Make it a large lime one, please!

After smoking what I like to call an “enhanced” joint—that’s a little weed rolled up with some magic mushrooms for good measure—and knocking off a box of Fig Newmans, my friend Mark turns to me and says, “I could really go for a large lime Slush.” Oh, yes siree, I think, that would hit the spot. Slushies have a long correlated history to party-centered activities. They are a tried-and-true remedy for hangovers—the popular flavour here being cherry (always large!). And they really are the perfect cure for cottonmouth. They go down fresh and cool, banishing dryness, calming hacking throat, and revving your taste buds into hyper-alert. Mind the brain-freeze, though—you’re supposed to sip these. You are NOT a Shop-Vac!

They go down fresh and cool, banishing dryness, calming hacking throat, and revving your taste buds into hyper-alert.

Now these enhanced doobies tend to shift mental activity into slow motion and communication can get bogged down in incomprehension and repetition. Here comes Mark again, “What would I do for a large lime Slush?” Yeah, yeah, my brain says, a Slushie just now would be the ideal solution but, of course, that would involve someone getting off the couch and driving to the corner store and we all know that ain’t gonna happen anytime soon. But all that comes out of my mouth is, “Uh-huh.”

Lime appears to be the preferred flavour when struck with couchlock. Don’t ask me why, I cannot say. And no explanation is needed for the size. We fall deeper into our oneness with the cushions trying to follow the storyline of Garfield on TV when Mark pipes up for the third time, “Ahhh, a large lime Slush.” Mercy! Fortunately, there’s an experienced bartender on location and tearing herself from her Buddhist recline, pulls out the blender and fixes us the best margarita slushies this side of the border! All right, they aren’t the authentic deal but they are about one hundred times better. Bring on the tequila, blend me another and make it a large one!

Strain pairing: Farmer's Daughter by Humboldt Seed Company

Lose your mind to the fizzle fizzle!

You’re in the woods, deep in the woods. It’s dark and you have no idea what time it is. The mushrooms you ate earlier are now in full effect and the world you were in back when you consumed them has long since dissolved into a completely different reality. No one can possibly understand the voyage you’re on other than your follow psychonauts.

That stick that caught your eye earlier hasn’t left your hand since. Hell, it’s not a stick—it’s your staff, your sceptre, your divining rod. It’s your protector, your companion. Pupils big as marbles, your senses are all in overdrive—eyes open, ears pricked out like radar dishes scanning for contact from outer space. “Shit man,” you say, “I don’t think I’ve ever been this fucked up. This is awesome!”

So now what? You smoked the last of your weed back at that weird rock that looked like an ape. The road rockets you stuffed in your pockets didn’t make it much past the strange puffy flowers that you’re convinced can only be seen by people who are tripping on shrooms. And a stop at the pizza joint is completely out of the question—the mushrooms have taken over your stomach and they don’t want company. Not to mention, it’ll kill your buzz.

Pupils big as marbles, your senses are all in overdrive—eyes open, ears pricked out like radar dishes scanning for contact from outer space. “Shit man,” you say, “I don’t think I’ve ever been this fucked up. This is awesome!” 

Then you remember that little pack of candy in your pocket that you’d been saving for a time like this. Pop Rocks, those little exploding fruit-flavoured crystals that sizzle like bacon in hot grease when you put them in your mouth. Invented in 1956 by some nutty scientist at General Foods, these little space rocks got a bad rap in the late seventies when a nasty rumour spread like wildfire across the nation’s schoolyards. Legend had it that Little Mickey, the kid from the Life cereal commercial, died after eating Pop Rocks followed by a Pepsi chaser. Panic spread and for awhile there in the mid-eighties General Foods pulled Pop Rocks from the shelves. Rumours are just that and you can’t keep a cultural phenomenon like Pop Rocks down. Pop Rocks have now reclaimed their place under a variety of different names back on the shelves of the world’s candy shops. Little Mickey, it ends up, is alive and well and working as a sanitary engineer at a General Foods plant in Arkansas. When asked to comment on his Pop Rocks experience by Heads, he declined claiming that it was a long time ago and that he just wants to put it behind him.

So rip open that little foil pack and prepare yourself for a sensory experience of mind-blowing proportions. Just don’t follow it up with a big swig of Mountain Dew—we’re not entirely convinced we were talking to the real Little Mickey, so don’t take any chances.

Gourmet version:

Lick and sprinkle those bad boys over your fellow psychonauts.

Strain pairing:

Plandyland by Talking Trees Farms

First appeared in Heads Magazine, Vol. 5 Issue 05

They’re baked but are they really stoned?

It’s 2 am. You and your follow drug buddies have put the Playstation controllers down and have decided to venture out of the Batcave in search of munchies. You find yourself aimlessly roaming the aisles of the all-night grocery store. You’re squinty-eyed, reeking of weed and seriously fucked up—the last extra-deep bong hit sent you into the next stratosphere of stoniness. Out from the safety of your crib, you’re paranoid and can’t trust—let alone communicate with—anyone except your mates who are in an equally bewildered state of highness. The fluorescent lights are buzzing hard, a Musak version of Kiss’ Beth is playing on the PA and that keener stock boy at the end of the snack and candy aisle is onto you. You’re on a mission: Get in, get the goods and get out without drawing too much unwanted attention to yourselves.

You’re on a mission: Get in, get the goods and get out without drawing too much unwanted attention to yourselves.

“Whoa… what’s this? Stoned Wheat Thins? Hello!”

“Dude, check this out. These crackers are called STONED Wheat Thins. How cool is that?”

“Man, my grams eats those with her tea.”

“No, seriously! Why would you call them ‘STONED’ Wheat Thins?”

“Maybe they get you stoned.”

“Maybe ‘Stoned Wheat’ is code for weed.”

“That would be sweet!”

“Maybe the guys who make these are, like, stoned when they make them.”

“Yeah, like those Keebler elf guys.”

“Maaaaan, those little guys are just plain creepy. I don’t want those little pudgy elf fingers touchin’ my chow!”

“Maybe, but how cool would it be to live in a killer tree house smokin’ weed and makin’ cookies all day?”

“True. And those little elf chicks are kind of hot.”

“Dude! There’s no elf chicks. You need help, bro!”

“Oh shit!”

“What?”

“We’ve been staring at this pack of crackers for, like, forever, Stock Boy has probably called 9-1-1!”

“We gotta go! Grab that thing and let’s get outta here.”

Gourmet version:

Stoned Wheat Thins + Tabasco sardines = Spanish bliss!

Filled, frosted and ready to go!

“Omigod! This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten!”

When you’re flying high just about everything is “the best thing ever” but let’s be real, Pop-tarts hold a special place in the hearts of all stoners. There ain’t nothing about them we would change. When the motto is “filled, frosted and ready to go” you know you’ve stumbled upon a winning formula. Once you’ve freed them from their NASA Mylar packaging, you’re faced with your only stoner hurdle: to toast or not to toast? Don’t wander in the wasteland of indecision—you’ve got five more in the box so you can experiment or set up a little hot and cold Pop-tart buffet.

When the motto is “filled, frosted and ready to go” you know you’ve stumbled upon a winning formula.

Assuming you own a toaster (a.k.a. the default oversized lighter you use when you’ve run out of matches or misplaced your Zippo, again!), toasting is the way to go. Keep an eye on the prize; you don’t want it to go up in flames. A plunge in the toaster brings out the flavour and adds an element of crispness to your personal pastry, and why deny yourself the stoned pleasure of the Crunch! Crunch! Crunch! Do not ignore the warning on the box—it’s there for a reason. The filling can get mighty hot and the last thing you want is a trip to emergency because you’ve barbecued your tongue beyond recognition. Take it slow and enjoy. Now say it with me boys and girls: filled, frosted and ready to go!

Gourmet version:

2 Pop-tarts + ice cream = Pop-tart ice cream sandwich

Strain pairing:

Raspberry Parfait by Humboldt Seed Company

First appeared in Heads Magazine, Vol.5 Issue 04

Growing up there were two types of moms: the saintly ones that only bought good-for-you cereal and the other kind that had chosen a slippery slope to Hell and allowed her children to eat sugar cereal for breakfast, lunch and dinner. If you had the former then stay tuned—it’s never too late to have a happy childhood. If you had the latter then flip to a grow article or something, you’ve already been spoiled rotten.

After careful consideration and much research, a decision was rendered: sugar cereal is by far the no-holds-barred winner in the munchies category. Working our way through the major players (“Magically delicious” Lucky Charms, “I vant to eat your cereal” Count Chocula, and “Can’t get enough of that Sugar Crisp”) staff Guinea pigs settled on Froot Loops as the ultimate combination of sugar, colour and fun.

Fill a bowl full of colourful Froot Loops—now try to tell one flavour from another. (Your mouth will be raw and your cavities ringing before you draw any scientific conclusions.) They’re crunchy, they’re sweet, hey, they even have vitamins… that makes them good for you, right? Eat them straight from the box (a dead give-away you’re baked) or douse them in milk to create the ultimate elixir of the gods—that’s right, we’re talking about that puddle of sweet milk left in your bowl after you’ve scooped out the last floating ring. Raise it up, say a prayer of thanks and drink it down. The beauty of Froot Loops is they don’t put too much pressure on you—the makers can’t even spell “fruit”—so we’re looking way intelligent sitting here stuffing our faces full of misspelled breakfast cereal. Pass the bong and pass the box of Froot Loops, will ya!

Gourmet version:

Froot Loops + string licorice = Cool jewellery you can eat!

Strain pairing:

Stoopid Fruits by Humboldt Seed Company

First appeared in Heads Magazine, Vol.5 Issue 02