Sweet with a twist of shrapnel
A lot of top notch green these days smells like a turd of horse shit wedged between your stinky cousin’s jizz-filled sock and a gym locker floorboard. Not like it necessarily smells bad in a traditional way, but rather that the totally extreme contemporary conditions, of so many chemicals cross-firing through multicolored buds, can knock one on one’s bottom. When you burp particular strains—take Cheese, or any fart off the Skunk family tree, for example, all of which should be kept on the back porch, away from the cats but close to the litter if you need to mask the pungency—by breaking nugs in half, then shove your nose into the crack, the scent can be a fiddle overwhelming, sort of like the age we live in as a whole.
Stench aside, there’s a smorgasbord of flavor in the Bomb, though mostly from the dark side. Despite some superficial sweetness, there is a pinching pepper undertone, reverberations from which may shoot down (or up) your backbone. It’s something that you’ll want to try, even seek out and grow for yourself if at all possible.
We got ours from a farmer north of Boston, in a state and city we won’t mention, and later that week a dispensary consultant who I showed it to said that the Amsterdam-based Bomb Seeds, from which this magnificence originates, is becoming a popular topic of conversation in nerdier herb circles of late. I hope so, but even if it takes a while for these alien delights to grow in all gardens, there is a chance that the ferocious fistful of the THC Bomb I secured will last for some time. Or at least the high will. It doesn’t make for super cloudy eyeballs, nor impede my ability to crank out cannabis reviews on keyboards with impressive manual dexterity, but it did kick me into a rabbit hole searching for aerial metaphors that describe highness…
Of course, with pro sports come professional injuries, and riding with a fat bowl full of THC Bomb in your gas tank from the morning through your midnight supper is hardly advised. Between the intensely dry tongue, and the way that you can keep on getting higher upon higher in the drop zone, this is not exactly weed to keep at your side in a dab holster all day, but instead something to regard as a respiratory treat that you stash for a special occasion, like movie-watching.
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Citizen Strain/Grain is an amalgamation of a bunch of us who, in addition to the hard and oftentimes depressing journalism we report for the Dig, also enjoy sampling and writing about the various beers, spirits, and cannabis products that vendors from near and far send our way. If you want us to check out your product, please contact us at firstname.lastname@example.org.