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Turnstile - Glow On

Posted by CANNASaver on Saturday, 04 September 2021 in Album Notes

Self-described as a "hardcore band" by lead singer Brendan Yates, one might have a hard time believing Turnstile resembles anything remotely close to that if only the opening 19 seconds on their third full-length are heard. That said, Glow On would also be easy to pigeonhole if glanced over. But as the following 15 tracks swiftly unfold on this 35-minute adventure, Yates' assertion oscillates between dubiousness and indisputability, and descriptions ranging from Incubus to new wave become applicable. Still, the Fugazi-ness undoubedtly lingers. That said, fuck the labels, this rocks. And so much more.

Erickson reviews Turnstile's "Glow On"

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An unsparked spliff found at the intersection of Holcombe and Grand Avenues in Roacheo has itself sparked a quest to find its rightful owner, and, in the chance of its true orphanage, the rightful person who should otherwise spark it themselves.

Although mum at first, it wasn't long before news of the abandoned doobie had reached the locals by storm, with a plurality of the suburb's citizens jamming switchboards by phone to lay claim to the J for days. It was locked away and heavily-guarded, 24-7.

The first at the scene had been Bartelby Jones, a town gossip who happened to “find” the spliff at the corner Tuesday morning at the bus stop. Another laying claim to the pre-roll, Vincent McGillicuty, says the bus stop is in front of his house and therefore the item of interest is likely from his stash. And yet another, Esmerelda Cutler, filed a formal request for custody of the spliff, even though she’s never been to this side of town and is only visiting for RoachFest this weekend from Steem's Point. There were plenty others. 

An unsparked J has worried onlookers wondering who will partake of it

“Obviously somebody out there is probably pretty concerned about this little spliff,” Cheef Officer Caititia Pendleton initially reported. “Everyone can see, it’s extra plump. And stanky.”

The Save the Spliff campaign did very poorly as far as recruitment, until changing name to Save the Spliff for Me. The movement quickly amassed one hundred thousand followers, each eager to smake the joint only to themselves despite its girth. 

The city and particularly, its council, have also laid claim to the rolled flower. Friday, a local magistrate clarified that any entity could be appointed legal guardian and keeper of the joint by the city judicial system, and in doing so, announced that he would undertake such a laborious burden. An immediate appeal to an even higher court led to a decision that all those in the vicinity could partake together of said joint, if consumed equally in a circle--a decision well-received by all parties. An even higher appellate decision will determine who has legal right to spark of it.

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Shannon & The Clams - Year of the Spider

Posted by CANNASaver on Tuesday, 31 August 2021 in Album Notes

Shannon and The Clams' latest album, Year of the Spider, is not named in honor of the arachnid-rich campgrounds of High Cliff State Park on Lake Winnebago in eastern Wisconsin. Because that would be every year. 

Instead, Shannon Shaw said the title of the group's sixth LP came from reevaluating a lifelong fear of the silk producers during a period of time when her world was crashing down. In a post on the band's website, Shaw said, "I am terrified of spiders, but my mom always told me that they're drawn to me." The singer/bassist visited an astrologer and was told "to summon Durga when she felt powerless, a Hindu goddess who holds a weapon in each of her eight arms... The symbolism of the spider made a full turn in an interesting way. I was getting protection from the thing I feared the most." It also led to the quartet's most serious effort yet.

While it's difficult to find any reference to Shannon & The Clams without the word "garage" being used to describe their music, Year of the Spider is decidedly un-carport by the band's standards. If the production feels similar to the recently featured Introducing... by Aaron Frazer, the not-so-secret connection is Dan Auerbach, producer and occasional hired gun on both. On Year of the Spider, the Clams' edges have been smoothed, the raw energy toned down. Fortunately, the overall "what decade is this?" sound of R&B, doo-wop, and early rock & roll remains, punctuated by Shaw's voice, explosive as ever.

Erickson reviews Shannon & The Clams' album, Year of the Spider
"Spiders destroy the bullshit bugs," Shaw came to appreciate. "Like mosquitoes. Who needs 'em?" As someone born where that omnipresent, obnoxious little fly is the unofficial state bird, I wholeheartedly agree. Safe to say, Year of the Skeeter is unlikely to be LP number seven, but coming from Shannon & The Clams, it would be a beautiful buzz. 

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Organoids are tiny organs grown in labs by scientists using stem cells, with the purpose of eventually being used in medicine--or at least, super-cool horror movies. Now a team of scientists have taken it to a new level with “Luther,” a large cranial organoid who has grown “optic cups,” and a tiny mouth-hole. Even more dazzling, the celebrity specimen already seems familiar with the concept, and search for, kind bud.

"The mammalian brain depends on nerve fibers made of retinal ganglion cells, reaching out to connect and transmit information, something we’ve never witnessed in an in vitro system," Barbara Zrjkle of University Hospital Istanbowl told Dispatches. “And this one is clearly searching for some stanky dank.”

Right from the start, the tiny, the humanoid eye bubbles, attached by goopy fibers, began looking to land a satchel, according to scientists on the scene, whose report was recently published in National Science Bee. Luther’s optic cups watched with curiosity as the researchers smaked spliffs during breaks, “ever the more intensely when the joint was passed right in front of him, effectively skipping him in the circle.” The globules continued to glance furtively all over the room, serenely resting whenever they came to a nearby cannabis plant. 

A brain in a small dish appears to be jonesing hard for some kind bud“This brain is jones’n pretty hard," wrote Willy Finket, associate researcher.

Later on, Finket led the charge to move the growing brain mass into a large tank; although meant to be airtight by design and filled with purified saline solution, it wasn’t long before it resembled a neglected aquarium, 75% full of algae and garbage. Still, an attached camera was able to catch the organoid depressingly knocking itself against the glass each time the scientists powered up their eNails to dab. 

Finally, after the brain seemed to shut down in a depressive state for several months, the researchers devised a new experiment, in which the tank was converted to a large gravity bong, forcing the scientists’ gigantic plumes through the organoid’s opaque solution. The optic cups, which by then had grown to full size, turned a bloodshot red, while the mouthhole, still a pinprick, turned up at the corners in what could only be described as a “puerile grin.”

The results were considered immaterial at first, until the faint bubbles, or tiny boops coming from the miniscule mouth, were recorded and edited into full sounds, and then, words. “When pitch-corrected to resemble a real coherent person, it turns out little Luther is speaking what sounds like Italian!” Zrjkle concluded. “Nobody’s been able to translate it yet, but he sure is happy!” 

“From what we do understand, he also keeps asking for pizza pie,” she said.

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August Cannascopes

Posted by CANNASaver on Wednesday, 18 August 2021 in Dispatches from the Highlands

Discover Your Fortune!

Aries - You were courageous to embark on the DIY house-painting, but you shouldn't have used water-color. 

Taurus - Now that it's warm enough, you can finally talk about how you'd be jogging every day but it's too hot outside.

Gemini - There’s no need to announce you’re going to the restroom, especially not on a mic during the maid of honor’s toast.  

Cancer - Though you got poked hard in the eye, a jumbo bandaid is not the solution.

Leo - The terribleness of your breath will become crystal clear when they can't resuscitate the dental hygienist. 

Virgo - It might be a greasy old gym sock covered in moldy cheese, but hey, at least it's not Cracker Barrel. 

Libra - The universe will send you three tests, at no added cost, after your couture shaving box.  

Scorpio - It's safe to say you didn't turn into your parents, but at this rate, looks like you'll be skipping right to your grandparents. 

Sagittarius - You have too much pride to ask for help, but as a stoner stuck in the mud in a dinosaur costume, no one wants to anyway. 

Capricorn - You'll realize the thing you've been missing your entire life, is thick, thick corduroy; then the mediocrity will kill you.

Aquarius - Your quest to know thyself will end fittingly in a near-direct DNA match with an extinct family of parameciums. 

Pisces - Now that you've flushed your phone, you can enjoy the things you used to do the old-fashioned way, like looking for a plumber in a phone book.

Cannascopes: The ultimate wisdom

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A decades-long international study at Oxford University has finally determined that patchouli use is directly linked to polite murmurs of “Hey, you gonna eat all that?” 

The study could have important implications for the re-homing and domestication of patchouli users.

“We were unsure there would be a direct causal link between patchouli usage and food scavenging, but after our extensive research there remains no doubt,” head researcher Dr. Victor Samuels told Dispatches. "Just as many have theorized, it is directly correlated to uttered inquiries regarding the completion of an entrée." 

In the double-blind research study, half of the research participants were given either patchouli oil or placebo of skunk spray, to wear for a period of two hours. Participants were then left in a room with a lone other person, seated next to a full plate of vegan cookies, and observed for a period of time.

A patchouli farmer inspects his crop and dreams about bran muffins

The results were unmistakable. Absolutely every person, high on the effects of patchouli oil, couldn’t help but ask the stranger ‘Hey, you gonna eat all that?’ within a matter of minutes.

The participants themselves were as shocked as anyone. “Don’t judge me before you walk a mile in my Birkenstocks,” said one, wishing to remain anonymous.

"Honestly? I don’t even like desserts made of oatmeal and sand,” reported another. “But after a couple drops of the oil, I couldn’t help but fixate on that plate with lustful, wanton eyes. I was helpless, like Gary Busey at a cocaine brunch.”

For Samuels, the study had a personal connection. “I got pretty heavy into the stuff in college.” he recalled. “I’d already experimented with Nag Champa, a 'gateway' essence. Then at Lilith Fair I got so deep in the ‘pogo’ that I just lost control of myself. The last thing I remember is leaving the McLachlan mosh pit to scavenge for half-eaten Morning Star corn dogs. That’s not who I am!” 

“After that, I gave up patchouli cold-turkey,” he added.

Study participants will undergo a strong delousing with Dr. Bronner’s All Natural Shampoo before leaving the research premises, and will be observed in following weeks to track any relapses. Still, Samuels sees hope for those whose lives have gone disastrously awry under the dark shadow of patchouli use. 

“We know just how sensitive this time can be,” he said. “All test subjects are treated with the utmost respect as they deal with their helpless affinities for cardboard-based snackfood and comfortable-yet-unsightly footwear. But if we can ultimately find what makes patchouli users turn into dirty dreadlocked weirdos in tie-dye, then who knows what’s next? We might even find a link between the sun, and like, plant life or something."

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Smells Ain't Free

Posted by CANNASaver on Tuesday, 17 August 2021 in Dispatches from the Highlands

Don’t pretend ya’ didn’t see me. You were lookin my direction since you walked in the room and I was showin’ the stanky dank to Rollo. That’s right. I got that Purp. You been enjoyin’ her smooth aroma. And I’m tellin’ you right now, son, smells ain’t free.

Bertrand "Purp" DePurp explains the price tag to smell his stash of purp

I shouldn’t have to tell you that! Where you from anyway! You’re in Cannatown Proper now, Jimbo. You never hearda Purp? My name’s Purp. I’M Purp. P-R-P, PURP. I’m the fella that’s listenin’ when you start askin’ Homes here what he’s got available in a violet hue. Violet hue? That’s like askin’ a grey duck who’s a goose!

See everyone ‘round these parts just says, “Purp?” Then I say “What, you need Purp? I got that Purp. I got that Purp right here.” But this ain’t just any Purp. This is like a swig of pure mash. Picked on the edges of Grape Gorge. Hand-picked! P-R-P, Purrrr-urp!

See, that’s why smells ain’t free.

And I saw you treatin’ your shnoz to a couple whiffs. Pull out that cash, son, I also accept bullion--gold. New customer, old customer. Smells ain’t free, not never.

Y’all need that Purp? I got that right here.

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The SS Shitface, a shitty, run-down shrimping boat that became wedged in the Susie Q Sandbar and nearly cut off traffic to indispensable “Free Hash Island,” has been finally refloated, authorities reported on Monday.

The crappy old trawler sailed north to the Great Hitter Lake in the east Highlands, and will now “technically” undergo an inspection. “That’s code for, one massive hookah session with everyone tossing in their own crop, while the boat sits at a dock,” an insider told Dispatches

A terrible, crappy boat is literally blocking the one path to hash island.

Earlier on Monday the Cannatown Cannal Authority said the ship had “responded to the yanking and bludgeoning maneuvers of a small army of front-loaders, driven by ‘somewhat moonshot operators’ eager to get to the free hash on the other side.”

The SS Shitface is one of the most neglected, despicable boats in the world. The one-ton vessel is able to carry roughly ten people and about 20 crates of fish or lobster, and, stretching more than 40 feet, is almost as long as a tree is tall. 

The ship, which ran aground over a decade ago, created terrible disruptions in the free hash supply, especially the connections directly routed through the narrow sandbar connecting Free Hash Island with Cannatown’s 'SupYo' District. 

Around 56% of Cannatown’s free hash passes through or around the sandbar, and locals had gone to all lengths--typically climbing over the smelly, vile old ketch with their own ladders, or nearby pieces of driftwood--to conquer the obstacle. It made the return traverse notoriously treacherous for those whose pockets and carryalls were stuffed to the brim with fresh, fine hash and temple balls. 

Bernie Shootie-Shipmanagymoo, acting captain, originally told officials the boat ran aground due to heavy fog. Over the next couple of months, it became clearer that the actual location of the fog may have played a role in the ship’s deviation--namely, that it was inside the bridge, from some pretty thick rips of White Widow. 

Expert salvage crews were initially called in to help refloat the ship but the project quickly veered off-course and became forgotten as the workers, their friends, families, and then, everyone else, became aware of and mesmerized by all the heaps of free hash just beyond the work site.

Although the boat has finally been freed, those hoping to find happy trails on the sandbar still have to scale the mountain of mud loosened during the operation. But 19,000 citizens have lined up, and are determinedly making their way across the thin stretch of gravel, onto Free Hash Island.

“Even though I miss Ol' Shitface, I say good riddance,” said free hash aficionado Ronny Gregio, a Cannatown resident who used to pole vault over the wretched old junk heap. “That stupid boat. It was the worst watercraft I’ve ever seen.”

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As Cannatown settles in for a strange time “between pandemics,” there are bright spots on the landscape. Literally tens of them. The 30 young gamblers, part-timers, live-at-homers, and failed investors featured in our annual 30 Over 30 offer a fleeting glimpse of hope, and it ain’t much. Some aren’t defying the odds or improving themselves; others are battling with terrible habits, and discovering new scams. This year, most of them had to set up their own cameras at home to submit portraits--due to the pandemic.

30 over 30: Glenda Felberger

Glenda Felberger - Compulsive Gambler
Meet Glenda Felberger, 39. Despite countless setbacks, including one record-setting 48 overdraft fees in a row, Glenda has persevered, accumulating a sizeable fortune by stuffing casino winnings under her mattress over the course of several years, and forgetting about it. Following a short-lived sandwich artist career that led her into multi-level marketing of miracle juice, Felberger doubled her fortune one weekend in Vegas, when she converted nearly half her fortune into nickels and won almost $225. She first made it into the Thousandaires Club in 2019, when a tax return bumped her briefly up and over the mark--but it was quick-lived as she immediately spent it on an inflatable hot-tub. "My motto is, maybe I saved the receipt but I probably didn't, so go ahead and pour me another cosmo," she said. "I said pour me another freakin' cosmo!"

30 over 30: Terry Burns

Terry Burns - Sole Partner, Burns LLC
One of the oldest youngest investment partners at Burns LLC, where she led investments in things like popcorn, and joists, and has attended board meetings for Borky's Shrimp Shack, Burns, 33, doesn’t seem like the kind of person with less than $3,000 in personal assets--but you’d be wrong. Despite sitting on the board of the nonprofit Geniuses in Slippers, which teaches coding skills to cross-eyed computer-stupid stoners from shwag-ravaged communities, and a degree in Computer Science from the CannaTown Technical School, Burns typically lives check-to-check and is only 'up' this week because she unloaded a bunch of her dad’s old golf glubs on eBay, netting her enough for rent and a little splurging money. But she’s mentioned that the fortune is likely temporary. “I should pay off that electricity bill,” she says, “but now that I work from home I also have my mind set on a massage chair.”

30 over 30: Marty Bowen

Marty Bowen - Gas Station Shift Manager
At 38, Marty Bowen should not be working at gas station full time, not when there are plenty of other good jobs around. So says Marty’s mother, Justine, who will sometimes stop by the Phillips 66 station where Marty works throughout the day, just to buy gum, gripe and sneer. “I hate it when she comes in here,” Marty says, “But I’ve also looked at the numbers, and she’s our best customer.” It’s a strange relationship, with Bowen’s dingy, tiny apartment just minutes from his mother’s aging abode, where he often takes advantage of functional laundry and plumbing. Over the course of time, he’s saved nearly $1750 in loose change, stored in trashbags, since he’s overdrafted and closed nearly every bank account he’s ever owned. But he seems unphased. "If I didn't have my bong and huge satchel of Durban Poison, I’d be having a mid-life crisis right now.”

30 over 30: Remy Williams

Remy Williams - Entrepreneur
It’s fair to say that Remy Williams has always been affluent: he’s the heir to the Gargzeta-Bongaza Goo-Balls Corporation, makers of fine goo-balls and edibles. That’s not to say he’s without a sales gene. He demonstrated entrepreneurial skills from an early age, and graduated top of the Slinging department at CU. His unfortunate life-changing fall from grace came when Williams, high on life, and some Alaskan Thunderf*ck, decided to sink his entire life savings into Cannatown's first-ever School for Porpoises. He soon learned that there were no porpoises in Cannatown, or in the greater high desert Sensemilla Valley; they didn't occur naturally, nor did anyone keep them as pets. In fact the school turned out to be the first ever of its kind in the country, yet nobody came for obvious reasons. Resilient, Williams kept the lights on and sat alone at the front desk, waiting for days, then a few years. Finally, at age 37, accepting it had been a bad idea, he shut it down, and walked away with about $4500 left to his name. "At least I have all these clothes from the gift shop," he said, "and the Gargzeta-Bongaza Goo-Balls." 

MORE 30 OVER 30 - Find our Full List of Average People
From all walks of life, from all areas of the cannaworld. Go online for our full list of middle-ground "winners," who, despite all odds, have somehow scraped together a couple thousand dollars, such as these fine people:

Greg Talbot (35) - Quit college after three years in engineering, now works as a canoe and kayak guide, living in a nearby R.V.

Jen McGregory (36) - She's been working in H.R. for a long time, and that's just the real story, she honestly never takes vacations.

Ned Teasley (32) - Teasley's bookie and missing dog will be happy to hear he's finally seeing profits from his beer brat stand.


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Aloha, Jollydabbers. How’s your miserable shred of existence? I’ve learned so much, like how patchy my beard is when I grow it out. This is what I would’ve looked like as a pioneer. And this is what my life would’ve been like back in the day, playin’ video games by candle light, eating plain rice night after night because I can’t cook, makin’ Rube Goldberg contraptions and givin’ up like, right away every time--and on top of all that, I just smaked my first resin bowl in years. Dudeman! 

Columnist Hugh Jollydab recounts his latest horror

That’s where we are now.

I'm on a resin surfboard, a goofy, weird misadventure full of sights and sounds that won't last more than a half hour. Always looking over my shoulder for spiders. Contemplating the quantum opposite of a polar bear, and wondering what quantum really means. Is it even a real word?

Last time I smaked resin was way back in the day, when the weed stores 'round here still had the occasional drought! Remember that? Friday night one August I stumbled into the Mom and Pop place I always went to, and the flower was just, out. I couldn’t believe, it, no, not in the land of smake galore! With few minutes left before closing time, I didn’t have time to hop the bus. I went right home and scraped a heaping wad of resin from all my pipes, a glorious mountain of years’ worth of stuff, and smaked it ‘til morning.

And I thought that was like, the end of the world at the time. Man, oh to be 2014 Hugh. I’d do it all differently.

 Never did I think I’d be scroungin’ around for leaves and steems, any crummerts around my bedroom. 'Course, I could still run down to the store -- apparently they’re still open. But I can’t get an Uber and I’m pretty sure I’ll die if I take the bus. We were gettin’ so close to dro-drones that I’m not sure history books will be able to capture the stingin’ irony of going from drone delivery back to resin bowls in a matter of weeks. My cousin from Kalamazoo just wrote me he hasn’t smaked in a fortnight. Fuuuudddddge that.

Now I’m waitin’ for a check while I wait for another check, while I wait for one more week to pay fifty bills, pickin’ up every weird little job I can, to make sure I can eat and smake and live, like, fixin’ toilets. I’m like, a pro at that because I’ve had to fix my own crapper about 20 times, since I’ve been using almost anything within reach as TP these days. 

Oh, glory hallelujah, if only to be 2014 Hugh.

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The Cannatown fire department was called to 420 Beasley St. Thursday night, to contain a small fireplace fire gone wrong for none other than occasional contributor to Dispatches, Mr. Hugh Jollydab. The blaze was contained and put out by 5:20am, but not before destroying much of Jollydab’s living room. 

Fire Chief Higgins reported that the ordeal actually began with a plumbing issue, for which a unit was dispatched to address at around 11:30pm, just a few hours earlier, when a clog caused the tenant’s toilet to explode. “There wasn’t much we could do to help with that mess except console those affected,” Higgins said. According to the report, a heap of used bathroom towels was used to wipe up the mess in the small, 6x6 bathroom, but it was not enough to stop the flood of sewage that leaked deep into the flooring and began raining in the building’s converted cellar. 

Fire-fighters had to put out the shwag blaze at Mr. Jollydab's house

Mr. Jollydab proceeded to place a large fan in the bathroom, in order to dry the area, then set off to clean the “man-cave” directly below. “It was there that he encountered what he believed to be a huge buzzing noise in the ceiling,” Higgins reported. Upon closer examination, Jollydab determined the source of the buzzing to be a large hornet’s nest. Unable to locate the hive, or remove the drywall, the tenant “smashed through the ceiling using a nearby hatchet,” haphazardly removing drywall, wood and insulation, until a three-foot hole to the ground floor confirmed that the hive was indeed, the “large box fan in the soiled bathroom.”

While not directly related to the ordeal, the fire that engulfed the living room began when Jollydab, forgetting the demolished pieces of wall and other debris in his own fireplace, lit ablaze a giant fire in the hearth, using huge, fat shwag-bricks as he reeled exhausted from his cleanup efforts. It wasn’t long, before the crummy, dry cannabis filled the air with intoxicating fumes strong enough to momentarily debilitate anyone within a five-house radius. “It sure got everyone high for a moment,” said Higgins, “but this just ain’t the way to do it. You know, Safety First.”

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Are UFOs hogwash? Do aliens exist and did they take my pills? Have they visited earth and if so was it their dog that left a dooty on the park strip? 

These are just some questions the local chapter of Freemont Scientacular Nerdry Society (FSNS) are hoping to answer when they make a key address later this afternoon to residents of the Stinky Shady Creek Nursing Home.

For decades, if not centuries, stoned geeks have reported encounters with strange objects, some of which were Unusual-Ass Projectiles (UAP's). Now that the government has informally confirmed some of these recordings, the local FSNS members feel that their time has come. “In the past, we’ve been ridiculed for insisting upon the presence of intergalactic visitors, and now we are prepared to present some of our life’s work,” said local FSNS chapter president, Theodore Montgomery. “Specifically, we're eager to stroll through about 100 Powerpoint slides.”

Elderly residents prepare to learn about technologically-advanced intergalactic civilizations

Overtly paranoid and eager for social contact, the nursing home residents, who have yet to learn of the day’s activity, represent the exact kind of inquiring population that FSNS hopes will embrace their message. An estimated 75 seniors plan to be present, as the briefings will follow Bridge Club, directly prior to 4:30 dinnertime. Several will also be on prescription sedatives.

“People walked out on us in Ashville, and most recently at Bongaroo,” said Montgomery. “Finally we’re confident that we've found an audience that won’t leave or throw tomatoes.”

“We double-checked their cafeteria menu,” he added.

While galactic issues have never taken first priority at the home, the mysteries of space clearly weigh heavily on all. Some residents have expressed fear in the past that UAP's might be the tools of military adversaries out to get their blood pressure medication. Others have complained that aliens walk among us, namely, whatever substitute aides are covering for normal nursing staff during vacation days. And 10% believe they are currently on a UFO.

Home Director Beverly Myles is hopeful but doesn't quite know what to expect. "At first I thought maybe this presentation would help quell our little hunger strike over ‘extraterrestrial’ pancakes, but now I fear it could get worse."

"Almost nobody eats those pancakes now," she added. "Perfectly good though. Scratch Bisquick with extra cinnamon."

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Perhaps it was a moment of psychiatric paralysis, perhaps out of sheer boredom from lockdown, but Mayor J. Van Cannaby, City Council, and Chamber of Commerce have started the year on a new foot: with the goal of redoing “all measurements” that govern our lives, from distance to volume. Following a Friday night virtual bong-binge with other town leaders, wherein the new structures and labeling were hammered out, a “measure” passed unanimously at 4:20AM in the morning with anyone still conscious to vote.

Although popular due to “tearing down of outdated institutions,” the revolutionary change is already gaining opposition from various parties who will see their own distribution points radically affected. For instance, all liquid-volume measurements will be refactored from fractions of gallon or liter systems into four main categories: sips, swallows (aka ‘swals’), swigs, and the optional and variable “chugs” to scale. Commercial productions must recalibrate. “I just ruined a recipe that called for a swal of vegetable oil,” said baker Rordon Gamsey, “But who’s to say my swal is the same as the next person? Do they realize how much I can chug?” 

A lady tries out one of Cannatown's new forms of liquid-volume measurements, the "swig"

In another case, a traveler ran out of gas on a trip because the road sign had been changed to read "Resinville: 6 Jaunts." The account seemed to verify the prescient warnings of council-member Jeanie Barnes who had wondered aloud, “What if people completely misjudge the length of a ‘jaunt?’"

Meanwhile, the Ways and Means Committee slipped a provision into the bill to flip the entire polarity of monetary value in order to save on costs. Now, the most expensive things will cost mere pennies, while trivial crap will cost billions apiece.

If that’s true, then the richest 1% are now the poorest simply by owning money, while the penniless should be able to buy up mansions by the dozen. “That’s great news for me,” says local banjo-strumming wastrel Tim Litscher. “I ain’t got shit.”

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Hey what's up homedogs, mind if I join in on your smake? How've you been handling stuff? Do we really have to wear masks while we hit steamrollers, am I right? Like, should I swab down the bong? Oh, I should? Swabbing. Yea, it hasn't been easy, but I found one thing that's just taken my mind off everything else: that's right, I've been writing a romance novel.

Stop, you say--but not until I've explained myself. This isn't just about some wacky guy who, uh, gets down all stoned with a princess and then they like, hookup. Guys, this is a story for the ages. About a guy, just like you and me. And deep down he knows someone is out there just for him. And maybe he searches and searches for a bit. And that's when he meets...the bud of his dreams. 

Mordecadecai Tuckerson, Romance Novelist

That’s right. It’s a bud. Not like all those other stories. This is a plump, perfectly-trimmed nug, not too moist, not too dry, cured in some beautiful wine cellar, super sugary and fruity like fresh-baked muffins. And maybe he tries a taste, just dips his toes, and just has a long moment where he locks eyes with the bud, except the bud isn’t alive, but he like, well, he loads it and smakes it because that’s what you do, ha. 

Here, I should hit this, sorry.

And here's the clincher. It was under his nose the whole time. Like, a friend gave him a satchel with this beautiful huge nuggersh, and once he finds it, he just like, he cherishes it. He like, loves that thing. He puts it in this golden box and can't help but tell the world about it. 

I mean, this guy is really happy. Happiest he's ever been.

But then he realizes their time is short. The days are counted together. And it's just this daily struggle about a dude who loves this beautiful little nug so much, but he has to break off little parts of it and, like, smake it right in front of the bud.

Man, every time I say it, wow--doesn't that just move you? Sorry, argh homies, I got something in my eye.

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Tagged in: 420 friendly

Remember that 20-pound chunk of ice cream that blasted through a man’s roof last week? “Boom, this huge scoop of ice cream just came out of nowhere through our ceiling,” Ken Malman said over the weekend. “It only missed the family cat by inches.”

Malman, of Mount Hasherhorn, said he was just starting to load a wake and bake bowl when the giant scoop of ice cream, flavored mint chip, landed on the other side of the coffee table. The incident left both him, and his cross-eyed cat, traumatized, even though both devoured an estimated third of the scoop before managing to shove the rest in a nearly-empty freezer. 

But, eager to know exactly who and what could produce a huge flying scoop of ice cream, Malman contacted professors at Cannatown University to pick it up for analysis. The Department of Megamunchies were able to give Dispatches a look into the research they’ve done. 

Mr. Malman stands with family outside his Ice Cream Meteor-struck house.

"Well it's really creamy mint," Dr. Phillips said, wiping bits of chocolate from his beard. "Right now it's a little contaminated with stuff like insulation and this poor gentleman's roof. But apart from that, its gooey, fudgy center was a real treat for us all.”

“I’m glad we brought extra spoons,” he added. 

Doctor Voulter, another lead researcher, labeled the find as a megameteorscoop, or, a very large chunk of ice cream, which, despite being almost physically impossible to occur naturally near earth’s surface, form under psychedelic atmospheric conditions in the Highlands, specifically in the ‘tripoutsphere,’ or upper-lower atmosphere.

“Maybe a dozen of these fall around the world, but we really don’t have any idea how they form,” Dr. Voulter said. “The science isn’t just in its infancy; the fact is, most of the time, when huge 20-50 pound scoops of ice cream land anywhere, they are almost always eaten immediately as mega-munchies by the local civilians. Throughout history.”

“The only similar story we’ve heard of in recent years concerns a tribe in the South Pacific who ate through a massive pile of Cookie Dough Vanilla Bean before it went bad,” Phillips recalled. But the “fairy tale” came with a warning: “There is no reason to try to find these scoops--they’re completely random--or, to stop their estimated terminal velocity of 150 miles per hour.”

“In this way, megameteorscoops are lethal as they are tasty,” Phillips said sternly.

It is due to the rarity of finding one somewhat still intact, that has researchers all abuzz about the specimen. “I can’t wait to dig in, and get a bite of knowledge,” said Vivica Carlyle, graduate student at CU. “The question on everybody’s mind, first and foremost, is whether this ice cream is as good, or better, than Häagen Dazs.” Researchers are planning a 12-week study, or "'til it runs out."

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Tagged in: 420 friendly

Hey duders, you mind if I bum a smake? Even if I can’t get a whole joint, I’d be happy to just smake all your roaches. I don’t deserve good bud. I’m a hack, a novice, a grade-A moron. I just lost like $420 in a matter of hours. How? On Dogecoin! And right before I was about to go spend the money wisely, on something more long-term like a satchel! Good gravy. This is shaping up to be the worst 420 ever since, like, that one year that we all had to start living indoors.

I hate to beg, but what am I supposed to to do? Last night on 420’s Eve, I got ripped right as the clock struck midnight, and then I was like, that’s it, I’m gonna YOLO the rest of my security deposit on this Dogecoin, because, like, I just wanted to be a millionaire. Quick million bucks! That, and it was right at 42 cents. Deja vu, right? It felt familiar. So I bought a ton, thinking, I’d wake up this morning and be like, driving around in a Rolls Royce on the way to work. 

Hugh Jollydab, Crypto Investor

Man it sucked to wake up. The price was just putzin’ around. I was like, “Hello, corporate marketing just fudged up the first meme hive jackpot,” and couldn’t help but slump around all morning waiting for life signs on my stupid app. I even brought the phone into the stupid shower. By mid-morning I’d lost enough dough for a huge satchel, and by the afternoon, it was way down, at just the moment I wanted to go pickup my smake for the holiday! The spite was real, you wouldn’t believe it. $420 down by 4:20, right down the drain!  

I thought I was going to be ordering like, burritos for the whole apartment building today. I was gonna go out and buy one of those waffle makers they have at hotels, that like, flips over, and I was going to make a foot-tall belgian waffle tower with strawberries and like, ten cans of whipped cream. I was going to sit around in a new Hefner bathrobe sipping Jim Beam while they installed my new living room hot tub! I was gonna turn my apartment into Graceland!

But no! Now it’s gonna be a rough month. No more kind bud for me. I’m gonna be smaking steems guys, scraping resin. In fact that reminds me, you guys got any old pieces layin’ around? I’ll take ‘em home and scrape ‘em and clean ‘em right up, pro bono! I brought my backpack and some bubble wrap to take home whatever rotten, danky old bongs and spoons you have. I’m not too proud to smake resin for a month, and knowing me it’ll only take a week to churn through even your blackest, foulest pieces.

You know what? It might not be over for me. Maybe if everybody pitches in and buys like, a couple thousand bucks of Doge right now, we can still make me millionaire. I don’t see why anyone shouldn’t be completely down with that plan. I totally promise if we do that, guys, it’s stuffed crust pizza for everyone. I’m buying. Just please don’t make me go through 420, smaking only the crust off my grinder. Stupid Doge.

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Tagged in: 420 friendly
CannaSaver Blog

Homemade 'Weetos'

Posted by CANNASaver on Monday, 12 April 2021 in Recipes by Cousin D

Cheebo? Cheefo? You decide. Here is a somewhat easy recipe to make something that tastes a little like a homemade Cheeto, but dank and garlicky. We  couldn't decide on the best name! Weeto? This savory snack is easy to dose and scale, and even divide into gift bags for fellow home-bound friends. 

Weetos! Homemade edible recipe by Cousin D
2 sticks butter infused with 1000mg THC 
2 tsp salt
2 tap garlic powder (heaping)
2 cups blue corn meal or regular 
2 cups potato flakes 
4 cups flour
4 cups shredded cheddar cheese
2 cups water as needed
1 cup oil of choice

8 tbsp cheese powder (heaping) 
4 tbsp buttermilk powder (heaping)
4 tbsp corn starch (heaping) 
4 tsp salt (heaping)

Let your canna-butter soften a bit. In a food processor combine butter, salt and garlic powder with corn meal until mixed. Add in the cheese to make a dough. Dump into a mixing bowl. With your hands, work in the tater flakes and then flour. Finally, mix in the oil. Take the water you've set aside and add as needed to make a wet, workable yet not sticky, dough. Roll out the dought between parchment paper and cut to size, into 2-3" strips. 

Fry the pieces at 375 in your choice of frying oil for 3 min, and set aside to drain and completely cool.  

Now onto the coating. As for the cheese powder, if you can’t find any, just use packets from cheap Mac 'n Cheese and stash away the noodles for another day. Combine coating ingredients in a large bowl. Take note: I had ghost pepper salt to make mine extra hot n' spicy, but any will do. Cover the bowl and shake the coating onto the fried sticks. Use a colander to shake off the excess and reuse as you go along. 

By the end you’ll find yourself with enough for a huge party (for when this all blows over)--or stash them away and get high every snack hour for the next two months. Your call--Bon Appetit! 

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