From a Consumer to a Producer - The Tale of My Baby

Since I moved into my new place I have been fixing to go organic. Big time organic - eat greens, no chicken, no beef, no mutton no pork. Okay, my approach was to eat pork only if it's swinehead with my friends over cold beers. My analysis was that we could do this every once a month, only when Pirates is playing a big team. So, while I don't have any television in my house I figured while the matadors are chasing dead skin a thousand kilometres away we could be playing mind games. See, me and my boys don't just talk about women when we are chilling.

So, back to my organic ambitions. Of all the first things I planned to do, which included cultivating a beautiful garden was to grow weed. First, my ambition was that feeling of misdemeanour. I wanted to look suspiciously at cops as they drive by. It's always worth your life to be up to something illicit - stimulates your toes. I know how if feels when I hack into some people's email addresses searching for evidence of infidelity - it feels good and it's only anti-climax when I don't find what I suspected to be there.

So, I wanted to grow marijuana on my garden, and maybe one day when I have that terrible headache I would harvest a handful, dry in humid conditions and roll in Rizla to make myself a fat spliff. Maybe chill in a brand-new Benz with my ID (thanks to the Teflon Don) and cause an environmental harzard. However, that was somewhere in the back of my mind.

Then, some time last year one of my weedhead friends popped in with some nice grass that got him seriously goofy. After he sparked a fat cone he was out and left me the left-overs. I gingerly gathered the dust (it wasn't magic - I noticed) and splashed it on my garden to stimulate the soil. I was also hoping that it could grow and beautify my garden. I also felt that with hash in my garden all them damn demons will find landing a stress.

A week later there was nothing. A month later there was nothing and I started stressing. What the fuck does weed need to grow? I remember it grew without permission in my flower pot twelve years ago after just a single seed was thrown there. I culled it when my grans started looking at me suspiciously. I knew if I got arrested she would have said 'he's my grandson, finish and klaar. Plus these hands are clean', hahaha.

So, with no weed from my friend I enlisted the services of one of my she-friends who brought me a carefully rolled spliff and some seeds. She dropped them on the next flower complex. Two weeks later she pitched with some fresh weed but the plantation was still begging. I complained and she adviced me to look the other way and not stress the process. But woman I want the muthafucka to grow before the rains start so that I can grow something to conceal its beauty.

Then a beautiful woman - one of the intelligent few I have since come to know closer came by my crib the other day. We had an hour long session whereby I picked her brain like an early bird catching the fattest worm. When she was leaving I once again complained to her about the apathy that weed was showing towards my garden. She adviced patience. A week after that visit, which I should confess left me feeling very important indeed I saw my five-leafer raising its head. I felt, aha, I'm on my way from graduating from being a consumer to a producer. I am nursing my baby-weed as if it was a comatose patient on life support. Next time i post a picture of my baby-weed. Once it's up and growing, I move to full-organic and make vegetarians happy - hahaha

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