This thing got wrote by reader request! Unlike a club DJ spinning Top 40, I’m actually a human being, so I’m able to do that. Enjoy! But don't inhale.
This one is free, so please by all the gods both above and below, share it you degenerates.
Marijuana (pronounced Mary Juan Uhh or Mary Hwan Uhh if you're from the south) is a pretty old thing. The Devil has been tending a diversity of lettuce for around 28 million years, producing several species. Formally, it is known as cannabis, as it is a member of the Cannabaceae family of head-fucking foliage.
Pot, cannabis, sticky icky, weed, grass, burnt offerings, hippy colonic, reality enhancer, or just classic marijuana, whatever you want to call it it’s been around.
President Bill Clinton once famously asserted he did a bit of Satan Shrub but didn't inhale. He said this prior to being put in charge of the largest economy in the world, to which every bad economic decision maker exclaimed, “Whew!” Honestly, it seems a bad business decision to just burn drugs without ingesting them. This is what you do with cigars, but we all know Slick Willy uses those for other things by now. Perhaps he was simply confused about his intentions for the country, but still quite honest about it? He’s a slippery one, that William Jefferson Clinton.
Our first President and Paragon of American virtue grew himself some wacky tobacky. We don't know if he smoked the stuff, but we do know he had wooden teeth. It seems odd such a titan of society wouldn't have sampled their own product. That would be unethical, and we all know George Washington is clean. Oh, except that whole slave-trader thing.
The rules seem to be different for Jefferson, who absolutely did sample his product before selling it/her/them/humans. For people who aren’t as into American history as I am, these are slavery jokes. I’m joking about former American Presidents having sex with their slaves. It’s horrible. I’m told.
Tricky Dick Nixon with the aid of a drunk, stupid Congress, outlawed the pot. They put it on the same shelf as heroin, which is how you know they haven't touched either. That’s the world I was born into, screaming and unwilling. A world dominated by a Congress of Baboons, wagging their chubby sausage fingers under my nose and telling me if I ever smoke so much as even a single puff-puff, I will go to Federal Pound Me In The Ass Prison or end up as President of the United States. Could go either way. I’m still watching it play out, although by now I suspect I’d turn it down hard. The Presidency.
I first smoked a bit at fifteen or so, I think. Yeah, I risked my tender mangina. It was fun but I never saw what the big allure of it was. I didn't want to make a habit out of it, not with acid and meth so readily available. I only have so many hours in a day and night and day again. I’ve since swapped out acid and meth for pot. I get a lot more sleep now. It’s also cheaper. I don’t smoke that much, but I do smoke to win.
Megan is a pot smoker, though. She had one of those medical marijuana cards back before we forced the state to make it recreational. Dispensaries were in the weirdest places. It was a treasure hunt. You started online and then spent six hours finding it in real life. We had one in Ballard on the basement floor of an office building. They’d make you sit in a tiny waiting area then take you back one at a time to the Vault where they kept all the weeds and I assume the women.
Eventually Washington State created a legal framework for recreational pot smoking. This means drug dealers can light their businesses and operate in the daylight. It also means our State is rich, fat, and happy off tax revenue. The people too, minus the wealth, anyway. We are fat and relatively happy. Unlike the Seattle cop, who in the month after legalization, single-handedly gave 80% of the fines for puffing tough in public by himself. What a hero. At least his mother loves him. I assume.
We legalized pot via a ballot initiative here eight years ago and for seven years, my favorite den of iniquity has to be OZ. Cannabis. That’s the name of a business over in Wallingford in Seattle on Stone Way. I’ll drop the address down below for any locals interested in tasting the piss of excellence. But aside from the great place itself, it’s a clever name for a bunch of reasons. I know why it is called this, but speculating endlessly is more fun.
OZ. could stand for ounce, the weight a baller rolls around with minimum. Snoop Dogg rubs an ounce of pot into Martha Stewart's back every morning. That is a lot of weed. On a related note, any cookie recipe demands at least an ounce. It’s the gold standard weight in cannabis and cooking. Modern pot shops almost certainly show weight in grams, but it’ll be broken up into eights, quarters, halves, and whole ounces. 3.5 grams, 7 grams, 14 grams, 28 grams, etc.
Whenever someone robs the place, smashing windows in the process, it resembles an HBO show I saw once. It was called Oz, too. I think it followed a bunch of Boy Scout Leaders and Catholic priests living mundane, every day lives as they do. I wasn't a fan, really. Too much rape and too few merit badges for it. It is annoying whenever this happens to OZ. Cannabis, since they don’t deserve it, and the Feds prevent them from banking properly. It makes them vulnerable to theft and the Feds know this.
The Wizard of Oz lived somewhere. I suspect it was at OZ. Cannabis in Seattle. We call Seattle the Emerald City. I’m not entirely sure why but I suspect it has something to do with the verdant moss that grows on our homeless or perhaps the color our feces takes after spending twenty years eating the local salmon, who are absolutely high as balls. We had a Good Witch for a while, but she was too stupid it turns out and quit. Summer of Love, man.
OZ. Cannabis provides locally sourced pot for discerning, local stoners. They have to by law. Washington law dictates they can only sell product made in Washington. They have the usual home-grown strains as we do here in the beautiful northwest: Alaskan Thunderfuck, Gorilla Cocktrails, Teen Pregnancy, Roe v Wade, Maui Wowie, You Don't Want No Part of This Shit Dewey, Mimosa, OMG The Feds Are Outside, etc.
They're all pretty good and only a few have been linked to psychotic blindness so far. But they're listed out with potency and price, along with a guide of sorts offering a hint at what type of fuckery you’ll be enjoying if you smoke it. Or eat it. Or vape it. They got options down at OZ. Cannabis. Shit, you don’t even have to inhale it, Bill. You can just stuff it up inside another human being as usual.
Some of the descriptions read like wines but written by a hippy who washed out of literary school or wherever the hell it is people learn to write words good.
Grown from soil infused with the ashes of twenty Catholic Saints and sanctified by a Sioux tribe you’ve never heard of. Bold, with a hint of singed earth and full body high accents. Uplifting, like cat videos. But motivating, like Cheech and Chong and Jerry Brown campaign videos. Great for generalized puttering about the commune and otherwise relaxed forms of easy revolution. 99.9% THC. 110% CBD. 45% ROI. 100% Okay Fun Sexy Time. Made with the minimum amount of racism necessary.
I admit, I don’t know how the percentages on the labels work at all. That’s like, way over 100%. I don’t even know what ROI means. And that’s before smoking it. The helpful folks behind the counter at OZ. Cannabis have told me countless times, and yet, I never manage to retain that information. It goes in the same bin as whatever favor my wife asked me to do today. Can’t remember. Probably not important.
But the folks at OZ. Cannabis can let you know. Maybe you’ll retain it. It would be great if you can get them to make sense of that pot description I wrote above. I still have no idea what it means.
OZ. Cannabis
3831 STONE WAY N
SEATTLE, WA 98103
https://www.ozseattle.com/