there for everyone emotionally. Most didn’t notice it; they just thought he was naturally a huge friendly bear of a man. I noticed. When asked about it, he told me that it was just part of the transition from his predecessor and something passed down to all 4 descendants. Good security starts with knowing the people better than they know themselves.


Danny: Yeah, you’re right


Mike: Don't worry about the details Danny. We've got your back brother. Allen and I will have a word with her and then it is done.


Allen: And it will come from the emergency fund in equal share. Mike feels we owe you that for not being there for you when you needed us and we agree.


Mike: Gentlemen, can we consider this issue closed and the meeting adjourned?


Each man raised his hand, Danny last. The meeting was over.
In the next weekly general assembly we approved Mike’s security camera proposal. Every room in each house would be fitted with at least 2 wireless cameras. The only exception was the bathroom. I would help set it up and connect it to Mike’s phone, so he could watch any camera at anytime from anywhere. Yes, it meant a complete loss of privacy. It was voted three to one in favor, with an agreement that it would be reconsidered every year and re-voted into existence, suspended or amended. Amy and I voted against it. I also argued for a suspension of bedroom cameras but failed. As Mike not so eloquently put it to all of us:


‘Friends to put it bluntly, if one couple aren’t fucking, we have a problem. It might not look like our problem at first, but it will become ours soon enough. Now I promise not to perv (too much) but let Uncle Mike counsel them back towards marital bliss again’.


Amy and I did not like them. In protest we look at the camera and yell ‘Mike, Hey Mike. Yeah you. We are gonna fuck now. OK? Yes, did you hear that? We are gonna fuck now. We were going to make love …but that was ruined by the presence of fucking cameras. Only fucking is left to us now that our bed is part of a porn set. So sit back and be entertained.’


3 had offered a simple policy: equal share among all members. If each member and their family was going to spend up to four years living as a close knit group, so close it would make a cult envious, then fairness was necessary.


Now the spouses were in charge of the money, everything except an emergency security fund of 250K, which was never questioned and usage replenished at the start of every year. It was only ever used twice before now. ‘99 was not a good year for the co-operative. That sixth commandment is absolute … when you break it, you know it.

The mississippi Sativa Cooperative - Part 3

The mississippi Sativa Cooperative - Part 3

In order to understand how four people starting at the same time became one exit – one enters per year, you need to know the team roster over the first few years. It is also necessary for the next section to make sense. Here it is:

Year Member Numbers

1994 1 2 3 4

1995 1 2 3 4

1996 1 2 3 4

1997 1 2 3 4

1998 5 2 3 4

1999 5 6 3 4

2000 and onwards … you can figure it out for yourself now. I am number 15, if you haven’t worked that out yet.


Ancient History
Daily Log: April 14, 1999 Member: 3

Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me! Shit! I can’t fucking believe it! This is the worst fucking day ever. What the fuck have we done? FUCK! FUCK! Jesus this don’t ever go away. Did we forget anything? Calm the fuck down, gotta calm the fuck down. Think about the details! It is always the details. We have security fucking tight … ALWAYS! How did we miscalculate this fucking badly? Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!


God damn it … now calm the fuck down! Deep breaths. Taking my pulse … still about 110 bpm. Breathe motherfucker and calm the fuck down! Right NOW! Light the joint of Bubba Kush.


A few tokes later:


OK, lets gain control here. Examine the facts. Come on motherfucker, stay in control. In a crisis, the best weapon is the intellect. Damn I’m scared. Fuck!

Facts and Chronology:

Unusually warm today, high 80’s.

14:35 – Dropped off 6 & 4 on the fire lane road approximately 150 meters from main plot. 5 and I went to the satellite plot 1km away. Covered the SUV with camo. The rubber tie down slipped and metal s-hook smacked my hand...still hurts.

14:45 – arrived at satellite to apply nutrients and water plants. Satellite is smaller, we would finish our work first and then return to help 6 & 4.

15:35 – work complete, headed back. Plants look real good. Evidence of a good couple days of rain. Bright green leaves everywhere. Gonna be bushy.

15:50 – 200 meters from main plot, we split into Front, Back formation for entry.

15:52 – hear unknown voices. Signal to raise weapons with safety off. The last part of the approach was done on our stomachs crawling through the grass.

15:55 – 6 & 4 are on their knees, hands cuffed behind their backs. Surrounding them are 3 uniforms. One cop is examining the rifle and 9mm pistol they have confiscated. No evidence that they have found 4’s .22 calibre Derringer in his boot. No movement from 6. He is like a statue and appeared to be in shock. Only his slight chest breathing movements evidenced that he was alive. His eyes are open. He is like one of those human statues covered in silver or gold paint in the tourist sites, a perfect frozen pose.

Pig in Charge walked around as he examined the 9mm pistol.

Pig in Charge: Nice piece. But not here boys. No drugs. The only drugs you will be getting are from the nurse at Parchment (Prison).

4: You know better than at. This is Mississippi, everything is for sale here. Always has been. Always will be.

Pig in Charge: Not everywhere

4: Yeah, right. My daddy’s lawyer will have me out faster than you can figure out how much you lost on your pension last year.

Pig in Charge: Not in Chickasaw county. We’re more regular Mississippi around here. Not that flashy, not that mean. But we follow the rules.

4: Sorry to disappoint you, but you’re wrong. This is Bobbie Gentry country…where vile stories of big wrongs are born. Let’s hope today isn’t one of them.

4 was stalling for time. He knew our approach method and could guess our schedule. He just wanted to keep it going long enough for us to be in position.

Pig 2 was the smallest of the group, only about 5 foot 6 inches tall. He wore his belt lower than most others. His black hair was slicked back and the lenses of his aviator sunglasses were dark grey. He stood behind the men on their knees. He was smiling the smile of the adrenalin pumping through him. Danger is a drug. It’s a high just like a drug. There is a rush to it. There is a rhythm to the effect, like a double beat soft song. Pig 2 was rushing hard. He walked over to 4. The little pig looked like a goat standing next to a kneeling elephant.

Pig 2: Whachore name ?

4: Yu, Mr. Yu

Pig 2: You don’t look like no chink to me.

We don’t carry any identification on us while doing this work. It is all in a box hidden in some bushes about two kilometres from us. We would pick it up on the way out. 4 suggested it and it just seemed naturally right to us.

Pig 2: What is your name, asshole. I won’t ask again.

4: Mr. Yu

Pig 2: And what is your first name Charlie Chan?

4: Fuck … Mr Fuck Yu

He hit 4 as hard as he could. Aimed for his left side cheek with a fist. 4’s head hardly moved. His cheek got a cut from the pig’s ring but beyond that it only looked as if his grandmother had pinched him. He looked up at the cop and smiled. This made Pig 2 furious. He hit him again.

Pig 2: I’ll wipe that smile off your face

Pig in charge: Calm down Roger. We will find out who he is soon enough.

Pig Roger stopped. He looked down at 4 with contempt: You a piece of shit. That what you is boy, just a piece of shit waiting to be flushed.

Pig Roger walked around the back of 4. He slapped him on the back of his head. ‘Ugly boys gonna line up to do you’. ‘You just a piece of shit, boy’

4: That is Mr Piece of Shit to you, boy. Understand me, BOY? (4 smiled)

Pig Roger took his gun out the holster. He hit 4 in the face with the butt of the gun, breaking his nose. Blood gushed out from his nostrils and down onto his lips and mouth. 4’s lowered his head in pain and he was frozen for a moment, then raised his head. He was smiling again.

Pig in charge: That’s enough Roger!

Pig Roger saw the white teeth shining from beneath the blood. He put the barrel of his gun to 4’s head.

Pig Roger: smile now motherfucker.

4 kept smiling.

Pig in charge: Stand down Roger!

Pig Roger twisted the end of the barrel against 4’s temple: I will blow your fucking head off. It’s coming in right through here….then out the other side of you. You’ll be dead before it even starts to hurt.

4 (still smiling): No, you won’t do it

Pig Roger: don’t think so scumbag?

4 straightened up his posture: No. You can’t trust them to back you up. One of them might be too uncomfortable with sin.

Pig in Charge was nervous and moved toward Roger cautiously: Step back Roger. Do not harm this man. He is under arrest. Lower your weapon … that’s an order!

4 cleared his throat, a signal that he knew we were in position.

4: Yeah, listen to your boss. Do as you’re told, BOY.

Pig Roger lowered his weapon. As he did so, he looked at it for a couple of seconds as is was about half way lower. Then he said ‘you my bitch now’. He fired it and hit 4 in the upper leg. 4 collapsed onto his side on the ground. 4 was in a lot of pain and started some sort of breathing exercise to offset the pain.

Pig Roger died from the bullet I put in his head less than a second later. Pig in Charge died from two bullets to the chest fired by 5 at or around the same time. The last pig died while fumbling to get his weapon out of his holster and wondering where the firing was coming from. He should have had more of a chance, but he didn’t. While they lay on the ground their lives finished or finishing, 5 walked over each of them and put one final bullet into their chest at their heart.

During all of this, as murder foul was done and the worst of mankind took the roses from our garden, 6 stayed motionless against the violent background. He was the eye of the hurricane. The red paint of our picture sprayed against his face. As the sounds of the dead and the near dead faded from our ears into the ever, 5 walked over to 6. He delivered what was the best and most therapeutic slap in all of human history, the back of his hand with full impact onto the face of 6. It came as hard as a punch. 6 went down hard from the blow. When he came back up he was aware and cogent.

4: Fuck this hurts! Damn! Lemme look at it. Fuck that’s ugly. OK, I’ll live. Hurts like a son of a bitch.

He stopped talking and did panting and blowing breathing exercise for 10 seconds.

4: 30 seconds guys. Listen carefully for the next 30 seconds.

He looked at 6: Go get the SUV. You will take me to Vet Benoir. Go now … MOVE!

6 jerked hard like he had been woken up from a deep sleep. ‘Yes’ he said loudly then ran off towards the SUV.

4 (Looking at 5 and me): Sorry guys, but you have clean up. Three bodies and at least one vehicle east of here to get rid of. Listen carefully. This is the most important test you will ever get.

4: The Yalobusha River turns into Grenada Lake right when you leave Calhoun County headed west. Go to Graysport Crossing Road, it runs north and south across the lake. From the north side, you can pull off the road and drive along the road in the dirt to the point where the land ends. It is marked on a map in the SUV. The water there is deep. Make sure you drain the oil from it before you run it into the lake; else you will cause an oil slick on top of the water. 6 will be back at 4:45 AM to pick you up at the north end of the bridge. Drive the vehicle wearing cop uniforms. After, change back into your clothes. Gotta bury the bodies at least 200 meters from the plot. Make sure you cover it well. Take a few branches with leaves and sweep it after you are done. 6 feet, not a foot short. Strip down to your underwear before you touch the bodies. Take the latex gloves from the SUV and keep them on. No blood on your clothes. Lazy will put us all on death row. Say it all back to me, now!

We repeated his instructions near perfectly including the part about death row.

4: Now help me up and get me to the SUV.

We both got on a side of him and lifted him. He was a big heavy guy and his weight was not insignificant.

4: Fuck this hurts. Gimme your shirt.

I removed my green shirt. I tied it around his leg to keep pressure on the wound. He groaned when I tightened it. Then he thanked me.

4: Don’t worry about 6. I will work with him, give him some live ammo training, that will cure his stage fright right up.

We finished burying the bodies just after midnight. We each put on the uniform closest to our size. I said a prayer for Pig in Charge. While not a believer, I said it on behalf of a probably decent man who probably did believe. He was just an unfortunate on the wrong side of the law.

The others? Fuck ‘em. End of Entry

They never found the vehicles or bodies. We didn’t call in a tip on that Delorean. On a unanimous vote, the entire emergency fund that year was carefully funneled to Pig in Charge’s family.

 

The mississippi Sativa Cooperative - Part 4

The mississippi Sativa Cooperative - Part 4

The coop was a simple organization. It consisted of 8 inner circle members and no hierarchy. This meant that there was an idea engine. The breadth of their experience was considerable. Good thing about it is that it helps prevent mistakes. And over the years the cooperative had made hundreds of mistakes. Without diversity it would have been thousands. But we have figured out a few things along the way and keep doing them. There may be a stingy year here and there…but mostly that’s not the case and we keep doing them. Just feel right sort of things.


Ten percent of everything is used for capital projects. Keep building it better and better every year if we can. Five percent of all monies are given anonymously to the poor. Over the years, the capital budget had turned the Mississippi Sativa Cooperative from just one plain dairy farm growing cannabis in barns at very high risk, into four dairy farms concealing four very sophisticated subterranean grow operations.


Each farm is capable of producing between 100 to 200 pounds per month using perpetual grow techniques and hydroponics. We produce the highest grade cannabis we can. Most importantly we are always looking for a better way of doing everything. Try, fail, repeat until it works.


We use those automated barrel trimmers everyone hates. Hand trimming has never been an option. Our trimmed product will never make the cover of a magazine, unless we finish with a nice close final trim. But we can make you question whether you are really a bi-ped or play the most innovative guitar lick ever heard … then forget it. This is weed for the areas where a cannabis arrest still results in a weapon drawn, held by a bully fascist and occasionally ends in tragedy for the end user.


We grow in underground bunkers beneath the barn and milking rooms. They continue on out under the field. They were constructed in the mid 90s, after a fire in one of the barns almost ended everything. The CAD drawings are almost art, modular design, using many preformed concrete slabs and precast supports. Floor drainage systems, each room with independent temperature controlled ducting. We can provide exact growing temps in each of the flowering, veg and throne rooms.


Over the years test have identified to within .5 degree Celsius the ideal growing temp for each strain we grow. HEPA filtering in the ventilation system keeps the air clean. A lot of the current equipment came about because they had a problem at some time or another. Sometimes the problem is small. Showers needed in the lab room. Yep, not big at all. Sometimes the problem is big, like 2002 when they lost 4 months of growing time fighting a war with spider mites that we could never win. After 4 months the rooms were completed stripped and rebuilt. From the newly painted white floor up to the white ceiling everything was washed, chemically treated, disinfected, power washed and reassembled.


Reverse Osmosis water systems are used. They were undersized for about the first 2 years. That was fixed in a major upgrade in year 3. Computer Server Room fire systems are installed. There is even a big fuck-it-all system for self-destruction utilizing some C4 from friends. There is enough explosive power to level everything and break all the windows in the farmhouses. At what point does the level of explosives pass from necessary to some childhood affinity for massive destruction? Don’t know, but we are at a level children would admire.


Each room measured ten meters by ten meters. Center treads of used tires were recycled to provide the gasket between the wall and floors. This makes each room as airtight as possible. Two flowering rooms, one veg room and one laboratory.


The lab is our most important room. This is where we test our nutrient formulas and various growing techniques. We keep 5 test tents in each room. Want 14% amber trichomes on Jack Herer at harvest? No problem … we count them. This year we are installing our first High Pressure Liquid Chromatography tester. Danny is about to piss his pants he is so excited about what it will permit us to do, know which mothers are producing the most potent plants. He talks about a day when we will never produce anything with less than 20% THC. He has total confidence in the outcome.

We also make hashish with the best trim leaves and smallest buds. It started because we were creating a lot of trim waste. We bought our first backhoe to bury our waste. Now it brings a smile the faces of our customers when we throw in free pounds of hash as a personal gift to them. We still produce a lot of waste but now we recycle it through composting.


At the far end of the line of rooms there is a ten meter by five meter storage and power generation room. This is where the generators sit. They line up against the wall their tanks equipped with float valves to automatically refill from the gravity fed reservoir hanging above them on the wall. The rooms were all laid out in single file. Five rooms, five heavy doors to deal with, now fitted with retina access locks. In the final storerooms, are dirt bikes with an escape ramp out into the surrounding field and the nearest wooded area. The yearly disaster recovery tests are freaky to watch when a two meter by three meter section of a grassy field opens up and a motorcycle comes roaring out from the ground, like some grave yard nightmare. The construction logs for the years of the builds are excellent studies of planning, stealth and sheer hard work.


All members agreed that the ten percent capital budget was a good idea. Besides the High Pressure Liquid Chromatography I was helping Mike make his mark on the security of the Co-op. We collected data on everything. We even knew the statistical variance in the routes and arrival times of the milk collection truck and the mailman … 86 and 27 minutes respectively if you are interested, excepting December of course. We are planning some remote cameras that will tell us far in advance when we have company coming over.


This year we expect to produce between 15 and 20 million dollars of cannabis, at wholesale prices, based around 2500 dollars per pound. We have three customers: The Rothenberg Brothers from up north; Lenny from The Banditos Motorcycle Club in Little Rock, Arkansas, and Stella … or Ms Hot, Secretive and Bitchy to hear it from Danny. She hates him … she calls him ‘Dick with brain’ in her eastern European accent. Mike visits each of them once every six months and stays a few days with them, just a security hanging out with friends kind of thing. Stella always complains about it. Mike snores and farts in his sleep and this upsets her. But she likes having someone around her that looks like a bodyguard when they go out for dinner.


I spent a week with the Banditos my first year. The Coop hit the point where we either had to get the club paying us electronically or we had to quit selling to them. Damn, I didn’t want to ever have that sort of conversation with them. Worked on what to say for a whole day. Practiced it in front of everone for a week before I went to meet them. ‘Hey guys - Enough with the bags of cash already’. Something stupid like that would get me beaten badly or buried out back. Two laptops and a lot of security later, 5 days spent training Lenny and his closest aide over and over and fucking over again, and order was restored to the universe. Felt good knowing I was going home with all my parts attached. By special agreement and a significant discount pricing, the Banditos agree to let 30 percent of their purchases come back into Mississippi through their local chapters in the state. We still remember why we came into existence.


Throughout the history of the cooperative there are occasions when members limit their payout and give the rest to the poor. 1 started this when he limited himself and gave the rest to the Mississippi chapter of the United Negro College Fund, founding the Aaron Carter scholarship fund. After reading his passionate history, others have decided it makes sense. I have been researching a Shriners Children’s Hospital that specializes in treating burns free of charge. There is also a struggling housing project in the 9th ward of New Orleans run by anarchist community organizers.


A little more about how it works. Each team member is the room manager at his location. This means his word is law in his rooms. Usually the botanists/horticulturalist bring in the largest crops, but not always. There is a sense of keen competition between team members. We talk shit to one another every day. This is offset a little in that we work each room together as a group, farm after farm once the early morning milking is done. Yes, we still have to wake up at 5:30 AM every morning and milk cows. I never want to see another alarm clock ever again for the rest of my life. To further incentivize the spirit of cooperation, the room manager who produces the highest yield gets to choose a two week vacation anywhere in the world. But they don’t get to go. No, it is for the team member and their family who most helped them win the title. Damn, we loved Rome. Thanks Danny.


Allen: Hey guys, I want to show you the Nebula plant I separated out. It ain’t short and bushy like the rest, it is tall and monster like it was outdoors. Bud sites almost everywhere.


Charlie: Found a good one have you?


Allen: Had to move it or the lights would be too far away for the rest of them. Came in and found a light stuck on it, still on the rails, but dead in its tracks, starting to fry the crown bud.


Mike: So, you really think you found a best one?


Allen: No, I am not saying that … just a freak that may become a serious candidate for plant of the year.


Danny: Yeah right, you? Don’t think so girlfriend.


Allen: Hey, it might be smoke, you never know, but it seems to have all that growing shit pretty well figured out, all by itself.


Danny: Where did it come from?


Allen: It’s from those left over packs that arrived late. I never opened them after the other mothers showed their lovely selves. I found them in the refrigerator a couple of months ago. I have three cuttings from it too.


Danny (now putting his hand on Allen’s shoulder): Old man, you ain’t gonna get the plant of year homie … I have had that in the bag since my Sweet Tooth #4.


Allen: I wouldn’t be so sure, you arrogant little fucker.


Danny: Hell, I bet you won’t even beat my SSSDH (Super Silver Sour Diesel Haze)….hahaha. But let’s see what you got old man. Show me this Viagra plant you are so proud of. But don’t go getting all hard too early grandpa.


Mike: Hey guys, when does Allen ever get more than 1GPW? Only, when he uses LED! (Grams per watt)


We all laughed. We exceed 1GPW in most instances. But that never stopped us from talking shit to one another.


Allen: Just want you to know that you ain’t gonna be a shoe-in again this year kid. You can’t stop random occurrences breaking for someone else.


Danny: Yeah, you need some huge fucking luck when you’re going against … The Master. (bows theatrically).


Gotta love this kid … if he can just keep his dick in his pants for a few more years, he will be ok. I will miss him when we leave. I have bonded with his more than the others. Despite my affection for him, if we ever see each other again after we leave here, it will be a disaster playing out with a major compromise of principle and friendship by one of us at its root.


Danny: Well, you may be old as the sands and over the hill so far that you are coming back up the other side, you, you old man, at least you didn’t spend 45 days wondering what the fuck was going wrong with your plants … hahaha.


Charlie: You are a fucking evil bastard Danny.


There was a tradition with every new member. We would stealthily add ten plants in the veg room of a new member, right as they were entering the vegetative stage, of their first grow; the initial growth stage right after the seedlings have rooted sufficiently. Ten Lowrider plants, yeah those short little fucking things with ruderalis genetics in them … the Eastern European midget genetics in cannabis form … and the ones that automatically flower regardless of the number of hours of light they receive everyday. These plants were carefully chosen to resemble the other plants they would sit among. For the next few weeks the new member would be scratching their heads. A room full of beautiful similar plants, all nice and even … and then ten little turd runts in one spot looking like fucking bonsai trees! We loved every day of the joke. Since it was localised to a part of the room it naturally had to be something environmental….right? Heating pads on the floor was usually one of the first things to happen along with replacement of feed tubes. A nutrient testing regime would be set up to determine if there were localised variances that could explain the differences.
The best part was listening to the shit we would tell the rookie. Concerned friends who would claim to have seen it happen last year to an entire crop … hahaha. In the end it was lack of proper photon conversion. Of course you should flower them just to see what you get. What, they look like they are starting to flower already? And you haven’t turned the lights down to 12 on/12 off? Really? Wow. That is unusual for that strain.


Once the joke was up and they figured it out, that started several weeks of talking shit to the victim. And we are not talking just a little shit, we mean major massive truckloads of trash talking shit that starts every morning with the victim’s mother and her inadequacies in the bedroom. ‘She said yo dick smaller than those plants that fooled you.’ The botanists counted the number of days it took everyone to figure out the joke and adjusted the amount of one to one training based on the results. Gotta have some fun somehow, right?


With each new member a farm is leased to them at a cost of $1, from Vox Communications, an Antilles corporation. The official agreement and transfer paperwork shows market price. The law firm of Cohen and Daughters in Jackson handles the transaction. They have a million dollar retainer given them by eight at the end of his term. Yaron Cohen is the only person that we have ever met with and only after office hours when everyone else has gone home. We always visit him together because: It’s our freedom, take responsibility for it. Don’t ever delegate it.


Yaron is a nice man, doesn’t want to know what we do (but he does) and we like that. He personally set up Vox while on a free vacation with his family. He charges us a hefty price for what we require of him and for it we make sure that his synagogue dues are always paid on time and he gets to sit up front, close to god.


Money travels a different path. Since there are others out there who use the same methods, I won’t discuss them in detail. Just know that e-currencies backed by gold are excellent. Bitcoins are even better. Good document forgeries are money well spent. When asking for a viable work permit, driver’s license and residency permit for France, all necessary for bank accounts…(just as an example only), then a good papers-person is an ace nobody knows about.

The mississippi Sativa Cooperative - Part 5

The mississippi Sativa Cooperative - Part 5

Ancient History


Monday August 4th 1995 Daily Log


Prepared by: 1


Independence Day - We Strike Back!


No sleep for the team last night. Construction on farms 1 & 2 this morning. Foundations finished pouring on Farm 1 and drain pipes within two days of completion on Farm 2. Foundation for Farm 2 scheduled for pouring early next week. Hank Sullivan is all smiles this morning and definitely enjoying the largest cash cement deal he will ever have. 4 made it very clear to him that he had no other options except silence. No employees, Hank drives the mixer. Start pouring at sunrise each day. Big guy can be scary when needed … very cold-blooded scene with Hank. (Details in July 2nd log.)


4 is not happy with our performance last night at all and I agree. He says we need to get much better at these sorts of operations. We were noisy, didn’t have all the right tools. It took him almost five minutes to get the lock off the shed without damaging it. And right in the middle of it … I got the hiccups. What Freudian monster buried deep in my psyche had such a burning death wish that it caused me to have hiccups in the middle of it? I had to abandon my role and go back to the vehicle. 3 replaced me.


I want us to develop a list of scenarios for use and then train for them. We should start with scenarios for eliminating individual scumbags. 4 enthusiastically supports this idea and it was unanimously agreed. Dedicated white board next to his desk for us to write down any scenarios we think of. We will review the list after ten days. Non-lethal scenarios only … (for now). Eleven scenarios already on the list by the end of today.


The team also agreed to start keeping files on all local law enforcement. If they drink too much, we want to know. If they cheat on their wives, we want to know. Complete profiles, everything we can get on them. Yaron can help us. He can send some investigators from out of state to do the legwork for us. Know your enemy. Exploit their weakness.


But there was a good side to tonight. The sedatives used on the dogs were perfectly measured. Good job 2 & 3! Within five minutes of eating the meat they were both sound asleep. 2 & 3 have been testing it on other dogs with the same approximate body mass for the last week. 4 is thorough. I would not have thought to bring WD40 for use on the hinges before opening the shed doors.


For someone with a career in law and order, Narco Detective Galt doesn’t have any order to his shed. What a damned mess. 4 pointed out that this was good for us if we could move around the clutter quietly. We did. Until the hiccups. We made our deposit last night: 5 double vacuum sealed bags, each containing one pound of cannabis and $20,000 cash, all in a dirty old blue shoulder bag are now buried under one of the piles of gardening supplies in a corner of the shed.


Galt has been on a tear. Twenty-seven arrests for cannabis in the last 7 months … eighteen of them African Americans. He would have had 28 arrests but he fatally shot one. Poor bastard wasn’t even armed and he was running away. Hit him in the back of the head. Galt is the cop that will shoot a man whenever the opportunity arises, regardless of alternatives. Especially if he is black. As long as he can explain it and stay out of trouble … the asshole will always take his shot. He is getting a body count. He just had his 30th birthday too, so there are many more years of his protection and service ahead of him. The vote was unanimous.

(See July 4th log.)


The second deposit last night was much easier. The District Attorney Rand keeps his boat under a carport behind his house. No dogs. Over the back fence and it’s right there. This time, no hiccups. Identical deposit made. Portside seat storage locker. Both deposits complete by 4:30 AM.


Rand received the tip about Galt early this afternoon. He doesn’t know it, but he has one week to act. If he does, we will retrieve the deposit from his boat. If he doesn’t, he will be explaining his own deposit to the DEA. Identical deposits will make them look like partners to the DEA dumbasses. We agreed on July 4th (see log) that playing by their rules is a strategic mistake and not very smart. They don’t even play by their rules. Now we take it to them. They are not kind people. They are not just people. They don’t care about their victims. They care about their careers. They care about winning for their own personal glory, regardless of the damage they cause. They ruin lives. They end lives. They create tragedies. Yes, now we take it to them. Fuck them!


Time to kiss my wife then hit my pillow. My sincerest apologies for the brevity of this report and the language. It has been a long day.

The mississippi Sativa Cooperative - Part 6

The mississippi Sativa Cooperative - Part 6

A couple of days ago:

The news of the arrest hit us hard. The Rothenberg’s courier had been busted while on Interstate 75 headed east towards Newark. As usual the brothers drove the product out of Mississippi. We don’t deal with couriers, only principals. We use a site far off in the woods miles away from the farms, at an old abandoned and burned out school bus. The courier was busted with 350 pounds of some of the finest weed we had ever grown, including 120 pounds of the best Kali Mist we ever produced.


We knew about the bust before the Rothenberg brothers did. Mike always plants a tracking device on the courier vehicle and checks its progress through his phone. No need for our customers to know about this. With the exception of one overnight stop, any time the vehicle is stopped for more than 2 hours is a concern. Mechanical failures nearly impossible on a courier vehicle as they are serviced right before use and the vehicles are always less than one year old. Driving an old clunker full of weed is funny but dangerous. The brothers like Hondas.


Mike called a security meeting when the vehicle had been in the same location for 125 minutes. Six minutes later we entered his barn, the usual 1 front, 2 back.


Mike: Beijing, we have a problem. Pimento has been at rest for over two hours west of Newark.


Allen: Damn, are you sure?


Mike: Positive.


Danny: No chance he just stopped off for a blow job at a truck stop?


Mike: No. Give it a rest bro.


Charlie: What do you think happened?


Mike: I inspected their vehicle before launch and it was perfect. I assume he’s busted.


Danny: Any chance he got in a wreck?


Mike: Yes, there is that possibility. But he did not follow protocol for a wreck or is injured. He should have called the brothers for assistance and they are instructed to contact us via the Safe Mail account. Unless he is seriously injured and unconscious.


Allen: So what’s your thoughts?


Mike: The good news is that he was busted far away from here. The handover from the brothers to Pimento happened without incident. That would have been the best time to charge in. This leaves us mostly secure as a probability. The bad news is that he got busted.


Danny: Little bastard had better not say one damned word.


Mike: I don’t think he will. Paid well to be quiet.


Danny: But facing jail time, surprising how many people open their mouth.


Mike: That screws him big time and twice. He won’t get the $250,000 mute money and he will be dead within days, even in jail. No I don’t think he will say anything other than his name, if that.


Allen: So what do we do?


Mike: I think we hold at Death Con 3.


Danny: You’re shitting me? You really think we are that close to blowing the fuck out of everything?


Mike: No I am not saying that we will do it, just that we be ready to run the two-minute drill, if needed. Let’s see what the brothers have to say.


The two-minute drill was just that, we leave everything behind within two minutes. Only the bare essentials. Clothes on our back, pre-paid credit cards, fake identities, cash and a USB Flash drive containing all the necessary banking information to distribute the funds. Lenny’s C4 would sort the rest out.


Mike: Allen, please ask Amy to do the bank currency transfers immediately.


Allen: Sure thing.


Mike: Let’s give the courier and the brothers another 30 minutes and then reconvene to decide our next steps.


Twenty-one minutes later, Mike received a two-word message that he didn’t want. TANGO DOWN. This was a message that was kept in draft mode on the phone of all of our customers. He made them practice over and over; pulling it up and sending it until they could do it in under 5 seconds. Tango down had a simple meaning, the sender was being arrested. Mike destroyed his phone number immediately after receiving the message. A new one was put into service. Burner phone numbers are the new black … check them out. Untraceable. Temporary. Excellent security. We reconvened.


Mike: Tango Down from the brothers.


Charlie: Holy Shit! Are you sure?


Mike: Not something I’m likely to get wrong bro.


Allen: You still want to hang at 3?


Mike: No. I think we may need to go to Level 2. Good thing is that the brothers won’t have been near the weed when they got busted … that is good for them. But they got busted so there is a hole somewhere.


Charlie: Yeah.


Mike: For DEA to bust someone without them being around the product means they have a lot of evidence and feel they don’t need it. Or something went really wrong with their plan and they needed to pull the trigger on the arrests anyway and hope they can make it stick.


Danny: There is one other possibility?


Mike: Whatcha got?


Danny: They were around a lot of product from a different source.


Mike: Good point. We know they don’t hold onto our stuff very long. Think it’s all gone after a couple of days. So if they busted with quantity then it shouldn’t be ours.


Allen: Any chance that they will talk?


Mike: None. The case against them is gonna be light at best if they weren’t around the weed. And we know the brothers, they don’t take chances. They also know the rules … hell it’s their fucking rules … they gave them to us … they talk, their life expectancy drops to zero. One call to Yaron and he calls the man with names and addresses and then …


(Yaron doesn’t know what the call means, only what to do…and that there is a 50K bonus in it … reckon he can figure it out for himself…its one of those things where if he thinks the worst possible outcome of his call….yep that’s it)


Charlie: Fuck, this ain’t good.


Mike: I spoke to Lenny. He is getting the Reverend ready in case we need him.


Allen: How do you know that Lenny isn’t compromised?


Mike: He isn’t, you know his setup.


Lenny has a good relationship with the local chief of police in a suburban town just outside Little Rock. Mostly because he married the childless cop’s favourite niece. In agreement for keeping a law-abiding public profile and not beating up locals unless they really ask for it, Lenny was made aware of any police actions towards the clubs in the state, from all levels of pigdom, local, state and federal. And Lenny carefully crafted the image of the club as a caring and compassionate group of misunderstood souls by sponsoring charity rides for children and veteran causes. He even took dying kids for rides in a sidecar-equipped motorcycle. Lenny missed his calling in life – Public Relations.


The preacher is a former biker who found Jesus during a three year stint in prison right after being gang raped. He evangelizes to the various clubs throughout the south, offering them solace and redemption. He also performs acts of mercy for the clubs, getting wives safely away from their husbands when needed, taking cigarettes, supplies and messages to members in prison. I had met him during my scary week with them. He is the only man of the cloth I have ever heard use the word ‘Fuck’ during a sermon. On Sundays there were more Harleys parked outside his church than cars. The clubs built him a little church out in the country with a modest house beside it. Seemed like a good man to me, well meaning and kind. But he still had an occasional flash of biker temperament, as when he ended a fight between two gang members with a baseball bat. He broke their arms so they couldn’t hit each other anymore. Not my kind of solution, but it worked. Lenny approved his solution, that’s all that mattered.


We spent the next two days waiting in silence. On the third day, we received an email at one of the Safe Mail accounts from David Yarafitz, Attorney at Law. It started with the phrase:
‘I write to tell you of the passing of your grandmother.’


Without that starting phrase, we would have gone to DeathCon 1 immediately … Kaboom. Security compromised.


The courier, Pimento, was busted after having a blow out and refusing police roadside assistance. Fucking officer friendly was passing him when the tire blew out. If it is of interest to you, he is called Pimento due to a red birthmark on the right side of his face. Imagine having a car full of weed and not wanting to dig out the spare tire with a cop standing next to you. Not a fun time at all and a very stupid mistake. Pimento had attended training and had turned on his camera phone to record the audio of his ‘Officer, I do not consent to searches’ speech. But this is america, the burger is never as good as the picture of it. He got searched anyway.



Thanks to his quick thinking the prognosis was good that he could beat the charge now that Yarafitz had the sound recording and had requested the dashboard camera recording from the cops.



What we found alarming, as did the brothers, was that in addition to the cannabis the police found ten pounds of cocaine in the car. It wasn’t there when it left us. Mike takes an hour and inspects each vehicle thoroughly before it leaves … and we do not have ANYTHING to do with cocaine … that shit can kill you! The brothers were furious about the additional cargo and were taking actions to permanently resolve the problem.


Yarafitz called in some favours to get the back-story. The DEA was forced to act, in fact, were freaked out by the arrest. They had been investigating Pimento for a week since they busted one of his customers with about ten ounces of cocaine and the little rat gladly traded the charges for Pimento’s name. After watching him for a few days, yesterday they mistakenly concluded that the Rothenbergs were the prime cocaine dealers. They were organizing fulltime surveillance on all three of them starting next week. Once Pimento was in custody of the state cops, the DEA knew that the brothers would be untouchable for a long time if they didn’t act immediately. So they stormed in with only a hope and prayer that the brothers would have cocaine large in their possession. They were wrong. No cocaine at all. They got less than half an ounce of cannabis in total. The brothers would walk away. But now they were tagged. Tagged for follow-up and harassment by the forces of evil. This meant they were out of business as far as we are concerned.


We discuss this openly with our customers. What happens if they get busted? After a few days of internal discussion within the co-op the agreement was simple: if they are arrested, we never want to see them ever again. We will fully refund their last purchase to help them out, no questions asked, whatever the amount. If we do see them again, their life expectancy will be measured in seconds. This is a business where our word is our life. Stella was not happy hearing this, but she is not very happy about most things. Her complaints were recorded by 4 years ago. She has a habit of stomping her right foot over and over when she is upset. She broke the heel of her shoe that day. But then she doesn’t know how close her bitching brought her to extinction … within a minute or two according to 4. He never joked.


We refunded the final purchase to the brothers. The next day they replied that it wasn’t necessary, but thanks. We never responded. Any further communication would be done via their attorney and within the specified protocol. We stayed on two-minute drill for just over three weeks. I slept next to our false documents and the thumb drive every night. We each wore money belts under our clothes at all times. These things were the last things I saw every night and the first things every morning. Mike did twice-a-day checks to make sure everyone had their docs within a ten second reach. Move to work the next room … bring your docs with you. Go take a crap … bring your docs with you.


We slept in our clothes. We had sex with our clothes on. The only time we were naked was during a shower. Danny started teasing Mike about it … addressing him in a fake german accent as ‘Herr Commandant.’ Mike took it with a smile … until the day that Danny failed the check. He picked Romeo up over his head like he was lifting weights, spun him around a few times and then threw him onto a bale of hay. Danny bounced off and onto the ground. He got up mad as hell.


Danny: Fuck you. I’m gonna kick your ass, big boy.


Mike: No you’re not.


Danny: Watch me, asshole.


Danny rushed Mike and hit him as hard as he could. Mike barely moved.


Mike: Stop it bro.


Danny hit him again. This time a punch he leaned into hard.


Mike: Stop it! I am sorry you are annoyed. I understand.


Danny took a swing at Mike again. Mike moved just out of range.


Mike: C’mon now. (Mike starts dancing around like a boxer named Ali, arms down at his side … Danny starts to do the same dance with arms up) You are just going to have to come to terms with your frustration.


Danny: And you are going to have to come to terms with your ass kicking.


Mike: I don’t think so. But if this helps you work through your frustration, then I will teach you how to fight, little sissy bitch.


Danny: This sissy bitch is gonna kick your big Mr. Rogers ass! Welcome to my neighborhood of pain, motherfucker.


Mike: Come and get it bitch (with quick reflexes he slaps Danny hard on his face).


Charlie: C’mon guys … let’s be civilized. We are all friends here … and partners.


Danny: You have us on some military drill and you are acting like the god damned drill sergeant! (He swung again and missed … Mike slapped him again)


Mike: It’s for our survival bro.


Danny swung again and missed again and got another slap.


Allen: Come on you two … cut this crap out!


Allen steps between them at exactly the wrong moment and catches Danny’s fist with his ear. He falls to the ground hard. Danny and Mike stop their dancing and both kneel down on opposite sides of Allen.


Danny: I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean to hit you … swear, I didn’t mean it. I was trying to hit this asshole.


Mike: You all right Allen? Looks like you got a little blood running. Charlie, first aid kit bro.


Charlie: On it Charlie moved over to the desk on the far side. Next to it on the wall hung the first aid kit.


Allen: I am fine. Danny, will you PLEASE stop this shit?


Danny: OK, I’m sorry. I’m just exhausted from this shit


Mike helped Allen to his feet, and then extended his hand to help Danny up. It was accepted.


Allen: Listen, I don’t like it either. But safety bro. You know.


Danny: The cure that hurts, don’t mean I gotta like it. The meds taste like shit.


Mike: Don’t cha know it.


Charlie comes over with a first aid kit and begins to look at Allen’s bleeding ear.


Charlie: Just a little tear on the lobe. (He puts a cotton ball coated with a red liquid to Allen’s ear) This might sting just a little.


Allen: OR A LOT!!! That stings like hell. Damn! Shit! That hurts more than getting smacked!


We eventually returned to our work. There was the work and we handled it as we did every day. There was no banter. The music played louder today filling in the void from their voices. They smoked a bit of Kali Mist and worked the underside of a large screen of green. Tucking the branches in better. Checking all of the DWC connections and fittings. Then a look inside of the pots via the rubber covered ports cut into the lid. Seeing that the air stones are bubbling sufficiently. Taking a 150 ml sample of the bubbling liquid from each DWC pot. They are labeled with the pot number. They get tested.


Testing the light distribution was next and we paired off for this. One of us holding the light meter on the end of a long pole and calling out the reading, the other recording it. This is how we search for places where more light is needed. We have built 8 rolling frames for each flowering room. At the end of each of these is an additional 600 watt light. We swing them over the spots where the readings are lower. Usually within a week we begin to see a measurable improvement. At last the corners of our grow rooms are now some of our highest producing spots in a room instead of the worst. And it only took us 9 years to figure it out….hahaha.


Five hours after our little bitch drama Mike’s phone chirped. He removes it from his pocket. Then he smiled.


Mike: Yarafitz says the charges have been dropped


Danny: Fuckin A!


Mike: Bad news though, Pimento has disappeared. Took the money and ran. That’s their story at least


Danny: You reckon it’s true?


Mike: I doubt it. You know them well enough. Do you think they would hand over a quarter of a million dollars to someone who has destroyed their business by dealing on the side?


Danny: Guess not.


Mike: I don’t expect them to own up to murder, would you?


Danny: Definitely not.


Mike: Listen guys, I know it has been hard for these few weeks and I’ve been a real bastard about it.


Danny: Truer words…


Mike: Today has taught me that our protocol is having too large a

negative effect on our group cohesion.


Allen: Yeah, you’re right


Mike: Because of the good news I would like to propose that we vote to stop the two-minute drill and then we do root cause analysis on the shut down protocol to improve it.


It was agreed unanimously.


As a group we are willing to admit mistakes. We have to be. We make a lot of them. We don’t mind failure as long as it is quick and we can learn from it. We learned this when we lost the War with the Spider Mites. We were at war for four months before we surrendered to the nuclear option. Strip everything out and bathe it all in bleaches and other chemicals then paint the walls white again before treating them with Neem oil. We could have recovered much faster…but we were sure we were winning. God is on our side and we are naturally fucking lucky. Nope. 4 months later we lost. Then the 3 month lag starts before full recovery. Almost 7 months lost for a room. Now we have a system that we don’t even wait a week from mite sighting to refurbished room getting new plants. We also adjusted out clone sets into smaller groups and more frequent cuttings. This helps with faster recovery for an entire room. Trial and error…sometimes we exhaust the possible errors and arrive at what’s left. Good old trail and error.


After days of our holding at a 2 minute drill, we were ready to let loose a little. We had been coiled tight for too long. We were now catching hell from our spouses. Part of Defcon 2 is that we each need to start rehearsing our new identities. That turned out to be a trigger event for an avalanche of complaints fuelled by fear and desperation. We had a BBQ that evening to celebrate. Mike and Danny seemed to get back to a normal relationship, as normal as can be for their diverse personalities.


Sitting at the table and eating chicken … Mike to Danny: You know you hit like a teenage girl. I think you would be better off trying to scratch your opponent. Maybe give them a long term cold or something.


Danny (smiling): Clark Kent


Mike: I could teach you to hit harder, at least as hard as a very effeminate man… a real momma’s boy punch. Better than that sissy boy shit you packing now.


Danny: What do you say about that Allen?


Allen (touching his bandaged ear): If girls could hit that hard, I expect there would be a lot less sexual assaults and more dental work.


Charlie: Damn that’s crude, Allen


Allen: Yeah, sorry … just talking in terms Danny understands.


Danny: Old man, you know, you are a hell of a nice guy … for an asshole (laughs).


Tanya: He’s not an asshole, he’s a peach.


Charlie: More like a punching bag.


Tanya: You boys haven’t been playing nice, have you?


She leans forward and picks up the Wisper 2 vaporiser that was being passed around during dinner. She takes a nice long draw from the grey straw then sets it down again. Danny picks it up. He take a long draw from it then passes it to Amy.


Mike: Playing nice? Nope, not so much today, but it’s all good now. We were getting wore out. Sometimes that causes conflict.


Amy: Well you know it takes two to tango.


Mike: Today it took three.


Karla: Boys will be boys. Some days I wonder how Charlie puts up with you guys. He is such a mild mannered guy and y’all are such brutes.


Charlie: Thanks hun, you tell them what a wimp I am. Ferocious, in my lack of manliness.


Mike: Well he is brutal … with a first-aid kit. But seriously though, with a 9mm he is great. So I ain’t worried if he never takes a swing … as long as he is strapped, he wins.


Amy: Let’s talk about something else please. You know I hate guns.


Mike: You may hate them, but you are pretty damned good at using them. 93% on your last test.


Amy: What do you expect? That’s just hand and eye coordination. And we were forced to train with them every day for months. Even the Dalai Lama would get good after thousands of rounds. And the rounds each week now … just keeps me from getting rusty. And yes, I still hate it and wish I didn’t have to do it.


Sharon: I just hate the noise from them.


Amy: Yeah, that is the second worst part for sure.


Sharon: What is the worst?


Amy: Purpose.


Mike: But it is so you can defend your family,


Amy: Hope it never happens.


Allen (diverting the topic): OK, who is ready for some more chicken?


Karla: I am. Can I get another breast please?


Allen: Sure thing.


Karla: The BBQ sauce tastes different this time. I like it. What did you add special?


Allen: The liver of a DEA agent.


Amy: That’s not funny dear.


Allen: Sorry. Seriously though, I added dill to it.


Tanya: We need some tunes!


Tanya walks over to the stereo and plays with it for a few minutes. The sounds of Hybrid’s ‘I Choose Noise’ album fills the air.


Tanya: Just can’t get enough of this band. Thanks for turning me on to them Allen.


Allen: No problem. But you had best thank Amy; she is the one who introduced me to them.


Tanya: Thank you Amy


Amy: Just streaming Groove Salad on Soma FM one day and heard one of their songs.


Karla: Well it sure beats all the Top 40 crap on the radio these days.


Colleen: I like some top 40 songs.


Colleen doesn’t talk much. She never has. She is way past shy. It is as if something traumatic happened to her long ago and she never sorted it out. She rarely has physical contact with anyone other than Mike. She avoids it. Her behaviour almost prevented Mike from being invited to join the team. But his stellar credentials won out in the end over his peculiar wife. Despite her strangeness she is predictable, if you look closely. She talks mostly in the mornings … and even more on the mornings after they have had sex the night before. I noticed this but never shared my observations with others. Assuming Mike the Monster is even remotely proportional in all parts of his body, her morning chattiness is understandable. She may be strange, but I like her. And Amy thinks the world of her. The two of them are inseparable most days. And she talks to Amy. She writes poetry … dark and deep, creepy poetry. Having a Giant a husband is perfect for her. At the end of most team gatherings rather than walk with her back to the car, he scoops her up and carries her like they are in some romantic movie. She wraps her arms around his neck and has the biggest child-like grin. Of all the other wives, I like her the best, yet know her the least. I prefer the damaged ones.


Tanya: Well as long as it ain’t country music, I don’t mind it too much.


Amy: Not me. I can’t stand Top 40. It is as if the banal is sacred. Where is the memo that said that mediocrity is the new gold standard? I want music with soul, not formula.


Mike: But some of it is catchy … got a good hook.


Amy: But never original. I would rather listen to Nine Inch Nails for the rest of my life than a single Top 40 song.


Allen: Mozart for me, if you don’t mind.


Danny: Yeah, Mr. Sophisticate over there wants to listen to the timeless composers. You’re just old grandpa.


Allen: Well it sure beats the crap you listen to.


Danny: Don’t knock 70’s classic rock … it is the shit.


Colleen (surprising us): But Danny, you listen to Boston … in the decade of Led Zepplin. Foreigner? Really? You listen to Foreigner?


Mike: Valid point. You got a good decade but the wrong tunes.


Danny: Not at all.


Mike: A Horse With No Name? Really? Desperados? Kansas? Really? And don’t forget the worst of the worst, Steely Dan.


Danny: What’s wrong with Steely Dan?


Mike: The Aja album.


Danny: That was one of the most perfect albums ever made!


Mike: Agreed … not a flaw in it. Everything perfect. Cute hooks, cleverly crafted tunes. And the end result was the most soulless collection of songs ever made. ‘They call Alabama the Crimson Tide…call me Deacon Blue’. Seriously? That ain’t profound or even intelligent, it’s just fucking annoying.


Danny: Steely Dan has plenty of soul in their music


Allen: Danny, you are on thin ice with that argument. I don’t mind Steely Dan too much, but would never use the word ‘soul’ when describing them.


Charlie: Speaking of soul.


Charlie gets up and walks over to the stereo. A few moments and a couple of muttered curse words later, ‘Cold Sweat’ by James Brown begins to play.


Mike: Hell yeah! Now you talkin … God’s music!


Charlie and Karla start to dance. Mike and Colleen start dancing. Colleen dances weirdly aggressive like she is having sex, very sensual, pushing her back against Mike’s crotch like a dancer in a club giving a lap dance with a happy ending. Mike is smiling. Danny and Tanya join the group. Eventually Amy gets me up as well. I don’t dance, mostly due to the trauma of childhood dance lessons. Yes, I was the only boy among the group of tiara wearing toddlers. Scarred for life. I can waltz, foxtrot and tango … but free-form dancing turns me spastic. When I start dancing, it begins with Danny.


Danny: Someone call 911, he’s having a seizure.


Allen: Got to hell, Danny.


Colleen: Leave him alone Danny. This isn’t Soul Train.


Charlie: Yeah cuz that boy has so little soul, I’m gonna become an atheist.


Colleen: That goes for you too Charlie (The most words I have heard from her in weeks).


Danny: Amy if you ever get tired of a man with no rhythm …


Tanya laughing, slaps Danny hard on his ass: I don’t share!


Amy: I like him just the way he is, thank you. He caresses my mind and after that my body is all his.


At the end of the song, we all sit down. Colleen sits in Mike’s lap. She is excited and smiling.


Allen: Thank you all for a most humiliating event.


Danny: It’s just one of the many services we offer to our platinum customers.


Amy: Who is ready for another bag?


Everyone raises their hand. Amy walks over to the Volcano vaporizer and turns it on.


Karla: What’s in there again? I forgot.


Amy: Blueberry from DJ Short.


Danny: A classic from a master breeder … grown by a master (he bows slightly in his chair).


Colleen: May I choose some music.


Allen: Of course, whatever you want.


A few moments later, I recognize the air raid siren at the start of the Radio Retaliation album by Thievery Corporation.


Allen: Excellent selection. Didn’t know you liked them … or even knew about them.


Colleen: Amy was playing them. I like how they play music from all over of the world. And their political message fits me perfectly.


Allen: Look out, we have a budding leftist here friends … paging Miss Goldman. Miss Emma Goldman please report to the recruitment office.


Amy passes the meter long vaporizer bag to Colleen. She takes a long toke from it and holds it for Mike to take a draw from it.


Mike: Damn, this is a taste that I love.


Colleen: Me too.


Danny: Just wish I could crack the code on it.


Karla: What do you mean?


Charlie: Einstein here believes that he can find the perfect conditions for growing any strain. We are talking micro level dialing in at two decimal places in all the readings and nutrients formula. If he finds them, then he can boost the harvest significantly. Add that to finding the best mother plants and then the Danny magic begins.


Danny: Am I wrong? You remember the Cheese? How about the Super Silver Haze from Delta 9? Great genetics for sure … but ramped up the volume by almost 30% once I cracked the code.


Charlie: I won’t argue with you. You got skills I will only ever dream of.


Danny: Just gotta keep workin on it, I’ll crack it before I’m done.


Karla: I sure hope you do. (She takes a long draw from the bag)


Colleen: Me too.


Tanya: Hey, which one of you bad boys is growing the Kosher Kush?


Allen: I am, why?


Tanya: Can I have some before it ships out? Tried a nug of it earlier in the week. Wow.


Allen: Sure. Glad you like it. Not a big fan of Kush strains myself.


Tanya: I love it. It knocks the fuck out of me. (Danny smiles)


Allen: It is definitely strong stuff


Tanya: I smoke that and Tarzan here gets whatever he wants. That shit turns me into a complete and total slutty cream machine. Just can’t get enough of him.


Colleen: Oh my!


Tanya: Honey, you don’t know the half of it. Last time I smoked it he made me happy five times…then three times more a couple of hours later after a refill. Haven’t slept that good since Geology class.


Colleen (shyly whispering): May I try some of it too, please?


Allen: Sure thing, I’ll send some to both of you tomorrow via husband express.


Colleen: Thank you Allen.


Mike: Just remember ladies … double up on the birth control pills.


Amy: Me too please darling, I want some.


Karla: Well hell, I will make it unanimous then.


Danny: Sounds like we have a bunch of horny women here … my favourite kind.


Allen: How about I take a little break and go get some of it now. There is a some that has been curing for four weeks.


I went out to the curing containers in the laboratory and made up 4 x 25 gram bags. I double vacuumed sealed them. I passed them out to the ladies when I returned. It does as advertised. We all got laid that night.



The next morning Colleen kissed me on the cheek when she arrived and was quite verbose. The next day was also a Lab day. Danny started up LED S01 experiment. We enjoy lab days. We all become Dr Frankenstein in a school boys dream.

LED S01 – Summary Sheet


Objective: To find the best intraday times for adding High Pressure Sodium lighting to a LED driven flowering process. Drivers: Reduced Cost (33% Saving), Reduced Pollution, Curiosity


Test Strain: White Russian Supplemental Lighting Scheme: 4 hours continuous HPS


Start Times: 2 hour increments Hours: 0 (start up), 2, 4, 6, 8. (5 Grow Tents total)


Plants per tent: 8 (3-2-3 formation) Tent Size: 1.2 M x 1.2M



Harvest Point: 25% Amber


LED Light Specs: 330W 7 Wavelength Spectrums: Deep Red: 660nm Red: 630nm Blue: 460nm Orange: 610nm White: 15000-20000K UV: 430nm IR


HPS Light Specs: 1,000W Hortilux Reflectors: Air cooled Sunsystems (8 inch air ports)


Growing Medium: Soil Mix 7 Nutrient Package: Fox Farm (Grow Big, Big Bloom/Tiger Bloom)


Measurements: Height, Width, Yellow Leaf Count, Widest Leaf

Measurements, Longest Leaf Measurement, Branch Count, Internode Spacing Measurements, Number of Bud Sites, Hermie Count, Odor scale, General Health Score, Days to Harvest, Total Plant Weight, Harvest Wet Weight, Harvest Dry Weight (4 weeks), Harvest Dry Weight (8 weeks)


Image Capture: Weekly


Data Collection: Data Base Database Name: FUCKYOUBUDDY37

We will keep running the experiment for several iterations before we know anything good. Then we will change the strain and repeat.




On a grim note, should the Co-op go out of business, then provisions are in place for full payment. Over the years, funds have collected as several members said: ‘that’s enough. How much do I really need, for fucks sake’...or ‘I wanna leave a little something for my descendants.’ Some years the capital fund is not completely used. So there is extra in the fund. If we shut down, each member gets ¼ share of each year they were a team member and then ¼ of the extra funds. Yes we are in it for the money. We need it to buy our freedom.


Freedom from the mortqage payment, the car insurance bills and the near bald tires when the transmission starts to slip. Freedom from the drudgery of a job that cost a large portion of your take home paycheck just to attend, even on rainy and cold days when people should stay home. Freedom from the parking contracts that just went up 12% when nobody is talking to you about increasing how much you get. Freedom from the traffic jams and the early closing dry cleaners when it’s your last clean anything. Freedom from the low gas gauge three days before payday when your credit card ain’t even got enough available balance left for a pack of cigarettes. Freedom from the hierarchical ass kissing organisation chart we are enslaved to, in order to sleep indoors and eat regularly. Freedom from HR departments with their Codes of Ethics training with end of module tests administered right after their unethical start of the relationship piss test. Let’s be certain we know who is the master and who is the slave. Freedom from the cheap insulting propaganda on the walls of the sociopathic organism encouraging us to play as a team…yet report any suspicious behavior by our co-workers to our managers. Failure to snitch is a violation of company rules and disciplinary action will be taken. Go team. Freedom from Friday afternoon battles as others sling work from their desk to ours via email. We defile the altar of Bcc blind copies. We reject the insincere handshake and smile.
We hold with deepest contempt the cult of personality offered by management towards the executive leadership team. They are not rock stars. They are the deformed mutants who rose the best on the backs of others. Their only significant skill is self interest.
After our time here, we have purchased our freedom from all of this crap. So is it about the money? Yes it is. Freedom ain’t cheap these days.

The future should come with a warning label. Unknown to us, The Mississippi Sativa Cooperative was about to go to war.

Real nice and a lot of fun too. Looking forward to more !

Komrade

Always enjoy your stories...K+

Marked for reading later.

tagged,, is there more??

Working on the next part of this...but it will be a lot longer than this part. Wife is pushing for a full novel since some publisher showed interest in other stories.

Am stuck in missississississississippi out in the boondocks without any smoke watching my momma in her final days, so have plenty of time during the day to write. Miss living in London and look forward to getting back. Miss my stash of good weed I have there. Hell I miss any place where people have most of their teeth and don't consider a trip to WalMart to be a social event. But she's my mother and I gotta be here when she dies. I spend my days writing and reading her Kurt Vonnegut and telling her jokes.

Will upload another story soon, the first one I ever wrote. But caution y'all...it's comes from a very dark place.

Enough...it's 3AM and I am still on London time so my body thinks its 9AM.

Damn, sorry to hear about your moms, but the story is awesome, while reading it stoned the other night I thought it was a real story, like you lived it,, crazy,, ohh and they do got some dank ass green over there, at least what cuzz got ahold of

Herb...thanks for the condolences. She is gonna go out with a smile. I used to be involved commercially here a very long time ago, back when I was bullet proof and stupid....hahaha.