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Chemmy Jones review

Avatar for StukaFox

Farts are treacherous, especially the little ones you think won't stink, like the the tiny pooter you just one-cheek-sneaked in your cube. "Ah -- The perfect crime," you think, sticking to your theory that it was "all sound and no fury". So when you test that little theory by giving a little sniff, you promptly get frying-panned right in the face by The Stench That Came from C'Thulu's Ass. And as you're ducking staplers thrown at you by your gagging co-workers, you think, "What the FUCK just happened to me?" Chemmy Jones is a little like this. As soon as you blaze the Jones, everyone in your zip code is going to know you're getting lit -- it's just that pungent. No little sneaker hits here; you might as well just hire a skywriter to emblazon the heavens with "HEY, DUDES! I SCORED SOME CHEMMY JONES AND I'M GONNA GET HELLA BAKED!" as soon as you take your first hit. And about that hit -- be ye wary of how many you take because this stuff is the ultimate sneaker weed. One minute you're all, "Yeah, I guess Yes is an ok band . . ." and 20 seconds later you're "HOLY JESUS, AN -ORGAN SOLO- RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE SONG? THAT'S FUCKING BRILLIANT!" This weed shifts gears faster than your local politician when asked if that was really him photographed blowing a horse, so be cautious with the over-tokage. Even if you don't end up in Spinney Land due to being one toke over the line, the "normal" high will totally 9/11 your brain and you will DEFINITELY "never forget".