it went by many names... Shwag, KGB "killer green bud" (pfft yah right), Mexican, Low Grade, Stress, Brick Weed, The Dirt...
basically $20 got you a quarter ounce, and $50 got you an ounce, and $200 got you a Quarter Pound.
the weed you ended up with was total shit. it was loaded to the brim with seeds, sometimes it was so dark brown you thought it ws soaked in gravy, and it always always made you choke. Not to mention it smelled like shit, tasted like shit, and made you reek of burnt rope.
back then it was a huge hassle to buy weed too, because it was before the wide spread use of cell phones. it was in that tiny slice of time during the early to mid 90's where everyone and their mother's brother, had a beeper. or a pager, whatever the fuck you wanna call it.
and well, as you remember... sometimes they call you back, sometimes they don't. sometimes they are near a phone, sometimes they aren't.
SHIT... sometimes their pager has batteries, sometimes they didn't forget it back at their mommy's house.
you never could even be sure homie got the got damn page.
and no one had glass bongs or pipes. it was plastic bongs and aluminum pipes city. if you were a real bad ass, you might have had a brass chamber pipe, with a bunch of rag-weed stuffed in the middle... so taht everytime you smoke through the pipe... it gets the weed in there a bit more resinated. making it a bit more stoney.
in hindsight, that is totally fucking disgusting. resin, and resinated weed all add up to the biggest cougher of your life. blick.
i guess it was whitey who converted to chronic first. he had the best paying job, thusly new some highschool dudes who also worked at that same sandwhich shop, and well... it was just a matter of time before we all realized that we were doing it all wrong. you're not sposed to seek out the cheapest pot you can find, so that you can go smoke it like a crack fiend. that's junkie mentality. "the cheapest junk i can score, so i's can get me my fix!"
it's like the difference between a TV dinner and a Filet Mignon.
masterbation vs. red hot sex.
Couch Potato vs. Carpe Diem.
basically it's about knowing that when you die, and stories are being told at your funeral-thingy will sound like, "he smoked the best weed, had the hugest smile, lived where he wanted to live, and knew who he wanted to know, and tried his hardest to do it his bestest."
so yah. now the funny part is... i couldn't find any brat weed even if i tried. all those dealers, and dead pager numbers add up to nothing now. not that i would seek any out... because, once you go chronic, you never go back.
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