Pkg date 11.22.24
93 Boyz yellow bag. Underrated packaging. Buds look and feel great. Blatant short, 3.39, 3.4. No moisture lost. Aeriz is the worst offender, in my experience, in failing to put a full eighth of an ounce of marijuana in the packages they sell. 3.5g, technically 3.54g.
But the bud does look excellent and I would get more 93 Boyz.
2.5.26, 14:58, Dateline Farm
Hot Chipz, 15:08
It’s tasty. Herbs, pretzel, some tongue-numb. Burned it down to the nub. Tastier than most. Smoother than most.
2.6.26, 16:36
Dateline Farm. Let’s try this again. One more time, for the last time.
Have not yet smoked. Last night was Hot Chipz, Holy Gelato, eventually Sunset Sherbet but what do I remember—nothing. What did I write down—nothing. Zero, no emoji. Emoji for one too many, bad ideas, the slippery slope slid down, organic pain, tumult, love of life but why then why because, because, up the hill, bags of eyes, red-faced and riddled with unkempt shame. They don’t need my picture in a yearbook. You get a little skin irritation after five hours or so.
16:57. Holy Gelato, entree…
Menthol. Fat bowl! Glossy smarmy baked effect to the face. Helm cutting peppers.
“Man, I’m terrible about makin’ playlists,” he says. “I still just always dream about iTunes coming back.”
Gravity will smooth it out. Consider the North Star. Gravity makes everything better.
2.14.26, 20:34
It’s been at least 2 hours since my second joint of the night, 93 Boyz’s Hot Chipz. Tasty! As if it were a fine tobacco or a clove. Djarum. Something you’d smoke even if it didn’t have a psychoactive effect—because of its gentle, flavorful taste. This one I don’t have much of left, maybe enough for one last bowl. It’s a thick, luscious smoke that looks good in landscape light in the dark as rain falls. A pleasurable smoke. And two-plus hour effects. Some couch lock. I had my dog—new dog Nora—snuggling on me, her head on my leg. Where was I gonna go?
We were watching curling, US-Japan, women quads. Then Italy and Sweden. They are long matches. Nine ends, ten ends, eights rocks a side every end. Who’s got the hammer? Watching curling and relaxing. Then I did get Nora out, into a misty light rain. She did her business, we came back inside.
I am ready to read and sleep. Not a bad night. The Hot Chipz can go whichever way you want. My ears are ringing a little. Buzzed. House sounds. Light timers click, ratchet, trickle. Air handler blowers whir, one for each heat pump. I could fall asleep to curling but I’ll be more comfortable in my own bed. Somewhat elated-happy-content, slightly baked. Tired. A good day. 20:42.
The lineage on this is Runtz x Cheetah Piss.
Awesome grind. Dense, fine, efficient. Not blown out; not seedy, shelly, or puffy.
This was my oldest bag/jar. Not only is there nothing wrong with it but I would buy this again, as it was when I opened it, a year beyond package date. A good at home with the dog on a rainy Saturday strain. 20:43.
Weeds of Grass 