If you’re looking to toke on something that simultaneously makes you the biggest dumbass in the room, causes you to spill and knock over everything, makes you unable to get up off your couch, and leaves you shoveling food in your mouth like it’s your job, well, you might want to find yourself some Guptilla.
Let me explain.
Guptilla is an indica from Pagosa Therapeutics, aka the dispensary that always knocks me onto the couch with their potent-ass weed. It’s a punch-packing strain combo of Gorilla Glue #4 and “Dr. of Dankness” Gupta Kush that gives you that full-body high you look for when you’re smoking an indica. Guptilla is gnarly pungent – it’s what I would describe as a mix of gasoline and coffee with a garnish of earthy, floral tones. You can imagine how bad it stunk up the room. This particular batch contains about 25.5 percent THC, so yeah – hello, couch lock.
DGO Pufnstuf, our other pot writer, and I sneaked away to the garage to smoke. I was armed with the Pagosa Therapeutics’ strain, while Pufnstuf was looking to smoke one they had picked up from Chronic Therapy in Cortez. I had just returned from an out-of-state trip and was exhausted, my brain was already in a jumble, and I was tripping over my words as I chatted with my friend while loading the dry herb vape. We were excited to compare notes on our experiences.
Cut to five minutes later and we had already dissolved into fits of laughter at mostly nothing. We stumbled back inside, still cracking up at how funny we thought we were. Another friend who’d (mistakenly) declined to smoke with us rolled his eyes as we made our way to the kitchen, the munchies already taking full effect.
“God, you’re already high.”
Why yes, yes we were.
It was time for food, and lots of it. We unapologetically loaded up our plates with the weirdest range of food that, frankly, I don’t disliked you enough to disgust you with. BUT I will say we decided that cooking s’mores over an open fire while stoned to high heaven was a good idea. And it was. A few scorched marshmallows later and we were back on the couch, perfectly content, but not before making a complete and total mess of the kitchen and dropping our cups, plates, and utensils left and right. Indicas have a way of making you feel like all is right with the world. Responsibilities and stress be damned.
Our attempts at making conversation went nowhere fast. I couldn’t follow anything anyone was saying and I have a feeling no one else could follow what I was saying. (I’m told I have a tendency to mutter to myself when I’m stoned.)
It also made it difficult to follow the documentary we were watching. In my notes, I wrote a phrase I’d apparently picked up on during the doc: “Clean my weed.” No idea what that means. Not that it mattered much anyway, because it wasn’t long before I slipped into oblivious, sweet sleep – so sweet, apparently, that when my friend nudged me to wake up, I didn’t budge. Drool and all.
Sir Blaze Ridcully