On the Road With Bubble

If you’re going 120 miles per hour on the autobahn in Germany, and the guy driving your rental car is a limber, fanatical, semi-bearded Canadian kid who is glass-pipe smoking the strongest marijuana product in the universe, should you be worried?
Maybe, but it’s hard to worry when you’re smoking bubble hash made from bubble bags produced by BubbleMan, the Canadian cannakid who looks like Jesus and leaves nothing but cannabinoids in the minds and lungs of people across the world.

It’s hard to worry when your mind is so saturated with cannabinoids that your short term memory is short circuited so you can’t remember fear, can’t feel your body, can’t freak out even though the other cars look like Star Wars fighters.can’t remember that you are heading for the Swiss border in the middle of the night in a multi-car caravan containing urine-drinking hempheaded trance dancers, beautiful girls, movie stars, contraband, and BubbleMan, the man with swollen glands.

Those glands are resin glands, the kind that sit on stalks that sit on leaves and flowers of cannabis plants. Most people smoke a whole bunch of marijuana trying to get the psychoactive high present mostly in those glands. BubbleMan has dedicated his young life to showing people that they really don’t need to smoke buds and leaves. Why not just smoke resin glands, he asks. Why not save your lungs? Why smoke vegetable matter and rolling papers?

I observed BubbleMan at the Cannabusiness convention in Germany. Hundreds of people flocked to his booth, hearing that he had sticky pieces of conglomerated resin glands to smoke. A lot of them were skeptics. They looked at his colorful bubble bags, listened to his passionate recitation of bubble hash benefits and how easy it is to make bubble hash, and tried to remain doubtful. I can handle it, they said. And then, the moment of truth, when they stepped up to his special vaporizer/glass pipe, inhaled, sailed.

They came, they inhaled, they fell. Big men and small, young girls and mature goddesses, they all fell under the bubble spell. Their eyes rolled back in their skulls. They shimmied and shook. They had visions. The lame walked, the deaf could hear, the blind were able to see again. The mute spoke. Praise the Lord of Bubble!

BubbleMan smiled while they handed him their money. They bought all his bubble bags. They bought his t-shirts. They tried to buy his bubble hash, but he religiously proclaims that he is a healer, not a dealer.

When I first smoked bubble hash, I dropped down on the floor like a sack of potatoes. Later, after hanging with BubbleMan, I was able to smoke bubble hash all day and still remember my name. I learned to take marijuana photos while my mind was soaring into bubble heaven, when I could not see anything but hallucinations, when beautiful naked cannababes paraded before me in an outdoor pot field that is also a movie set in the Swiss Alps, when I was so high that I could look at those luscious, honey-dripping cannababes in all their estrogenate glory- and not think or feel even one lustful, chauvinistic, malepig, totally natural, hungry thing.

BubbleMan returned to Canada, leaving me in Europe alone without bubble hash at the mercy of mean gypsies who I fled from as bubble withdrawal set in. In Holland I smoked buds that used to knock me out; this time I felt nothing. I also smoked all kinds of traditional hashish; last year when I smoked the same hashish, I got really high.this year, I felt nothing at all. I smoked the best that people offered, but the only cannabis product that got me near where bubble got me was Dutch Ice Nederhash.

Bubble spoiled me. It’s not addictive, but is so pure, so tasty, so potent. It becomes a haunting memory in a memoryless void, a song you want to sing again but can’t sing because your voice is too fragile, a high that soars clean and free like a rare bird that has escaped from dumbass redneck hunters’ killing fields.

The BubbleKid stoned Europe, and now is back in Canada with his totally babealicious wife and his darling toddler BubbleBaby daughter who looks like a hydrostatic human resin gland, always cute and full of life.

He’s analyzing the meaning of resin glands, freezing them off their plants, watching them bubble in his pipe, watching people take one hit and then suddenly assume a horizontal position. He’s partying with String Cheese Incident while Vancouver rocks, arguing about lung pollution with whole marijuana advocates, and waiting for New Year’s Eve on the moon.

It’s hard being BubbleMan, but he’s up for the job, and he requires you to participate in the bubble hash revolution. He wants you more stoned than you have ever been before.

What kind of cannabis should you smoke?

“If it doesn’t bubble, it isn’t worth the trouble,” is what Jesus-lookalike BubbleMan says, and he will light that glass pipe and prove it to you – if you’re lucky.

Cannabis Culture will be featuring a special multi-page bubble hash article in issue 41, and only by reading that article can you even begin to be fully initiated into the sacred Rosicrucian mysteries of bubble.

In the meantime, visit www.bubblebag.com or call 1-866-melting to check out and purchase your own bubble bag kit, so that you too can enter the church of the holy gland.

And if you want to see the Swiss potfield movie set where nakedly delicious girls danced with bubble hash inside them while trance dance ravers drank urine (for their own health, of course), check out www.greengoddess.info.