Tommy Lucero, contributor
P.T. Barnum once said, “Every crowd has a silver lining.” He also said, “There’s a sucker born every minute.”
Such is the state of today’s weed world and the gimmicky, now retail-laden landscape that is the medical Marijuana industry. Sure, it’s a lot more accessible, but it’s now to the point I’m missing my shady high school dealers that were also my teachers. All these things that have been added to my magical mate that is marijuana only serve to make our relationship somewhat dried out and looking for an extra spark to rekindle our love.
I long for the days of not-so-easily-acquired Afghani Goo as opposed to now, when I’m wading through the rookies. There was a time when I could trade a Nintendo game and a half-eaten bag of Cheetos for what I have to give up for “top shelf” at someone’s converted taco shop. Sure, it helps a plethora of people, but what will become of all these magic cookies I just made !?!? All I know for sure is that there’s a lot of additives in today’s MMJ world, and that drives the prices higher than Keith Richards in a poppy field.
I’m very happy at the rights we’re given and love the advancements that have been made in the use of Medical Marijuana, but please stop adding food grade terpenes to the concentrates. I love shatter dabs enough that they don’t need to try to make it taste like cheesecake when it just ends up tasting like burnt graham crackers and shattered dreams. Natural dabs made in my cousin’s garage are the way to go, and it helps him pay rent to my aunt, so make sure and shop local. Truthfully, who doesn’t like down home hood craftsmanship and care provided by honest, hard working, early-release-for-good-behavior extraction specialists?
I’ve lived long enough to see what looked like buds rolled in Kool-Aid attempting to be passed off as “flavor crystals,” but I think that fella was messing with a different brand of crystals all together. It’s an ongoing, endless cycle that countless crooked unsavories try to take advantage of, even more so than an unguarded Toblerone at a Weight Watchers meeting, or for that matter, a vacated seat in the senate. Always remember, though, that a turd wrapped in gold is still a turd, and there’s no such thing as a true OG unless you’re talking about Morris Day and the Time, because they were hella gangsta.
The post Burnt Graham Crackers and Shattered Dreams appeared first on Savage Henry Independent Times.
