Review: Unflavored beverage enhancer

Product: Unflavored beverage enhancer (additive) 

Producer: Ayrloom 

Cannabis content: 300 mg total mg THC and 0 mg CBD per serving; up to you total 

This is a little bottle of discretion: just slip a dropper of this into something wet and guzzle it down. I decided I should review the hell out of it. 

Twenty minutes in with coffee and I was feeling fine. It started in the throat like a vanilla balloon. Then it spread until, well, it’s not like I couldn’t feel my face, but seeing it in the mirror I was surprised that I didn’t look surprised. Made my heart swell as big as all outdoors and I loved my fellow man, let me tell you. This is something that will let you boink that scooty wave. Also not bad for a train commute. 

I tried it in water and I couldn’t taste it at all, but it did give it that Queens-let-it-settle-white-milky-look. That turned out to be a bad idea because I did it at a diner and the server kept adding more water and it was a bad scene filled with bathroom runs and a glass of cannabis content that would make Zeno proud. Word to the wise: do not let strangers add anything to your drink. 

Another good use for these drops is exposure to family of blood, the ones you might be spending time with for reasons other than wanting to. You know the kind. Everyone has that one racist uncle; even your racist uncle. You might actually be the intolerant relative to a bunch of people around that table, and have no clue. I didn’t take my drops because I needed a lil’ something to put up with those people, friends! I took them in case someone in family hates my guts. Getting drunk makes that worse, but a little ayr-dropper in the ol’ milkshake could make someone else’s holiday a lil’ nicer, ya know? It’s not about tolerance — it’s about being tolerable. 

All told, the kids had a blast and the old people had some fun too. 

I put it in my yogurt. Is that even a liquid? Took a little longer. 

This does have to be refrigerated after opening, and I don’t know if any human would want to empty the container in one go. I remember overhearing someone in a smoking area talking about needing 150 mg of something to sleep, which for me would lay me flat for a week. Did I repeat that story? I feel like I tell that story a lot. Anyway, probably your housemates won’t confuse this with another milky liquid that comes in a dropper bottle, but you know who you live with better than I do. 

I figured a really sugary drink would be the best test. Would high fructose corn syrup thwart the will of Santa Maria? Two droppers in 20 fluid ounces of Mountain Dew would do it. The sugar and the caffeine and the utterly unnatural coloring combined could be what would result in a failure of imagination — or design. 

Now I’m a fast drinker. I like my hot stuff hot and my cold stuff cold, and don’t want to give any beverage time to change temperature if I can help it. Mountain Dew, though, really fills up a gut in an unwholesome way. That will slow a body down if you’re not regularly releasing gas, one way or another. I started to wonder if the THC would escape in the gas, and that would not do because I can’t review it if it just floats away on a faux pas. That’s why I decided I need to hold it all in. 

I do not recommend this, unless you have a Violet Beauregard fetish. I’m not saying that I changed color or got round, but pump enough gas into a body and fever dreams of candy factories are not far behind. I had to slow down on my drinking and risk a warm soda. That’s a good reason to pick Mountain Dew for any soda pop experiment: it tastes the same cold as ice and packed with bubbles as it does warm and flat and sticky from the grave. 

I slowed down, sure, but I still had a belly full of dreams and a mouth full of dental bills. I wasn’t sure if I had sent my ayr drops to a sugary grave after all. Maybe I should have stuck to coffee and yogurt and water and not pushed into the weird world of artificial food. 

Then, with the lightest tickle of my pineal gland, I felt it begin. At first, it was above my eyes, growing up and over in three stripes that went to the back of my head along my midline and above my ears, as if I was had on that wack mask Havok wears for some reason. (The reason is that it’s a “containment suit.” Go figure.) 

Maybe it was the sugar. The high poured over me from those lines, running down like a caramel shower. When I got up from my seat, I was a little surprised there wasn’t a “schluck” sound as I disengaged. Fifteen ounces in, I started to forget that the soda was the work. Maybe just one dropper would have been better than two. I reached a point that felt like I was pulsing out waves like a kugelblitz. Eventually, the ethereal caramel was sloughed off, and I was gifted with cosmic goggles. I think you know what I mean.