August Cannascopes

Posted by CANNASaver on Wednesday, 18 August 2021 in Dispatches from the Highlands

Discover Your Fortune!

Aries - You were courageous to embark on the DIY house-painting, but you shouldn't have used water-color. 

Taurus - Now that it's warm enough, you can finally talk about how you'd be jogging every day but it's too hot outside.

Gemini - There’s no need to announce you’re going to the restroom, especially not on a mic during the maid of honor’s toast.  

Cancer - Though you got poked hard in the eye, a jumbo bandaid is not the solution.

Leo - The terribleness of your breath will become crystal clear when they can't resuscitate the dental hygienist. 

Virgo - It might be a greasy old gym sock covered in moldy cheese, but hey, at least it's not Cracker Barrel. 

Libra - The universe will send you three tests, at no added cost, after your couture shaving box.  

Scorpio - It's safe to say you didn't turn into your parents, but at this rate, looks like you'll be skipping right to your grandparents. 

Sagittarius - You have too much pride to ask for help, but as a stoner stuck in the mud in a dinosaur costume, no one wants to anyway. 

Capricorn - You'll realize the thing you've been missing your entire life, is thick, thick corduroy; then the mediocrity will kill you.

Aquarius - Your quest to know thyself will end fittingly in a near-direct DNA match with an extinct family of parameciums. 

Pisces - Now that you've flushed your phone, you can enjoy the things you used to do the old-fashioned way, like looking for a plumber in a phone book.

Study Links Patchouli, Polite Murmurs of "Are you Going to Eat That?"

Posted by CANNASaver on Monday, 16 August 2021 in Dispatches from the Highlands

A decades-long international study at Oxford University has finally determined that patchouli use is directly linked to polite murmurs of “Hey, you gonna eat all that?” 

The study could have important implications for the re-homing and domestication of patchouli users.

“We were unsure there would be a direct causal link between patchouli usage and food scavenging, but after our extensive research there remains no doubt,” head researcher Dr. Victor Samuels told Dispatches. "Just as many have theorized, it is directly correlated to uttered inquiries regarding the completion of an entrée." 

In the double-blind research study, half of the research participants were given either patchouli oil or placebo of skunk spray, to wear for a period of two hours. Participants were then left in a room with a lone other person, seated next to a full plate of vegan cookies, and observed for a period of time.

The results were unmistakable. Absolutely every person, high on the effects of patchouli oil, couldn’t help but ask the stranger ‘Hey, you gonna eat all that?’ within a matter of minutes.

The participants themselves were as shocked as anyone. “Don’t judge me before you walk a mile in my Birkenstocks,” said one, wishing to remain anonymous.

"Honestly? I don’t even like desserts made of oatmeal and sand,” reported another. “But after a couple drops of the oil, I couldn’t help but fixate on that plate with lustful, wanton eyes. I was helpless, like Gary Busey at a cocaine brunch.”

For Samuels, the study had a personal connection. “I got pretty heavy into the stuff in college.” he recalled. “I’d already experimented with Nag Champa, a 'gateway' essence. Then at Lilith Fair I got so deep in the ‘pogo’ that I just lost control of myself. The last thing I remember is leaving the McLachlan mosh pit to scavenge for half-eaten Morning Star corn dogs. That’s not who I am!” 

“After that, I gave up patchouli cold-turkey,” he added.

Study participants will undergo a strong delousing with Dr. Bronner’s All Natural Shampoo before leaving the research premises, and will be observed in following weeks to track any relapses. Still, Samuels sees hope for those whose lives have gone disastrously awry under the dark shadow of patchouli use. 

“We know just how sensitive this time can be,” he said. “All test subjects are treated with the utmost respect as they deal with their helpless affinities for cardboard-based snackfood and comfortable-yet-unsightly footwear. But if we can ultimately find what makes patchouli users turn into dirty dreadlocked weirdos in tie-dye, then who knows what’s next? We might even find a link between the sun, and like, plant life or something."

Smells Ain't Free

Posted by CANNASaver on Monday, 16 August 2021 in Dispatches from the Highlands

Don’t pretend ya’ didn’t see me. You were lookin my direction since you walked in the room and I was showin’ the stanky dank to Rollo. That’s right. I got that Purp. You been enjoyin’ her smooth aroma. And I’m tellin’ you right now, son, smells ain’t free.

I shouldn’t have to tell you that! Where you from anyway! You’re in Cannatown Proper now, Jimbo. You never hearda Purp? My name’s Purp. I’M Purp. P-R-P, PURP. I’m the fella that’s listenin’ when you start askin’ Homes here what he’s got available in a violet hue. Violet hue? That’s like askin’ a grey duck who’s a goose!

See everyone ‘round these parts just says, “Purp?” Then I say “What, you need Purp? I got that Purp. I got that Purp right here.” But this ain’t just any Purp. This is like a swig of pure mash. Picked on the edges of Grape Gorge. Hand-picked! P-R-P, Purrrr-urp!

See, that’s why smells ain’t free.

And I saw you treatin’ your shnoz to a couple whiffs. Pull out that cash, son, I also accept bullion--gold. New customer, old customer. Smells ain’t free, not never.

Y’all need that Purp? I got that right here.

Terrible Crappy Boat Finally Sails Again

Posted by CANNASaver on Monday, 16 August 2021 in Dispatches from the Highlands

The SS Shitface, a shitty, run-down shrimping boat that became wedged in the Susie Q Sandbar and nearly cut off traffic to indispensable “Free Hash Island,” has been finally refloated, authorities reported on Monday.

The crappy old trawler sailed north to the Great Hitter Lake in the east Highlands, and will now “technically” undergo an inspection. “That’s code for, one massive hookah session with everyone tossing in their own crop, while the boat sits at a dock,” an insider told Dispatches. 

Earlier on Monday the Cannatown Cannal Authority said the ship had “responded to the yanking and bludgeoning maneuvers of a small army of front-loaders, driven by ‘somewhat moonshot operators’ eager to get to the free hash on the other side.”

The SS Shitface is one of the most neglected, despicable boats in the world. The one-ton vessel is able to carry roughly ten people and about 20 crates of fish or lobster, and, stretching more than 40 feet, is almost as long as a tree is tall. 

The ship, which ran aground over a decade ago, created terrible disruptions in the free hash supply, especially the connections directly routed through the narrow sandbar connecting Free Hash Island with Cannatown’s 'SupYo' District. 

Around 56% of Cannatown’s free hash passes through or around the sandbar, and locals had gone to all lengths--typically climbing over the smelly, vile old ketch with their own ladders, or nearby pieces of driftwood--to conquer the obstacle. It made the return traverse notoriously treacherous for those whose pockets and carryalls were stuffed to the brim with fresh, fine hash and temple balls. 

Bernie Shootie-Shipmanagymoo, acting captain, originally told officials the boat ran aground due to heavy fog. Over the next couple of months, it became clearer that the actual location of the fog may have played a role in the ship’s deviation--namely, that it was inside the bridge, from some pretty thick rips of White Widow. 

Expert salvage crews were initially called in to help refloat the ship but the project quickly veered off-course and became forgotten as the workers, their friends, families, and then, everyone else, became aware of and mesmerized by all the heaps of free hash just beyond the work site.

Although the boat has finally been freed, those hoping to find happy trails on the sandbar still have to scale the mountain of mud loosened during the operation. But 19,000 citizens have lined up, and are determinedly making their way across the thin stretch of gravel, onto Free Hash Island.

“Even though I miss Ol' Shitface, I say good riddance,” said free hash aficionado Ronny Gregio, a Cannatown resident who used to pole vault over the wretched old junk heap. “That stupid boat. It was the worst watercraft I’ve ever seen.”

Our Annual 30 OVER 30: Middle-Aged Thousandaires

Posted by CANNASaver on Monday, 16 August 2021 in Dispatches from the Highlands

As Cannatown settles in for a strange time “between pandemics,” there are bright spots on the landscape. Literally tens of them. The 30 young gamblers, part-timers, live-at-homers, and failed investors featured in our annual 30 Over 30 offer a fleeting glimpse of hope, and it ain’t much. Some aren’t defying the odds or improving themselves; others are battling with terrible habits, and discovering new scams. This year, most of them had to set up their own cameras at home to submit portraits--due to the pandemic.

Glenda Felberger - Compulsive Gambler
Meet Glenda Felberger, 39. Despite countless setbacks, including one record-setting 48 overdraft fees in a row, Glenda has persevered, accumulating a sizeable fortune by stuffing casino winnings under her mattress over the course of several years, and forgetting about it. Following a short-lived sandwich artist career that led her into multi-level marketing of miracle juice, Felberger doubled her fortune one weekend in Vegas, when she converted nearly half her fortune into nickels and won almost $225. She first made it into the Thousandaires Club in 2019, when a tax return bumped her briefly up and over the mark--but it was quick-lived as she immediately spent it on an inflatable hot-tub. "My motto is, maybe I saved the receipt but I probably didn't, so go ahead and pour me another cosmo," she said. "I said pour me another freakin' cosmo!"

Terry Burns - Sole Partner, Burns LLC
One of the oldest youngest investment partners at Burns LLC, where she led investments in things like popcorn, and joists, and has attended board meetings for Borky's Shrimp Shack, Burns, 33, doesn’t seem like the kind of person with less than $3,000 in personal assets--but you’d be wrong. Despite sitting on the board of the nonprofit Geniuses in Slippers, which teaches coding skills to cross-eyed computer-stupid stoners from shwag-ravaged communities, and a degree in Computer Science from the CannaTown Technical School, Burns typically lives check-to-check and is only 'up' this week because she unloaded a bunch of her dad’s old golf glubs on eBay, netting her enough for rent and a little splurging money. But she’s mentioned that the fortune is likely temporary. “I should pay off that electricity bill,” she says, “but now that I work from home I also have my mind set on a massage chair.”

Marty Bowen - Gas Station Shift Manager
At 38, Marty Bowen should not be working at gas station full time, not when there are plenty of other good jobs around. So says Marty’s mother, Justine, who will sometimes stop by the Phillips 66 station where Marty works throughout the day, just to buy gum, gripe and sneer. “I hate it when she comes in here,” Marty says, “But I’ve also looked at the numbers, and she’s our best customer.” It’s a strange relationship, with Bowen’s dingy, tiny apartment just minutes from his mother’s aging abode, where he often takes advantage of functional laundry and plumbing. Over the course of time, he’s saved nearly $1750 in loose change, stored in trashbags, since he’s overdrafted and closed nearly every bank account he’s ever owned. But he seems unphased. "If I didn't have my bong and huge satchel of Durban Poison, I’d be having a mid-life crisis right now.”

Remy Williams - Entrepreneur
It’s fair to say that Remy Williams has always been affluent: he’s the heir to the Gargzeta-Bongaza Goo-Balls Corporation, makers of fine goo-balls and edibles. That’s not to say he’s without a sales gene. He demonstrated entrepreneurial skills from an early age, and graduated top of the Slinging department at CU. His unfortunate life-changing fall from grace came when Williams, high on life, and some Alaskan Thunderf*ck, decided to sink his entire life savings into Cannatown's first-ever School for Porpoises. He soon learned that there were no porpoises in Cannatown, or in the greater high desert Sensemilla Valley; they didn't occur naturally, nor did anyone keep them as pets. In fact the school turned out to be the first ever of its kind in the country, yet nobody came for obvious reasons. Resilient, Williams kept the lights on and sat alone at the front desk, waiting for days, then a few years. Finally, at age 37, accepting it had been a bad idea, he shut it down, and walked away with about $4500 left to his name. "At least I have all these clothes from the gift shop," he said, "and the Gargzeta-Bongaza Goo-Balls." 

MORE 30 OVER 30 - Find our Full List of Average People
From all walks of life, from all areas of the cannaworld. Go online for our full list of middle-ground "winners," who, despite all odds, have somehow scraped together a couple thousand dollars, such as these fine people:

Greg Talbot (35) - Quit college after three years in engineering, now works as a canoe and kayak guide, living in a nearby R.V.

Jen McGregory (36) - She's been working in H.R. for a long time, and that's just the real story, she honestly never takes vacations.

Ned Teasley (32) - Teasley's bookie and missing dog will be happy to hear he's finally seeing profits from his beer brat stand.

I Just Ripped My First Resin Bowl in Years

Posted by CANNASaver on Monday, 16 August 2021 in Dispatches from the Highlands

Aloha, Jollydabbers. How’s your miserable shred of existence? I’ve learned so much, like how patchy my beard is when I grow it out. This is what I would’ve looked like as a pioneer. And this is what my life would’ve been like back in the day, playin’ video games by candle light, eating plain rice night after night because I can’t cook, makin’ Rube Goldberg contraptions and givin’ up like, right away every time--and on top of all that, I just smaked my first resin bowl in years. Dudeman! 

That’s where we are now.

I'm on a resin surfboard, a goofy, weird misadventure full of sights and sounds that won't last more than a half hour. Always looking over my shoulder for spiders. Contemplating the quantum opposite of a polar bear, and wondering what quantum really means. Is it even a real word?

Last time I smaked resin was way back in the day, when the weed stores 'round here still had the occasional drought! Remember that? Friday night one August I stumbled into the Mom and Pop place I always went to, and the flower was just, out. I couldn’t believe, it, no, not in the land of smake galore! With few minutes left before closing time, I didn’t have time to hop the bus. I went right home and scraped a heaping wad of resin from all my pipes, a glorious mountain of years’ worth of stuff, and smaked it ‘til morning.

And I thought that was like, the end of the world at the time. Man, oh to be 2014 Hugh. I’d do it all differently.

 Never did I think I’d be scroungin’ around for leaves and steems, any crummerts around my bedroom. 'Course, I could still run down to the store -- apparently they’re still open. But I can’t get an Uber and I’m pretty sure I’ll die if I take the bus. We were gettin’ so close to dro-drones that I’m not sure history books will be able to capture the stingin’ irony of going from drone delivery back to resin bowls in a matter of weeks. My cousin from Kalamazoo just wrote me he hasn’t smaked in a fortnight. Fuuuudddddge that.

Now I’m waitin’ for a check while I wait for another check, while I wait for one more week to pay fifty bills, pickin’ up every weird little job I can, to make sure I can eat and smake and live, like, fixin’ toilets. I’m like, a pro at that because I’ve had to fix my own crapper about 20 times, since I’ve been using almost anything within reach as TP these days. 

Oh, glory hallelujah, if only to be 2014 Hugh.

Fire-Fighters Battle Local Shwag Blaze

Posted by CANNASaver on Monday, 16 August 2021 in Dispatches from the Highlands

The Cannatown fire department was called to 420 Beasley St. Thursday night, to contain a small fireplace fire gone wrong for none other than occasional contributor to Dispatches, Mr. Hugh Jollydab. The blaze was contained and put out by 5:20am, but not before destroying much of Jollydab’s living room. 

Fire Chief Higgins reported that the ordeal actually began with a plumbing issue, for which a unit was dispatched to address at around 11:30pm, just a few hours earlier, when a clog caused the tenant’s toilet to explode. “There wasn’t much we could do to help with that mess except console those affected,” Higgins said. According to the report, a heap of used bathroom towels was used to wipe up the mess in the small, 6x6 bathroom, but it was not enough to stop the flood of sewage that leaked deep into the flooring and began raining in the building’s converted cellar. 

Mr. Jollydab proceeded to place a large fan in the bathroom, in order to dry the area, then set off to clean the “man-cave” directly below. “It was there that he encountered what he believed to be a huge buzzing noise in the ceiling,” Higgins reported. Upon closer examination, Jollydab determined the source of the buzzing to be a large hornet’s nest. Unable to locate the hive, or remove the drywall, the tenant “smashed through the ceiling using a nearby hatchet,” haphazardly removing drywall, wood and insulation, until a three-foot hole to the ground floor confirmed that the hive was indeed, the “large box fan in the soiled bathroom.”

While not directly related to the ordeal, the fire that engulfed the living room began when Jollydab, forgetting the demolished pieces of wall and other debris in his own fireplace, lit ablaze a giant fire in the hearth, using huge, fat shwag-bricks as he reeled exhausted from his cleanup efforts. It wasn’t long, before the crummy, dry cannabis filled the air with intoxicating fumes strong enough to momentarily debilitate anyone within a five-house radius. “It sure got everyone high for a moment,” said Higgins, “but this just ain’t the way to do it. You know, Safety First.”

Nerd Club To Brief Retired Octogenarians on UFOs

Posted by CANNASaver on Monday, 16 August 2021 in Dispatches from the Highlands

Are UFOs hogwash? Do aliens exist and did they take my pills? Have they visited earth and if so was it their dog that left a dooty on the park strip? 

These are just some questions the local chapter of Freemont Scientacular Nerdry Society (FSNS) are hoping to answer when they make a key address later this afternoon to residents of the Stinky Shady Creek Nursing Home.

For decades, if not centuries, stoned geeks have reported encounters with strange objects, some of which were Unusual-Ass Projectiles (UAP's). Now that the government has informally confirmed some of these recordings, the local FSNS members feel that their time has come. “In the past, we’ve been ridiculed for insisting upon the presence of intergalactic visitors, and now we are prepared to present some of our life’s work,” said local FSNS chapter president, Theodore Montgomery. “Specifically, we're eager to stroll through about 100 Powerpoint slides.”

Overtly paranoid and eager for social contact, the nursing home residents, who have yet to learn of the day’s activity, represent the exact kind of inquiring population that FSNS hopes will embrace their message. An estimated 75 seniors plan to be present, as the briefings will follow Bridge Club, directly prior to 4:30 dinnertime. Several will also be on prescription sedatives.

“People walked out on us in Ashville, and most recently at Bongaroo,” said Montgomery. “Finally we’re confident that we've found an audience that won’t leave or throw tomatoes.”

“We double-checked their cafeteria menu,” he added.

While galactic issues have never taken first priority at the home, the mysteries of space clearly weigh heavily on all. Some residents have expressed fear in the past that UAP's might be the tools of military adversaries out to get their blood pressure medication. Others have complained that aliens walk among us, namely, whatever substitute aides are covering for normal nursing staff during vacation days. And 10% believe they are currently on a UFO.

Home Director Beverly Myles is hopeful but doesn't quite know what to expect. "At first I thought maybe this presentation would help quell our little hunger strike over ‘extraterrestrial’ pancakes, but now I fear it could get worse."

"Almost nobody eats those pancakes now," she added. "Perfectly good though. Scratch Bisquick with extra cinnamon."

High Leaders Introduce New Measurements

Posted by CANNASaver on Friday, 13 August 2021 in Dispatches from the Highlands

Perhaps it was a moment of psychiatric paralysis, perhaps out of sheer boredom from lockdown, but Mayor J. Van Cannaby, City Council, and Chamber of Commerce have started the year on a new foot: with the goal of redoing “all measurements” that govern our lives, from distance to volume. Following a Friday night virtual bong-binge with other town leaders, wherein the new structures and labeling were hammered out, a “measure” passed unanimously at 4:20AM in the morning with anyone still conscious to vote.

Although popular due to “tearing down of outdated institutions,” the revolutionary change is already gaining opposition from various parties who will see their own distribution points radically affected. For instance, all liquid-volume measurements will be refactored from fractions of gallon or liter systems into four main categories: sips, swallows (aka ‘swals’), swigs, and the optional and variable “chugs” to scale. Commercial productions must recalibrate. “I just ruined a recipe that called for a swal of vegetable oil,” said baker Rordon Gamsey, “But who’s to say my swal is the same as the next person? Do they realize how much I can chug?” 

In another case, a traveler ran out of gas on a trip because the road sign had been changed to read "Resinville: 6 Jaunts." The account seemed to verify the prescient warnings of council-member Jeanie Barnes who had wondered aloud, “What if people completely misjudge the length of a ‘jaunt?’"

Meanwhile, the Ways and Means Committee slipped a provision into the bill to flip the entire polarity of monetary value in order to save on costs. Now, the most expensive things will cost mere pennies, while trivial crap will cost billions apiece.

If that’s true, then the richest 1% are now the poorest simply by owning money, while the penniless should be able to buy up mansions by the dozen. “That’s great news for me,” says local banjo-strumming wastrel Tim Litscher. “I ain’t got shit.”

I've Been Writing a Romance Novel

Posted by CANNASaver on Friday, 13 August 2021 in Dispatches from the Highlands

Hey what's up homedogs, mind if I join in on your smake? How've you been handling stuff? Do we really have to wear masks while we hit steamrollers, am I right? Like, should I swab down the bong? Oh, I should? Swabbing. Yea, it hasn't been easy, but I found one thing that's just taken my mind off everything else: that's right, I've been writing a romance novel.

Stop, you say--but not until I've explained myself. This isn't just about some wacky guy who, uh, gets down all stoned with a princess and then they like, hookup. Guys, this is a story for the ages. About a guy, just like you and me. And deep down he knows someone is out there just for him. And maybe he searches and searches for a bit. And that's when he meets...the bud of his dreams. 

That’s right. It’s a bud. Not like all those other stories. This is a plump, perfectly-trimmed nug, not too moist, not too dry, cured in some beautiful wine cellar, super sugary and fruity like fresh-baked muffins. And maybe he tries a taste, just dips his toes, and just has a long moment where he locks eyes with the bud, except the bud isn’t alive, but he like, well, he loads it and smakes it because that’s what you do, ha. 

Here, I should hit this, sorry.

And here's the clincher. It was under his nose the whole time. Like, a friend gave him a satchel with this beautiful huge nuggersh, and once he finds it, he just like, he cherishes it. He like, loves that thing. He puts it in this golden box and can't help but tell the world about it. 

I mean, this guy is really happy. Happiest he's ever been.

But then he realizes their time is short. The days are counted together. And it's just this daily struggle about a dude who loves this beautiful little nug so much, but he has to break off little parts of it and, like, smake it right in front of the bud.

Man, every time I say it, wow--doesn't that just move you? Sorry, argh homies, I got something in my eye.