Confucius say … confession is good for the soul, but bad for your career.
Perhaps that faux Confucius quote is a mantra I should live by. It probably won’t happen though, and I’ll still confess to you every other week my weed-related sins for your voyeuristic pleasure. But while I don’t plan to stop confessing, even for the sake of my career, what I DO plan to do is tell you about Confucius Kush, a strain of cannabis flower I smoked for this here review. Nice segue, right?
Anywho, as you may have gathered, we’re reviewing Confucius Kush, a strain of flower that we got from our friendly budtenders at Chronic Therapy in Cortez. I don’t really have much background information on this strain (surprise! I’m unprepared), but I do know it’s an indica, and I also know it knocked me into 500 B.C., when the real Confucius was around and actually imparting wisdom on people. Here’s what happened.
When I initially popped open the lid of the gram of Confucius Kush, I was genuinely impressed with how fat these nugs were. I wasn’t really expecting to see such dense, thicc buds sitting there, but alas, that is what I found. I lit up a bowl with a friend in the garage – screw smoking outside in 12-degree weather – and got to chatting. First inhale, I knew this was going to knock my friend on their proverbial ass. I’m a jerk, though, and I think inadvertent mega-inhales are hilarious, so I didn’t say anything, and just giggled uncontrollably as I watched their first inhale instead. As expected, there was a huge gasp, a deep choke, and then a super pissed off glare thrown my way.
Don’t worry, though. Karma got me back the next round, when Confucius’ mega-smoke knocked me down. It was like inhaling chalk dust, you guys. So very heavy. You shouldn’t let that deter you, though. What goes hand in hand with that super heavy smoke? Uh, a super heavy high … just what I needed after one very terse Monday.
As you may have gathered, it didn’t take very much at all for me to be launched into the clouds, my head full of fuzz and my throat full of smoke. My friend, on the other hand, tried to make up for their smoking faux pas by trying to be Billy Badass, and they just kept going for it, hit after hit, well after I’d tapped out. I was impressed, but please don’t tell them that.
Anyway, as I said, I became super freaking high after a few hits, and it was definitely that heavy indica high that trickles through every appendage and into your brain like a seeping pipe. In other words, it was killer. My head was high, my limbs were high (mostly my legs), and even my eyeballs were high, according to my notes. I puddle-rolled inside like Alex Mack (anyone else remember that show?) and threw myself on the couch dramatically, where I stayed until I passed out.
But, before passing out, I specifically remember sinking into the couch so deeply that I felt one with the cushion. Call it my zen Confucius moment. Those are probably different ideologies, but just go with it. I remember time dragging – commercials, especially that Hurry Cane infomercial, felt like they were the length of a Mel Gibson movie – and while I was super amused with it, it wasn’t that giggle-bitch type of amusement. I was more mesmerized, really.
And, at one point, I wrote in my notes the following: “Super indica. Back when Trump was elected, Gawker still existed.”
While those were definitely the words of one very high stoner, I stand by them this morning. Confucius Kush is most certainly a “super indica,” and it will knock you sideways into your couch, just like you (presumably) like it. I also stand by my Gawker lament. #RIP Gawker.com, the former reining king of snark. We may have lost you, but at least we’ll always have copious amounts of very good weed like Confucius Kush – and bad puns – to amuse us. It’s a fine consolation prize indeed.