Ronnie Shaw grew some killer cannabis, which is a prison sentence in Iowa, so he, his wife, and their toddler who had more teeth poking through her gums than did her parents combined, packed up the rust-wagon, crossed the Mississippi River, and rented a two-bedroom shack in the legal Land of Lincoln.
The parents shared the dump’s slightly larger sleeping-shoebox with Pistil, their Rottweiler, allowing them more privacy and more irresponsible sex.
Daughter Kimberly Marie, 3, shared her tiny bedroom with his grow tent—the crib was wedged into a corner among the oscillating fans, extension cords, ventilator hoses, humidifier, dehumidifier, portable air-conditioner and electric heater; the jugs of nitrogen-rich organics, blackstrap molasses, and quarts of liquid nutrients for all three stages of growth; the measuring devices for temperature, soil hydrology, potassium levels, and the atmosphere’s water-content to prevent mold and mildew—and why not? Every girl between the walls, whether they be pink or green, needed plenty of attention and TLC, especially the vegetating ones, bushy with their odd-numbered, jagged umbrella leaves, his indica plants with more of a body-butter-melt-on-the-couch effect, with their shorter, stubbier, raycatchers; his sativas, for a more energetic, cerebral high, sporting longer, thinner ones.
Equally, every dependent female in the cramped room was new to this life, allowing the parents to coddle and train all their charges at once, and dedicate themselves to their productive futures, paying especially close attention to the fertilized sprigs, nurturing them into fat, tight, sugar-dipped nugs loaded with smoky trichomes; the pink sprig . . . well, they never really coddled or nourished or dedicated themselves to her all that much to begin with, anyway. Another thing: they all were still learning–little Kimmy to stop shitting in her diaper; the wee greenies in lateral strength training, a growing technique used to increase the number of upshoots—thus more colas—on each plant. 347Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0P5CLkTaXM
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Ronnie Shaw grew some killer cannabis, that’s for sure, which he nourished every other feeding with a compost mixture of liquid bat guano and the mulched-up remains of his daughter, Kimberly Marie, who he stabbed to death with a pair of trim scissors for defoliating all her sisters, then sausaged her through a meat grinder, which is a prison sentence in Illinois.
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