Deep within underground labs in the emerald triangle, genetic engineers are creating new cannabis micro breeds that will revolutionize pain management. Thanks to the twin miracles of big data analytics and bio-engineering, your local budtender now has strains to counteract all your pains, regardless of how trivial.


“Pinebrook Elementary Special Concert featuring Miss Doherty’s 3rd-grade choir singing a 2-hour rendition of The Pirates of Penzance in F sharp minor”
[THC: 34%]
You love these kids, so go the extra mile and manufacture some love for their terrible singing. When “Pinebrook” starts to leap and splash through the brain like a million pink micro-dolphins, your body will be forced to stand up and cheer, and also eat every bag of flamin’ hot Cheetos on the PTA snack table.

“The gig economy. It’s shiftier than a frightened mother raccoon that’s just been startled and is now sinking her canines deep into the soft, meaty shank of our collective hindquarters”
[THC: 65%]
This Norwegian phinaloon makes you quickly forget that you’re a worn-down cog in an unknowable machine that’s accelerating into pure darkness with nobody at the wheel.

“Dinner with Steve and Melissa. Melissa is still on her raw food trip. They created a slideshow of their road trip through Nebraska. Literally hundreds of photos of old fences around fields (Steve has discovered photography). Melissa will be offended if you stand outside the whole time again pretending to be on urgent phone calls”
[THC: 62%]
When “Steelissa” enters the membrane, that flavorless, raw-vegetable dinner and slideshow turns into a tasty smorgasbord of magical vistas and touching soliloquies about all the fences that wrap their lichen-encrusted arms around our souls.

“Evil CEOs automated my manufacturing job and took all my weed money back with them to New York City to blow on cocaine and $2,000 per night escorts”
[THC: 86%]
A rambunctious Moroccan strain that will stab corporate duplicity in the eye with a flathead screwdriver and leave the body to bleed out in the alley next to your career ambitions.

“A 5 AM leap from bed, a seismic jolt that triggers a raging avalanche of problems that sweeps away all of my patience, goodwill, and peace of mind with it”
[THC: 92%]
Grab a box of tissues and find a comfy seat somewhere. Within minutes of lighting up this lively tortuga, a balding Sting steps out through the avalanche, like it’s not even there. Wearing only black long john bottoms, he waves his hand and the avalanche disappears. In its place, a three-hour orgasm begins. You rise into the upper atmosphere, higher and higher, and then dissolve blissfully into the cosmic oneness.

“The yard is overgrown and we need to put gravel down under the awning where the dirt keeps washing away. Also, snakes keep shitting on the kids’ craft bench in the garage for some reason. There are mucousy mouse-fur macaroons deposited all over the mother’s day present that Rebecca made out of tinfoil, craft clay, and endless love”
[THC: 46%]
This zappa sapwich crashes your zone like a stinky, hyperactive child spouting endless non-sequiturs. Utter nonsense… until the kicker arrives. The next five words you hear, you repeat for the rest of your life.

I accidentally swallowed a tiny knife-wielding maniac that sleeps inside of me now. He randomly wakes up and starts stabbing indiscriminately in all directions while shouting angrily about not being on vacation, or drunk, or stoned
[THC: 45%]
This vibrant greebling from Costa Rica gently lifts up Mr. Stabby and swaddles him like a baby. He drops the knife.

My unquenchable thirst for definitive proof of the most unprovable things sets me stomping so frantically back and forth across my own breadcrumb trail that the path forward becomes unrecognizable
[THC: 64%]
Toast a bowl of this booey theresa from Portugal, and then mix the ash with some water and use it to draw a figure eight in the center of your forehead. Soon a protective sphere of pure silence forms around your head. Oh, sweet nothing. You look down. You’ve been on the path the whole time.


With dank-ass analytics on your side, you can wave goodbye to all the pain and disappointment that life brings.

Join upcoming November classes in Satire Writing, Sketch Writing, and Stand-Up Joke Writing.