Product: Lemon Cherry Gelato joints (pre-rolled joint)
Producer: Oak Queens LLC
Cannabis content: 980 mg in the entire package; est. 196 mg THC per joint; if a serving is actually one whole joint then there are just five servings but if a serving is until you forget you’re smoking it than it’s anybody’s guess
Cannabis variety: “cannabis flower” [My bad; when I scanned the QR code on the package it went to the producer’s main web page, and I couldn’t find any of the detailed product content I use to fill this part out.)
Got to thinking the other day that I hadn’t made my way through many of the classic ways of consuming cannabis, by which I mean smoking it. I mean yeah, it’s true that the heavily-oxygenated terrestrially-bound obliging xenodochium is being renovated and that I can’t consume that way at home right now, but it will be dope when it’s finished. It’s still nice out and I thought that just taking a walk on quiet sidewalks might be the way to go.
I got myself one of these tins of prerolled joints, even though joints have never been my favorite way even when smoking was basically the only option for someone who lived with their parents or had any other totally adult reason not to be able to bake baked bakes in the kitchen. For one thing, I don’t care what you made it from, not inhaling the smoke of paper is just better than inhaling the smoke of paper. I also can’t roll and never could, and the idea of not having to do that ever again sounded like a peaceful and convenient solution to having to try. Worst thing the paper would make it kinda harsh, but with better weed.
Turns out that hacking up a lung is a lot more fun when you’re new enough that you laugh forever. When I was coming up on the halfway mark, I couldn’t take another hit and thought I might die. You get out of practice fast if you don’t make a habit of eating what the fire poops out.
I like to time my high, and I’m pretty good at remembering sooner or later. This time, I was walking along, wearing my signature top-hat, mind wandering to the beat of the universe, when suddenly it occurred to me that I was supposed to be checking the time to find out how long it takes to set in, but that it’s definitely been hours by now.
Then I looked at the time: 25 minutes. That’s a plus in my book.
Remember, though, I wanted to smoke this to the face and I gave up halfway through. I figured I should stop in that nice spot where there’s a shady bit of trees on big lawn between a state road and a quiet parking lot. It’s too visible for doing anything super-sketchy, but nowadays no one’s gonna give you beef over a pre-roll. My spellcheck doesn’t like “pre-roll,” “preroll,” or “pre roll.” What am I supposed to do with that?
Maybe it was because I was getting mad at spellcheck on my walk home that I walked right past that shady spot and all the way home, or maybe I was really, really stoned. I’m talking like half a peanut-butter-delight level of stoned. Basically this proves one of my hypno-hypotheses: some of us are reaching THC levels that were not humanly possible in the 20th century, and it’s either going to lift us to a higher state of consciousness, or it’s not. This place is definitely not someplace you walk by without noticing. It’s a total change in the mood with all those grassy engrams floating past, especially if it hasn’t been mowed in awhile. Mowed grass is the smell of a grass massacre, and it freaks me out. I don’t catch as many engrams when I’m all auraed up like that.
When I think about it, maybe I can’t just measure every product against that one peanut butter delight cookie I had that time. I mean, there is no way that even the dankest joint is going to have the staying power of the most basic edible. My lemon cherry buds took me to that same peanut-buttery level, but I’m writing this at coming on an hour since toking and I am ready for the second half. These are not the same. Stuff you inhale hits in minutes or seconds and fades around the time an edible might finally be kicking in, depending on your own body. I don’t know why I haven’t tried that as a combo pack. I’ve got one of the original five left after this review that I might put to the side for that. If you’re wondering how I am down four to review one, I take it from Bob Ross, who said, “Don’t be afraid to scrape the paint off and do it again. This is the way you learn, trial and error, over and over, repetition. It pays you great dividends; great, great dividends.”
No, wait! I write two days later, after I finally remembered that I’d written that I was going to smoke that other half. To smoke a j is not my way, I now say. But when did I even smoke those first three? The world may never know. I’m glad I held off on this giant roach, and not just to give my lungs a break after burning three when I wasn’t looking. This was the resonated half, when it really starts to taste like tar but you’re sure — okay, maybe you heard it once on a playground and never checked it out even once since — sure that this half gets you higher. This was the half that went mystical. The thing with mystical experiences is that you need to know how to interpret them. I’m just not that mystical right now. My trip is here and now and au naturel, and remembering what happened in words isn’t my groove. It’s probably like telling someone about your dream: talking about it might help you understand it, but since your friend can’t get that time back, make sure you value them.
I always like to go with the flow, even if everything got stopped up for a couple days in the middle. This time the flow was thick puffs of soft fog, gray for the first half and lavender when I finished up. Within these puffs were sparkles of consciousness, and I mean the very consciousiest consciousness. Some of it definitely lodged in the soft bits under my aura armor, which never could defend against love. I hope it doesn’t start to itch.
Oh, oh, oh! Next time I want to be on the road.
Join the family! 
