So sure, life is scary, pain is painful and generally da shit is real. So let’s start small and work up. When you have a headache you take paracetamol. Pretty normal, right? Your head hurts, the tablet takes the hurt away, the headache passes and you get on with your day. How is that a bad thing? It ain’t! We all agree (I think).

Ok, so this is where I get slightly lost. If you’re in pain a lot, I think it’s fair you regularly take something for the pain. Obviously. Still fine?! Cos how is pain ever a good thing?

But here’s the thing, pain can be a message. And it’s been sending me messages my whole life, long before I ever smoked a fatty!!

THE PAIN DID ALL THE EXPLAINING.

You learn it as a kid. You touch the radiator and it’s boiling. OUCH!! You put your hand near the fire. OUCH!! Hmmm, don’t think I wanna do that again?!? You get a stomach ache so bad you’re curled up on the floor, and you’re thinking FUCK THIS SHIT!?! I ain’t eating that again, or that much again!!! The pain pretty much did all the explaining.

Sure, there’s nothing wrong with taking the edge off for one evening, i.e. a bullshit day… chillout time… have a smoke, a bit of quiet, then sleep!! BLISSS.

ONCE YOU’RE THROUGH THAT DOOR, EVERYTHING’S MUFFLED.

The problem is how easy it is to go from taking the edge off an evening to burying your head deep in the sand. Problems get big and start to pile up. Some days they are genuinely overwhelming, and a smoke is the easiest door out of that shit. Once you’re through that door you can’t see what the actual problem is anymore, with everything being muffled. You can’t tell the real issue from the noise. You soon can’t see the wood for the trees.

THERE’S A FIRE IN YOUR BELLY.

So yeah, I guess what I’m saying is, I need some MOTHERFUCKING PAIN!! I do. It’s just like when you’ve had your ass handed to you in sports/computer games etc. ASS WHOOPED, humiliated!! It does hurt, and that hurt makes you train that lil bit harder than you normally would have done… and then at last it comes round again for the rematch!!! And there’s a fire in your belly, cos you’re going to beat the absolute daylights out of that MF!!! That pain, that humiliation, is what you take into the rematch, and I feel that’s what the weed takes off me generally in life.

DUBAGE IN THE TANK

Plus when you’ve been high off your ballz, the classic tropes of being slow, sluggish and dosed up, we all know are true! I know there are those who’ll fight you to the death that being high is them at their best!!! Mate, if that works for you, that’s cool. But me personally, I wake up in a fog, I need loads of coffee just to get going, I drag myself through the day, then the evening comes round and I smoke again. Rinse and repeat. The whole time I’m running at about twenty percent battery on average and calling it normal.

NAH.

For a long time I had it under control. I remember my standard 9 to 5 days (pre vape), many nights I’d be like “it’s fucking cold outside” and I wouldn’t smoke, cos it was fucking cold outside!!

HEAD IN THE SAND

However this year, I’m gonna say it, I’ve just spent a year burying my head emotionally and smoking like all the bitches and bastards out there… and then on many an evening standing there wondering why nothing had changed?

I think people can do more and be more than they let themselves. Sure, some people aren’t fighters, or don’t feel like fighters right now. And I get it, some people (including me and probably most of the population) are just scared, and the fear swallows them, and they haven’t got it in them to stand up. If that’s you, I feel you, cos that’s me too! This shit is petrifying. You dip your toe in the water and it burns like a motherfucka!

SOBER SINCE 9:23AM THURSDAY? 22 HOURS AND 12MIN AND COUNTING!

Ok, I’m taking the piss. You know the type. The ones who can tell you how long they’ve been off it down to the minute. And a good friend of mine has a very interesting theory that if you’re counting, you haven’t put it down. You’re waiting. The count is the wait till my precious.

Fortunately I haven’t really been counting. The only reason I know the number (Day 13) is because of this blog. I genuinely had to look it up to work it out for this journal article.

Not counting doesn’t mean not wanting, though. I do want it. Not because I think I’m a lost cause. I don’t. I want it because the pressure is on. Money is tight. There’s a lot going on. A smoke wouldn’t make any of that go away. It would all still be there. It just wouldn’t land the same. That’s the release I’m after.

That’d be true. I think cold turkey is the solution for me right now, and I think I need to feel the pain, as I need every bit of energy I can get right now!

The pain isn’t a great feeling. It really isn’t. And whilst I really do look forward to sitting back and rolling up a fatty / doing my usual chill out regime, one thing I can say with certainty: the first couple of days were rough, but after that it’s been pretty good – I can’t lie and there’s been more progress in this period than in a longgg time before that.

So it turns out my life and the plot of the Matrix trilogy have pretty much the same theme. It’s a constant loop. I’m aware it’s happening. They’re aware it’s happening. And you almost can’t do anything about it. That part I haven’t quite worked out yet.

I’m on day nine. Today I did something I’ve never really done before. I went back and actually read these articles. My findings have not been the greatest. They revealed what I probably knew intuitively, but seeing it in 3D Technicolour, in VR, augmented reality, Oculus 360, has really hit home. As I wrote in my last article, I’ve been leaning on it a lot harder lately, with the kids, the mortgage and all that kind of stuff.

IT GIVETH AND IT TAKETH

Here’s the problem with weed. When you’re on it, it takes the edge off everything. It gives you clarity. Then it leaves you paralysed. It giveth and it taketh. I’m out in the ocean, and I need to keep paddling to get to the island. That’s exactly what it taketh: the power to do anything about it.

People who’ve never smoked don’t get this. When I’m on it, the noise in my head goes quiet. The anxiety sits down. I can think. Properly think. It’s like a telescope. I can see the wood from the trees. I can see straight through my own bullshit. For someone who loves to strategise and plan, it has always been an incredible tool. Some of my best thinking has been done high. Sight beyond sight. The wisdom of the gods. The treasure map to the forsaken island where all the gold sits. And at the same time it blew out your tyres, and every other tyre in the world while it was at it. You’ve got the world’s wisdom and you can’t do a thing with it, which is the most frustrating thing of all.

THE SMALL PRINT

It’s the evil three wishes from the horror films. You ask for clarity and it gives you clarity. You just didn’t read the small print. And the small print is written very clearly, because you’ve got clarity:

Clarity only. Execution sold separately. Not available in your region.

You get the plan of all plans, and you can’t do a single thing with it.

THE ONCE A MONTH MYTH

Over the years I’ve talked about the dream setup. Get high off your face once a month. Do the mad writing, the big planning, the crazy ideas. Then put it away and live like a functioning adult for the other twenty nine days, harvesting the genius. I believe people like that exist. I believe it the same way I believe in people who open a family bag of crisps, have a handful, and put the clip back on. I’ve heard of them. I’ve never met one in the mirror. I’ve never found that balance. What I have found is plenty of times where I was just stuck with it.

This blog is my dumping ground. Wherever I am, it ends up here. I’ve always wanted to tell it in a way that’s a laugh, but every one of these posts has something serious sitting under the jokes. Reading back through them this week was like being given a guided tour of a museum of me.

On your left, October 2011. Fifty days clean. Please note the exhibit feeling on top of the world. Please also note the exhibit, one week later, treating himself. Do not touch the exhibit. He’s quite fragile.

July 2014. Seven days. Up at seven, seeing daylight, feeling like the man I always wanted to be, and in the same post betting that the next high was going to be incredible. February 2015, the big cold turkey. March 2015, welcome back to Cell Block H. June 2015, eight days. Then late 2016, two months and six days, my personal record. Brain back, numbers not blurry, and still honest enough to admit I missed it. Then quiet. Then smoking again. Then this.

It’s like going round the M25. Same junctions, same traffic, same services with the same overpriced sandwich. Every time I pass the exit I think, next time.

THE COCKY BIT

The pattern is always the same. I get a few good days. I sleep. I dream again. The food calms down. I start to feel like I’ve got a say in my own life, because when I’m smoking I genuinely don’t. And the moment I feel strong, I get cocky. I’m fine now, I’ve got this, one won’t hurt, I’ve earned it. The one is beautiful, because I’ve been off it, and that beauty walks me straight back in. Nine days in is exactly where I usually start talking like that. So I’m writing it down now, while I can still recognise the voice.

Back in the day I smoked it with tobacco, and that’s a big factor. Tobacco is properly addictive, physically. Last year I wrote a whole post deciding the nicotine had been the bastard all along. Now I don’t touch tobacco. I smoke it pure, or with herbal tobacco, or I vape. Herbal tobacco is just marshmallow leaf. And yet here I am.

LET’S FIX IT

I want to do something about this. I want to actually resolve this shit, not write another brilliant plan and leave it in the notes app. Going down memory lane has been fascinating, and also quite distressing. There have been such long gaps between these articles, and reading them back to back, I can see that I’ve never really had the answer. I love what it gives and I hate what it takes. It’s my drug of choice. That hasn’t changed.

For now, I’m just going to keep going. The clarity and discipline I’ve got right now are real. My weight is going in the right direction, and a lot of other things are moving the right way too. I have to follow that.

That said, the verdict is still open, and I’m not going to pretend it isn’t. As sad as this is, I’m as confused as I was the very first time I went through this loop. I’m as confused as I was on day one, which is pathetic to even admit. But truthfully, I don’t know the answer. In the past I’ve talked about whether, once you’ve been an addict, you can ever go back. I still don’t know.

There have been periods where I wasn’t too bad, and those periods confuse me. Maybe the circumstances were kinder then. Some things were definitely in my favour.

What I do know is this. While there’s a storm outside and trouble ahead, drifting off into weed dreamland is possibly the biggest threat to me right now. Based on that, I probably need to walk away.

I try to keep these posts funny. But there’s a much more serious issue underneath, and I’m not going to joke my way past it this time.

After almost ten years, I somehow found myself right back where I began. I guess this is why this blog exists, and why it continues to have a life.

Two kids and a mortgage. Twelve months post redundancy. Not much money coming in. Let’s be honest, bugger all coming in.

I’ve been smoking like a bitch. I don’t know exactly how much a bitch is in grams, but it’s a lot. And the vape made it a thousand times worse, because the vape is just around the fucking corner. There is more effort in taking a shit than there is in pulling it out and having a few tokes. That’s the problem.

The real problem is that vaping doesn’t feel like you’ve done anything. It feels like you’ve just had a mild cigarette.

Then you have to realise the THC in your blood is probably sitting around 98%. If they cremated you, you could crumble the ashes and they would fetch a decent price. Up there with the delta nines and all those California items, in a high end coffee shop. That’s how much THC I had in me. That’s how bad it got.

I’ll tell you where it tipped. I found myself picking up a joint I hadn’t finished the night before. Two in the afternoon. Kids at school. No harm. Just firing one up. Alone. For the first time in my life I was pretty much high during the day, smoking like a bitch. (Apologies to all bitches out there, if I’m giving you a bad name. This is only the start.)

THE ROUTINE

I was just fucking exhausted all the damn time.

Kids in bed at seven or eight. Then I’d be getting high pretty much till about 1 at night, smoking like a bastard. (Apologies to all bastards out there. The bitches have had their turn. Now I’m giving you a bad name as well.) Then eventually going to bed at about half one. A lot of it was me just getting high and higher, chasing highs. Wake up exhausted. A shit ton of coffee just to do basic arithmetic, because I was fucked.

What is the fucking point? Getting high, and eating, in ways I cannot even explain. Feasts. Unlimited buffet quantities, in the early hours. I would put the most well stacked Chinese buffet to shame. God damn, that’s a lot of food, and I was getting through it.

On top of it all, I was on Mounjaro (similar to the more famous Ozempic jab). I was also trying to lose weight. Some could argue the lifestyle needed a revision, because that level of getting high wasn’t exactly working for me.

The only winner was Sainsbury’s. So much food. Depression eating, really. Hard times, small children, everything else on top. Easy to fall into. I’m not gonna be hard on myself. Even now I sympathise. I was worried, and this is what I reached for.

THE LOOP

Myself and Claude had a chat. Or was it Grok? I can’t remember. The AIs know not to mention the weed. I’ve shouted at them before. They avoid the subject, agree with me, and look at the other places where the buildings are falling down. Except there.

It is a loop. That much THC and your REM sleep is radically reduced, so you genuinely wake up tired. Insane amounts of coffee just to feel normal. Rinse and repeat. Coffee to get up, something else to get to sleep, and with the THC you are not actually sleeping. I’m not a doctor. This is just my experience. It got silly. What the fuck is going on.

My partner started to notice the dosage going up, which is the understatement of the fucking century. I am not surprised the local fire brigade never came round, what with the piles of smoke in the sky. Yes. I was smoking like a bitch and a bastard. (Apologies to all bitches and all bastards. Both of you, together. I have run out of groups and started doubling up. Definitely giving you a bad name.)

STRONGER STUFF

Months of this, and it had gone from worse to bad. Every time I bought weed I wanted it stronger. Different bud. Knock out stuff. Just stronger.

Your brain will justify all of it. Hilarious, really. The honest version is shorter. You are on a bad one. Easier said than done.

The odd evening I passed out and didn’t smoke myself off my balls, it barely mattered. There was already enough THC in me.

THE AMNESTY

Enough was enough. I have taken a weed amnesty.

DAY EIGHT

I’m on day eight or nine of this amnesty. I feel fresh. More energy. More sleep. No weird aches and pains in the morning. I’m actually a lot more intelligent. And yes. I’m dreaming.

You forget your dreams. That’s normal, even when you’re clean. Off it for a while, though, a real one lands and you remember it. I’m loving that.

I forgot how good it feels to be clean. If someone told me this was another drug, I wouldn’t believe them. Now I am clean, and I do feel fucking EXCELLENT.

Day one. Day two. The old tropes turned up on time. On day two or three I was talking to a mate, my smoking buddy, a regular smoker like me. I was only sharing what Claude had said. Regular THC interrupts your REM, so you don’t really dream. He furiously said, “What are you talking about? I dream all the time. I dream all the time. You’re talking rubbish. I have loads of dreams.”

I think I may have touched a sensitive topic. I wasn’t preaching. Or I didn’t think I was. I was just telling him what had happened to me.

FULL CIRCLE

The memory came back with it. REM is where the short term stuff gets moved into long term memory, and heavy THC disturbs that. Apparently. According to the research. What I know is the brain fog has lifted. I can remember things. There is a difference.

And I remembered this blog. How I Quit Weed. God, I’ve been here before. Clean, after being a stoned ass motherfucker. (Apologies to all motherfuckers. We started with bitches, moved on to bastards, and now we have reached you. Keep fucking. Try to find someone other than your mother to fuck, because unless that’s your thing, I’m not judging.)

I started reading the old articles. Oh my god. It’s all here. Full circle. I’m glad I kept them. When this thing went up I actually put effort in. SEO, comments, a community, back when blogs were a thing. It got traction. It was pretty fucking good. Then it stopped being 2012, and nobody gave a fuck about blogs anymore. Including me.

GOOGLE DOES NOT GIVE A FUCK

Google certainly won’t help them find it. Type in howiquitweed.com and it points you at the most irrelevant thing. I’m not even on page 100. Google hates this blog. Maybe because it’s cannabis. Type the address in directly and it still does not give two fucks. No traffic. None.

But less about my search engine optimisation.

Now I write here to throw the words in a bottle. Out into the world, so OpenAI, Anthropic, and the likes can train their models on my musings. I doubt a real human reads this. I don’t care. Fair play to whoever does.

This has been good to say out loud. I might write more along the road, during this amnesty, because why the fuck not?

So here we are. After all these years. After blog posts, relapses, self discoveries, breakdowns, rituals, and a thousand conversations with myself, we’ve finally arrived. And now I’m about to ruin the entire blog.

The whole premise. The whole quest. The hours and hours I’ve spent philosophising about the deeper meaning of quitting weed. All the existential questions. All the internal monologues. Because my eureka moment, the thing I’ve uncovered after this long and noble journey of introspection, is probably the most obvious thing ever discovered.

It was the tobacco.
That bastard.
All along.

Let me dress it up in as much ridiculousness as I can, to soften the blow of how spectacularly obvious it is. We’re not talking Indiana Jones cracking ancient riddles here. More like a bloke who just figured out water is wet.

The year was 2018. The place, Amsterdam. Of course it was.

I stroll into a coffeeshop, ready to do what one does in a coffeeshop, and I see something that stops me. No tobacco. Weed is fine. Joints? Sure. But actual tobacco? Forbidden. As if someone had walked into a pub and announced, no glasses allowed. Drink straight from the tap.

Weird, but whatever. I’m adaptable. On each table, there’s a pot. A weird little pot of something green. Not weed, not baccy. Something different. Turns out it’s herbal tobacco. Essentially dried grass dressed as a nicotine replacement. Looked a bit like weed itself, which confused my fingers for a second. It was free. That was all the reason I needed.

So I used it. Rolled it. Smoked it. And you know what? I quite enjoyed it. No nicotine. No sketchy vending machines. No wandering the streets stoned trying to buy baccy from a man named Erik with a vending code and a cold stare. Just me, a joint, and a weirdly pleasant absence of inner compulsion.

BACK IN ENDZ

Came back to the UK, and though I had dube in my drawer, plenty of it, ready to go, I just couldn’t be bothered. Couldn’t be bothered to get high. And that’s when I thought, where the hell had Smeagol gone?

This is the same Smeagol who, come 8:30PM sharp, would start whispering in my head” like a Victorian butler who also happened to be a fiend. “Master, it’s time, you must prepare the precious!” I mean, even if I was mid-orgy with ten of my favourite porn stars, proper lineup!!! I still would’ve peeled myself away just to roll a spliff. Because as powerful as their collective grip(s) may have been, weed had the stronger overall grip on me, and that’s saying something!!

Smeagol always won.
But not this time.

Like any rational man who just discovered something powerful, I went straight to eBay and bought a sack of dusty old leaves off a stranger. More herbal tobacco. Job done. I rolled with it. Permanently. I don’t smoke rollies. I don’t want baccy. I just wanted the weed.

And then it hit me, properly hit me, that the thing dragging me back night after night for years wasn’t Mary Jane. It was nicotine. That physically addictive bastard. Sneaking into every joint, every ritual, every high. All this time I blamed the weed. Gave it lectures. Wrote blog posts about how I was addicted to it.

Nah.

It was the nicotine dressed up in a joint, like a parasite in a party hat.

SPREAD THE LOVE

Naturally, I shared this groundbreaking revelation. I told my mates.

“Lads. It’s not the weed. It’s the tobacco. I’ve figured it out. I’ve cracked it. I’ve beaten the matrix.”

They mocked me. (rightfully)

One mate tried the herbal stuff and said it tasted like foot. Not a foot. Just foot. Singular. As if he was well acquainted with what one tastes like. Which raises questions I’m still not ready to ask. The name stuck. Now we all call it Foot.

Another mate still uses it to cut his tobacco, which is something. A step. But no one really followed the gospel. The church of Foot never found its congregation.

That’s fine. I didn’t preach. I just kept going.

And now here we are. Six years after launching this whole blog to understand my weed addiction, and what do I come back with?

Tobacco is addictive.

Well done, mate. You’ve rediscovered the wheel. Reinvented fire. Congratulations. Here’s a medal and a GCSE in bloody obviousness.

But here’s the real point, buried underneath all the self mockery.

Weed is fun.
Weed is tasty.
Weed is sometimes silly, sometimes spiritual.
But it’s not heroin.

You can get addicted to anything, cheese, bread, Instagram, chaos, but it’s not the same as chemical dependency. Tobacco, that’s a hook. A real one. And it had me. For years. Pretending it was the weed.

The Americans don’t mix weed with tobacco. And I get it now. They dodged a bullet. A brown, crumbling, fifteen quid a pouch bullet.

So yeah. I didn’t quit weed. I just removed the bastard that was actually in charge.

And once he was gone?

I finally got my life back. Or at least, I got to choose when to light up.

Which, in the end, is all I ever really wanted.

So you went downstairs made a sandwich mulled for a bit, made your way back upstairs to your room sat down in your trusty chair, unpaused that YouTube video you were halfway through.  Everything here seems fairly normal so what’s the deal right? However, beknown to yourself things couldn’t be far from the trust.  For come the end of your once filled bag of weed and how much you’ve sold compared to how much you should have sold isn’t adding up? Now the person in this story has no clue what’s going on for they’d never believe their loved ones could steal from them let alone accuse them. However we know different not cos people are inherently bad but moreover, the title of this blog gives it away.

So what now?

This answer doesn’t need delay or elaboration for it’s simple, time to lock the hell up! Be it is safe or strong box the days of leaving your stash out in the open are very much over.   And with the additional effort of having to lock up your stash every single time you’re not in the room a least will come the peace of mind that every single microgram of cannabis is accounted for.

 

Do you confront your thieves?

Firstly you must ask yourself is there any point in doing so, for they may just flatly deny any knowledge of stealing anything which may just lead to more frustration. Now if you’re particularly of the savvy kind and are equipped with hidden Wi-Fi cameras that activate on movements and can prove that somebody has indeed been dipping your stash this footage could assist you in confronting the thief.  However do be aware that this could also be the end of your friendship, or could be the beginning of a family feud that could last for many years. To which in the end you just have to ask yourself is it worth it and as the answer be no then live with this you must and never speak a word you must not.

So let’s take this back to many a day when wasted. I would spend hours setting up my bedroom with fans and canned air fresher to combat the fat ass Dubey that I had rolled.  I remember leaving the room after smoking one to only come back to only realise that the entire upstairs corridor stank out! MISSION FAILED.  I didn’t have a balcony or a big ass window but tried none the less to work with the room and create an Amsterdamesk Smoke-Free CoffeeShop environment.  Things would be great, they really would and I put that down to the great weed I’d be smoking.  This was complete zen, in my place of choosing everything was perfect…. right up until my mother bursting into the room shouting obscenities at me.   Occasionally, during the summer with everybodies windows open, my smoke would go around the house and enter my sister’s bedroom.  I’ll never forget how she ended up screaming at the top of her voice outside the window at midnight “STOOP SMOKING CANNABIS!!, IT’s ILLEGAL, I’m CALLIN THE POLICE!!” Now I was high as fuck, but hearing her voice echoing around the neighbourhood her shouting at the high of lungs was kinda a buzzkill.

THEN ALONG CAME MEDICINAL MARIJUANA

On the 19 Oct 2009 in America the U.S Justice Department announced that federal prosecutors would not go after medicinal users and distributors who complied with state laws.  Back then nobody really knew what was going on, as under US Federal Law weed was still illegal even in states that legalised it hence we saw an explosion of dispensaries being stormed into my large teams of DEA.  However almost a decade later, it seems that this is actually real and I watch YouTube videos with people referring to their ganja as ‘medicine’ which is a testament to how times have changed.

When Actually Was Marijuana used as Medicine

The earliest mentions of medicinal use go back to 2900 BC Chinese Emperor Fu Hsi References Marijuana as a Popular Medicine that possessed both yin and yang. Then again 2700 BC according to Chinese legend, the emperor Shen Nung (also known as Chen Nung) who was considered the Father of Chinese medicine, discovered marijuana’s healing properties as well as those of two other mainstays of Chinese herbal medicine, ginseng and ephedra.

Do Your Parents Believe That You Use This As “MEDICINE”

As a sufferer of severe Sleep Apnea, I was diagnosed very late and despite owning a CPAP machine I’ve been unable to use the machine and benefit from it and hence my Sleep Apnea remains untreated.  I quit cannabis for about 6/7 months, only to discover that my sleep was heavily impacted.  I would wake up at random intervals throughout the night i.e 1.30am, 3.30am, 5am, 7.30am, 8.30am.  This would drive me absolutely crazy, as I was literally unable to stay under as my sleep apnea was actively waking me up.  My ENT specialist initially prescribed me many different meds, which I found to be overpowered or far to strong, and when I researched online I found that side effects of some of the pills where just not worth it.  Alas I moved back towards smoking weed and I found specific strains of cannabis to be very effective in helping me sleep, as THC was medically proven to be conducive to breathing.  However, I would find explaining this to my parents an uphill struggle.  Whilst the drug remained illegal in the UK for all purposes, my family were not convinced of its medicinal value and just called me a JUNKIE and A DRUG ADDICT.   My sister showered me with “You’re GONNA DIE, and it’s because you’re a DRUG ADDICT” and over emotional sentiments, which then weeks later I found my parents reading off the same script, which doesn’t surprise me as BITCHING about me in my family is almost a TRADITIONAL pasttime! Alas i’m on my own with my believes (shared by the entire world) but till then I draw my curtains, and get the fans ready for sadly my illiterate parents choose to deny any positive fact of its medicinal value, and my sister is just stubborn and must win & be right regardless to any cost.

HERE are the following countries have legalised cannabis for medical use as of 2018.  When the FUCK is UK gonna be on the list???

• Argentina
• Australia
• Canada
• Chile
• Colombia
• Croatia
• Cyprus
• Czech Republic
• Denmark
• Finland
• France
• Germany
• Greece
• Israel
• Italy
• Luxembourg
• Macedonia
• Malta
• Mexico
• Netherlands
• New Zealand
• Norway
• Peru
• Poland
• Romania
• San Marino
• Slovenia
• Spain
• Sri Lanka
• Switzerland
• Turkey
• Uruguay
• Vietnam
• Zambia
• Zimbabwe

 

THE ROUTINE

So often does it happen that you’ve been picking up your weed from the same guy from years and years.  It’s almost a routine, you go in, take a seat, talk about what’s been going on, even sometimes express your deepest and darkest secrets to this man as after all he’s not connected to anybody – it’s almost as good confession, right? After all, you surely can’t be judged badly in the eye of a full-time drug dealer right?  So yeah life is good, his weed is generally pretty good and so what’s there to complain about it.  He makes you a cup of tea and tells you where he picks up his stuff from. “Does he TRUST ME?” you wonder to yourself. He leaves the room, with an open bag of weed, to which you approximate the quantity quietly to yourself.  “He MUST TRUST ME!!! There must be at least 2 Pounds of weed he’s left with me unattended – I COULD STEAL IT ALL, LEAVE THE COUNTRY, CHANGE MY NAME, Own in FARM IN AFRICA!!!” He then returns back with your cup of tea and proceeds to roll a joint.  This is what they call “the ol leave the bag of weed in the room” trick, standard procedure which has been passed down to dealers from generation to generation.

ON SALE : MAGIC WEED GROWN BY ELVES OF MORDOR

So once comfortable with your dealer and he with you, let’s talk business son! “Have a look at this stuff” he hands you a massive bud from his sack. This is your cue to look at the weed in the light and return back glorious compliments of how wonderful and crystaly and amazing this stuff is.  You’re the best!! Sir, How much for this FANTASY weed that you possess.  “It’s pretty hi-grade stuff, it’s a little bit more expensive that than the usual” At this point, you wonder “didn’t you have this same sack here last week” Alas, you stop wondering and reconnect with his speaking again, and reply as if you were listening the whole time.  In which among his blurb was a price, of how much the damage will be for this WEED that has been grown by the Elves of Mordor.  More expensive? but only by $10 you think,… fine! As you’ve travelled so far anyway to get here, seems pointless to care for a ten.  HOld on? wasn’t it a ten more last week and the week before that?? In fact, what was once $340 an Ounces is now $490 cos apparently this new shit is “REALLY GOOD and apparently worth the amount…Grown by Elves remember!?!?!”  You start to ponder on this and you wonder if you really can leave this house without buying anything?

Almost like the stock the exchange, the price of this FANTASTIC MYSTICAL AND MAGICAL WEED keeps going up and up every bloody week.

AND JUST LIKE THAT, IT ALL DOES DARK!

Quite literally, one day you decide!! “I’ve had it! I will no longer be a slave to you pressure me selling weed, which in fairness was always good but not quite MORDOR level one thinks.  WELCOME the Dark Markets from the DEEP WEB….HELLOOOOO!!! So one decides through a friend who happens to be adept with the deep web and knowledgeable in this area to get some stuff in, can’t hurt for a change.  To begin with, it is dark very dark until you open the PACKAGE, and exposed are the beautiful buds of weed were the light bounces off the crystals blinding you and everyone else in the room.  This experience is life changing and affects the core of how you see life – can you ever go back to the way it was?

SO WHAT DOES YOUR EX-DEALER THINK ABOUT THIS?

NOT HAPPY? – NO SHIT SHERLOCK… HELL NO, he ain’t fucking happy about this! He broke the 2nd law of business which was ‘DO NOT BE GREEDY’.  Those who flease, and extort may receive larger than usual payouts, however, that also could be the last payout.  It’s unfortunate, but it’s simply a no-brainer, buying online allows you the ability to shop about, and choice weed at prices that suite you and assuming you’ve found a good vendor you can buy some absolutely insanely good weed.  Now your ex-dealer lets it slide the first week, and perhaps even the second, but wait you’ll get a phone call asking you to come over as he’s got “some cheaper weed to sell if you’re interested”.  You attended as requested, and on entering you realise clearly, it’s the same stuff as before as I mean let’s be honest, that 2-pound bag of weed isn’t disappearing overnight.  Let’s give the guy of a break, he’s lost some big business here and some could argue it’s not his fault, others could say it was his fault as his continual racking up the prices i.e his greed led his customers to explore the potential of looking elsewhere. On doing they found better and bright deals, which actually suited them more in every way. So sure, Mr EX DEALER will be really annoyed at you, and he won’t be shy to show it.

CONCLUSION

It’s like anything in life when a window glazing guy appears to your door, or an electrician claiming you need all your house wiring changed else FIRE!!! It’s usually crap, and if you look around you can find a better deal.  Alas, the moral of our story here today was that greed forced our dealer’s customers to explore the possibility of looking elsewhere for their gear and what they found was just better in every single way times ten.  The dealer or EX-dealer as we’ve referred to him here really has to suck eggs on this one, and truly has himself to blame ultimately.

For what would he do be the situations reversed, where he could buy a much superior product at a lot cheaper price, from what you’re selling? No brainer? EXACTLY.