So many of the strains these days in California, Colorado, or even here in New York boast that they're anxiety-reducing, but that isn't really the case because they all have really high THC contents. But the second I have to do something-be out in public, hang with my family, or anything like that-it becomes way too much. If I'm just gonna smoke and chill by myself or with friends, it's perfectly fine. Weed these days is honestly just too potent for certain situations. Plus, I was listening to a bunch of 60s and 70s music on the beach the whole time and felt like I was back in that time period.Įver since then I've found myself missing shake. He asked me for a $50 and the next day came through with a giant bag of shit weed-seeds, stems, the whole nine yards. The first thing I did when I got there was chat up the bartender at the hotel for some pot. My love for mediocre weed all started when I went to Jamaica on a family trip. Here's what a variety of weed lovers, who wished to remain anonymous, told me about why they like their pot weak. But the more I started asking around, the more stoners I found who felt a similar soft spot for shake. Whenever I'd express this opinion to heavy smokers, they'd call me a narc, tell me to get a vape, or suggest I purchase a used Sabbath record to jerk off onto. This stuff is to medical chronic as Budweiser is to whatever microbrew beer bros are drooling over these days I could chain smoke it all evening long while just maintaining a slight buzz.
#Reggy weed full#
Though it sounds weird to say it, I feel nostalgic for the weed I'd buy in high school: cheap bags full of forest-green shake that resembled (or might have been) oregano. I can't do that with medical weed, "headies," "dank kush," or whatever you want to call stuff with upwards of 20 percent THC content. I like to smoke weed with my friends, meaning we roll up multiple spliffs at once and prefer to continuously be smoking something to keep the conversation going and pass time. To her, a hit from modern weed was akin to a rip from an opium pipe.įlash-forward a few years, and I can relate to my mom. Two puffs later and I had to carry her upstairs and tuck her in as if I were the parent. After a puff, she was blown away by the taste and felt good. She wanted to try smoking again, and we shared a joint of my weed. Like many adults who become parents, she took a decades-long herb hiatus, and wasn't familiar with how the drug had evolved over the years. I once brought home one of these strains-called Blue Dream or Silver Haze or something flashy-to share with my mother, a cool lady who used to smoke finger-sized doobies as if they cigarettes in the 70s. In college, I lived with some stoners, and we exclusively smoked the stickiest icky we could find, medical-grade delivery-service shit that got me so high I'd turn temporarily illiterate. This is all well and good, but I prefer shitty weed.
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