Club 600

MaintMan

MaintMan

Well-Known Member
thanks dst, yea i like my 600 i used to run 3 now im just on a kick to see how much i can get from just one also i started cycling the girls in a little better and have a dedicated veg area now so i dont need the 1800 watts that i did before to get me through the times. and omg that shot of "leroy" is hilarious
 
DoobieBrother

DoobieBrother

Well-Known Member
From the looks of it, we might be having to call in Seal Team 6 to go in and rescue whodat after he takes his first toke off of that mutant mystery snow weed he's got percolating.
;-)
 
DoobieBrother

DoobieBrother

Well-Known Member
whodatnation said:
Bring some jaws of life to the trim party... incase one may fall on the canopy :lol:
Click to expand...
"In other news, a Rocky Mountain man's deceased body was found in a cannabis grow room. Apparently the man leaned over the plants to move a thermometer when his sleeve brushed against a resin coated leaf trapping his arm.
In the ensuing panic, coroners believe in trying to free himself, his struggles only got him more firmly stuck amongst the incredibly chrystalline surfaces of the young leaves.
Next to the body was found a half pack of zig-zags, a beautiful but broken spoon pipe, and a large pile of roaches and pot ash.
It is presumed that he must have tried to smoke his way out, but "the forest was too thick", said sheriff's deputies who were at the scene.
Authorities are investigating if there was any foul play on the part of the plants and are holding them for questioning."
 
whodatnation

whodatnation

Well-Known Member
DoobieBrother said:
"In other news, a Rocky Mountain man's deceased body was found in a cannabis grow room. Apparently the man leaned over the plants to move a thermometer when his sleeve brushed against a resin coated leaf trapping his arm.
In the ensuing panic, coroners believe in trying to free himself, his struggles only got him more firmly stuck amongst the incredibly chrystalline surfaces of the young leaves.
Next to the body was found a half pack of zig-zags, a beautiful but broken spoon pipe, and a large pile of roaches and pot ash.
It is presumed that he must have tried to smoke his way out, but "the forest was too thick", said sheriff's deputies who were at the scene.
Authorities are investigating if there was any foul play on the part of the plants and are holding them for questioning."
Click to expand...
I started loling too hard to read haha
Straight from the onion I tell ya lol
Thanks allot doob that was great :-)
 
mr west

mr west

Well-Known Member
DoobieBrother said:
"In other news, a Rocky Mountain man's deceased body was found in a cannabis grow room. Apparently the man leaned over the plants to move a thermometer when his sleeve brushed against a resin coated leaf trapping his arm.
In the ensuing panic, coroners believe in trying to free himself, his struggles only got him more firmly stuck amongst the incredibly chrystalline surfaces of the young leaves.
Next to the body was found a half pack of zig-zags, a beautiful but broken spoon pipe, and a large pile of roaches and pot ash.
It is presumed that he must have tried to smoke his way out, but "the forest was too thick", said sheriff's deputies who were at the scene.
Authorities are investigating if there was any foul play on the part of the plants and are holding them for questioning."
Click to expand...
You must spread some Reputation around before giving it to DoobieBrother again. Ten times rep for that story lol
 
DoobieBrother

DoobieBrother

Well-Known Member
Wow, that must be a pretty deep and fulfilling high coming at you from several different angles all at the same time.
It's like a slice of home baked gourmet bread, slathered in fresh butter and covered with a sweet & chunky layer of marmalade....
....one that leaves you smiling and pleasantly passed out! ;-)
 
curious old fart

curious old fart

Well-Known Member
doobie

Your creativity blows me away...really well done. Only thing missing was an 'empty lighter was also found'

DST
Have you made a will?...that looks deadly....and delightful.

:peace:
cof
 
DoobieBrother

DoobieBrother

Well-Known Member
curious old fart said:
doobie

Your creativity blows me away...really well done. Only thing missing was an 'empty lighter was also found'

DST
Have you made a will?...that looks deadly....and delightful.

:peace:
cof
Click to expand...
I thought about mentioning an empty Bic or dried up Zippo, but my brain is a bit weed-soft tonight and I missed it. ;-)
Speaking of "weed-soft", the clock on the wall says "Joint:30" in the morning.
Union Break!
Smoke if you got 'em.
:blsmoke:
 
DoobieBrother

DoobieBrother

Well-Known Member
DST said:
sugar coated oily dog bonbons......heerlijk, super lekker even.
Click to expand...
I love bonbons.
My mouth is literally watering right now...
And eveytime I here the word "bonbons" I can't help but think of this:

[video=youtube;VMt3GOyRkU4]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VMt3GOyRkU4[/video]


I suppose the two gentlemen featured in the video below (the poet Robert Service, and the performer Larry Beck) have both contributed to my sense of humor & irony over the years.
In fact, odd coincidence, Larry Beck hosted a children's show in Alaska ("The Mother Moose Show") when I was a little kid, and along with his own humor & Alaskan poetry, he would recite and act out various Robert Service poems & ballads, and then show cartoons ("Underdog",
"Klondike Kat", etc.)
[video=youtube;H8UBat78jRo]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H8UBat78jRo[/video]

The Ballad of Blasphemous Bill
-by Robert W. Service

I took a contract to bury the body of blasphemous Bill MacKie,
Whenever, wherever or whatsoever the manner of death he die--

Whether he die in the light o' day or under the peak-faced moon;
In cabin or dance-hall, camp or dive, mucklucks or patent shoon;

On velvet tundra or virgin peak, by glacier, drift or draw;
In muskeg hollow or canyon gloom, by avalanche, fang or claw;

By battle, murder or sudden wealth, by pestilence, hooch or lead--
I swore on the Book I would follow and look till I found my tombless dead.

For Bill was a dainty kind of cuss, and his mind was mighty sot
On a dinky patch with flowers and grass in a civilized bone-yard lot.

And where he died or how he died, it didn't matter a damn
So long as he had a grave with frills and a tombstone "epigram".

So I promised him, and he paid the price in good cheechako coin
(Which the same I blowed in that very night down in the Tenderloin).

Then I painted a three-foot slab of pine: "Here lies poor Bill MacKie",
And I hung it up on my cabin wall and I waited for Bill to die.

Years passed away, and at last one day came a squaw with a story strange,
Of a long-deserted line of traps 'way back of the Bighorn range;

Of a little hut by the great divide, and a white man stiff and still,
Lying there by his lonesome self, and I figured it must be Bill.

So I thought of the contract I'd made with him, and I took down from the shelf
The swell black box with the silver plate he'd picked out for hisself;

And I packed it full of grub and "hooch", and I slung it on the sleigh;
Then I harnessed up my team of dogs and was off at dawn of day.

You know what it's like in the Yukon wild when it's sixty-nine below;
When the ice-worms wriggle their purple heads through the crust of the pale blue snow;

When the pine-trees crack like little guns in the silence of the wood,
And the icicles hang down like tusks under the parka hood;

When the stove-pipe smoke breaks sudden off, and the sky is weirdly lit,
And the careless feel of a bit of steel burns like a red-hot spit;

When the mercury is a frozen ball, and the frost-fiend stalks to kill--
Well, it was just like that that day when I set out to look for Bill.

Oh, the awful hush that seemed to crush me down on every hand,
As I blundered blind with a trail to find through that blank and bitter land;

Half dazed, half crazed in the winter wild, with its grim heart-breaking woes,
And the ruthless strife for a grip on life that only the sourdough knows!

North by the compass, North I pressed; river and peak and plain
Passed like a dream I slept to lose and I waked to dream again.

River and plain and mighty peak--and who could stand unawed?
As their summits blazed, he could stand undazed at the foot of the throne of God.

North, aye, North, through a land accurst, shunned by the scouring brutes,
And all I heard was my own harsh word and the whine of the malamutes,

Till at last I came to a cabin squat, built in the side of a hill,
And I burst in the door, and there on the floor, frozen to death, lay Bill.

Ice, white ice, like a winding-sheet, sheathing each smoke-grimed wall;
Ice on the stove-pipe, ice on the bed, ice gleaming over all;

Sparkling ice on the dead man's chest, glittering ice in his hair,
Ice on his fingers, ice in his heart, ice in his glassy stare;

Hard as a log and trussed like a frog, with his arms and legs outspread.
I gazed at the coffin I'd brought for him, and I gazed at the gruesome dead,

And at last I spoke: "Bill liked his joke; but still, goddamn his eyes,
A man had ought to consider his mates in the way he goes and dies."

Have you ever stood in an Arctic hut in the shadow of the Pole,
With a little coffin six by three and a grief you can't control?

Have you ever sat by a frozen corpse that looks at you with a grin,
And that seems to say: "You may try all day, but you'll never jam me in"?

I'm not a man of the quitting kind, but I never felt so blue
As I sat there gazing at that stiff and studying what I'd do.

Then I rose and I kicked off the husky dogs that were nosing round about,
And I lit a roaring fire in the stove, and I started to thaw Bill out.

Well, I thawed and thawed for thirteen days, but it didn't seem no good;
His arms and legs stuck out like pegs, as if they was made of wood.

Till at last I said: "It ain't no use--he's froze too hard to thaw;
He's obstinate, and he won't lie straight, so I guess I got to--saw."

So I sawed off poor Bill's arms and legs, and I laid him snug and straight
In the little coffin he picked hisself, with the dinky silver plate;

And I came nigh near to shedding a tear as I nailed him safely down;
Then I stowed him away in my Yukon sleigh, and I started back to town.

So I buried him as the contract was in a narrow grave and deep,
And there he's waiting the Great Clean-up, when the Judgment sluice-heads sweep;

And I smoke my pipe and I meditate in the light of the Midnight Sun,
And sometimes I wonder if they was, the awful things I done.

And as I sit and the parson talks, expounding of the Law,
I often think of poor old Bill--and how hard he was to saw.

----------
The Ballad of the Ice-Worm Cocktail
-by Robert W. Service

To Dawson Town came Percy Brown from London on the Thames.
A pane of glass was in his eye, and stockings on his stems.
Upon the shoulder of his coat a leather pad he wore,
To rest his deadly rifle when it wasn't seeking gore;

The which it must have often been, for Major Percy Brown,
According to his story was a hunter of renown,

Who in the Murrumbidgee wilds had stalked the kangaroo
And killed the cassowary on the plains of Timbuctoo.

And now the Arctic fox he meant to follow to its lair,
And it was also his intent to beard the Artic hare...

Which facts concerning Major Brown I merely tell because
I fain would have you know him for the Nimrod that he was.

Now Skipper Grey and Deacon White were sitting in the shack,
And sampling of the whisky that pertained to Sheriff Black.

Said Skipper Grey: "I want to say a word about this Brown:
The piker's sticking out his chest as if he owned the town."

Said Sheriff Black: "he has no lack of frigorated cheek;
He called himself a Sourdough when he'd just been here a week."

Said Deacon White: "Methinks you're right, and so I have a plan
By which I hope to prove to-night the mettle of the man.

Just meet me where the hooch-bird sings, and though our ways be rude
We'll make a proper Sourdough of this Piccadilly dude."

Within the Malamute Saloon were gathered all the gang;
The fun was fast and furious, and the loud hooch-bird sang.

In fact the night's hilarity had almost reached its crown,
When into its storm-centre breezed the gallant Major Brown.

And at the apparation, whith its glass eye and plus-fours,
From fifty alcoholic throats responded fifty roars.

With shouts of stark amazement and with whoops of sheer delight,
They surged around the stranger, but the first was Deacon White.

"We welcome you," he cried aloud, "to this the Great White Land.
The Artic Brotherhood is proud to grip you by the hand.

Yea, sportsman of the bull-dog breed, from trails of far away,
To Yukoners this is indeed a memorable day.

Our jubilation to express, vocabularies fail...
Boys, hail the Great Cheechako!" And the boys responded: "Hail!"

"And now," continued Deacon White to blushing Major Brown,
"Behold assembled the eelight and cream of Dawson Town,

And one ambition fills their hearts and makes their bosoms glow -
They want to make you, honoured sir, a bony feed Sourdough.

The same, some say, is one who's seen the Yukon ice go out,
But most profound authorities the definition doubt,

And to the genial notion of this meeting, Major Brown,
A Sourdough is a guy who drinks ... an ice-worm cocktail down."

"By Gad!" responded Major Brown, "that's ripping, don't you know.
I've always felt I'd like to be a certified Sourdough.

And though I haven't any doubt your Winter's awf'ly nice,
Mayfair, I fear, may miss me ere the break-up of your ice.

Yet (pray excuse my ignorance of matters such as these)
A cocktail I can understand - but what's an ice-worm, please?"

Said Deacon White: "It is not strange that you should fail to know,
Since ice-worms are peculiar to the Mountain of Blue Snow.

Within the Polar rim it rears, a solitary peak,
And in the smoke of early Spring (a spectacle unique)

Like flame it leaps upon the sight and thrills you through and through,
For though its cone is piercing white, its base is blazing blue.

Yet all is clear as you draw near - for coyley peering out
Are hosts and hosts of tiny worms, each indigo of snout.

And as no nourishment they find, to keep themselves alive
They masticate each other's tails, till just the Tough survive.

Yet on this stern and Spartan fare so-rapidly they grow,
That some attain six inches by the melting of the snow.

Then when the tundra glows to green and nigger heads appear,
They burrow down and are not seen until another year."

"A toughish yarn," laughed Major Brown, "as well you may admit.
I'd like to see this little beast before I swallow it."

"'Tis easy done," said Deacon White, "Ho! Barman, haste and bring
Us forth some pickled ice-worms of the vintage of last Spring."

But sadly still was Barman Bill, then sighed as one bereft:
"There's been a run on cocktails, Boss; there ain't an ice-worm left.

Yet wait . . . By gosh! it seems to me that some of extra size
Were picked and put away to show the scientific guys."

Then deeply in a drawer he sought, and there he found a jar,
The which with due and proper pride he put upon the bar;

And in it, wreathed in queasy rings, or rolled into a ball,
A score of grey and greasy things, were drowned in alcohol.

Their bellies were a bilious blue, their eyes a bulbous red;
Their back were grey, and gross were they, and hideous of head.

And when with gusto and a fork the barman speared one out,
It must have gone four inches from its tail-tip to its snout.

Cried Deacon White with deep delight: "Say, isn't that a beaut?"
"I think it is," sniffed Major Brown, "a most disgustin' brute.

Its very sight gives me the pip. I'll bet my bally hat,
You're only spoofin' me, old chap. You'll never swallow that."

"The hell I won't!" said Deacon White. "Hey! Bill, that fellows fine.
Fix up four ice-worm cocktails, and just put that wop in mine."

So Barman Bill got busy, and with sacerdotal air
His art's supreme achievement he proceeded to prepare.

His silver cups, like sickle moon, went waving to and fro,
And four celestial cocktails soon were shining in a row.

And in the starry depths of each, artistically piled,
A fat and juicy ice-worm raised its mottled mug and smiled.

Then closer pressed the peering crowd, suspended was the fun,
As Skipper Grey in courteous way said: "Stranger, please take one."

But with a gesture of disgust the Major shook his head.
"You can't bluff me. You'll never drink that gastly thing," he said.

"You'll see all right," said Deacon White, and held his cocktail high,
Till its ice-worm seemed to wiggle, and to wink a wicked eye.

Then Skipper Grey and Sheriff Black each lifted up a glass,
While through the tense and quiet crowd a tremor seemed to pass.

"Drink, Stranger, drink," boomed Deacon White. "proclaim you're of the best,
A doughty Sourdough who has passed the Ice-worm Cocktail Test."

And at these words, with all eyes fixed on gaping Major Brown,
Like a libation to the gods, each dashed his cocktail down.

The Major gasped with horror as the trio smacked their lips.
He twiddled at his eye-glass with unsteady finger-tips.

Into his starry cocktail with a look of woe he peered,
And it's ice-worm, to his thinking, most incontinently leered.

Yet on him were a hundred eyes, though no one spoke aloud,
For hushed with expectation was the waiting, watching crowd.

The Major's fumbling hand went forth - the gang prepared to cheer;
The Major's falt'ring hand went back, the mob prepared to jeer,

The Major gripped his gleaming glass and laid it to his lips,
And as despairfully he took some nauseated sips,

From out its coil of crapulence the ice-worm raised its head,
Its muzzle was a murky blue, its eyes a ruby red.

And then a roughneck bellowed fourth: "This stiff comes here and struts,
As if he bought the blasted North - jest let him show his guts."

And with a roar the mob proclaimed: "Cheechako, Major Brown,
Reveal that you're of Sourdough stuff, and drink your cocktail down."

The Major took another look, then quickly closed his eyes,
For even as he raised his glass he felt his gorge arise.

Aye, even though his sight was sealed, in fancy he could see
That grey and greasy thing that reared and sneered in mockery.

Yet round him ringed the callous crowd - and how they seemed to gloat!
It must be done . . . He swallowed hard . . . The brute was at his throat.

He choked. . . he gulped . . . Thank God! at last he'd got the horror down.
The from the crowd went up a roar: "Hooray for Sourdough Brown!"

With shouts they raised him shoulder high, and gave a rousing cheer,
But though they praised him to the sky the Major did not hear.

Amid their demonstrative glee delight he seemed to lack;
Indeed it almost seemed that he - was "keeping something back."

A clammy sweat was on his brow, and pallid as a sheet:
"I feel I must be going now," he'd plaintively repeat.

Aye, though with drinks and smokes galore, they tempted him to stay,
With sudden bolt he gained the door, and made his get-away.

And ere next night his story was the talk of Dawson Town,
But gone and reft of glory was the wrathful Major Brown;

For that ice-worm (so they told him) of such formidable size
Was - a stick of stained spaghetti with two red ink spots for eyes.
 
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Heads Up

Heads Up

Well-Known Member
It's no wonder I love this thread, we are insane and personally I can't stand normal, it scares the crap out of me.

My spider mites are alive and doing great, if anyone needs any feel free to contact me, it's a bumper harvest for them.

cof, out of five feminized uberkushes I got two to grow. Out of about a half dozen or so regular extremas, I had one grow and it turned out male. I have had no other problems with any of sannies other strains but those two are giving me a ton of grief.

Anyway here's a sorry update of my three week into flower deep psycho and psycho killer along with my ten week morning glory. This morning won't be so glorious for her, she's meeting the grinning reaper today. She could really go another week but she's getting chopped so I can dry her and sell her. With no job I need the money plus not smoking any myself I'm not keeping it.

This thread is an absolute blast. Genuity, I see you on the badboy t-5 thread, isn't it amazing how many flamers and bashers there are on that thread.

It's going to be bombs away again in my grow room after this one finishes. Damn mites have returned with all their friends. Does anyone have a clue where these little bastards come from?
 

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