45 and Still Faking It

Alright, folks, gather ’round and let me regale you with the joyous tale of turning 45. Halfway to ninety and just as clueless as ever.

Almost 20 years ago, I packed my bags, kissed Ohio goodbye, and set out on a grand adventure that’s taken me through the dusty deserts of Nevada, the sunny chaos of California, the historical pretentiousness of Massachusetts, the not-so-gardeny parts of New Jersey, and back to California. Why? For the love of radio!

Oh, radio, you seductive bitch. You lured me in with promises of fame, fortune, and a lifestyle so glamorous it would make Hollywood blush. And for a while, it was golden. I was living the dream as an on-air personality and imaging producer, my voice bouncing off the airwaves all over the world!. Then along came Mr. New Guy, who decided he didn’t like my style. Yes an overweight douchebag with terrible style and an unbelievable lack of creativity fired me. Just like that, poof! The dream crumbled faster than a cheap taco shell.

Now I’m here in California with my wife, the kids, and a bonus kid from my wife’s previous adventure in life. Although one of my kids is still back in Ohio, probably wondering what the hell Dad is still doing living in the most expensive place in America. I wonder that too …

The thing is, I’m podcasting pretty successfully, but not successfully enough to ditch the day job. And what a day job it is. Representing the oil, fuel, and gas station industry—because nothing screams passion like convenience stores and petrol.

2 days a week in the office and 3 days a week, I’m working from home, pretending I know what I’m doing, faking it like a pro. The pay is decent, the coworkers are cool, but the passion? Nonexistent. Sales? I’d rather eat a bag of nails. But hey, it’s a job, right? And it’s depressing.

I never imagined working in an office environment or having this type of job. Never, yet here I am miserable like everyone else.

There was a time I loved my job. I loved waking up and going to work. Now I dread it.

You know what really gets me though? The older I get, the more I realize I’ve been chasing career highs instead of building real, meaningful friendships.

I miss having friends. I miss the parties, the birthdays, the pointless hangouts where we’d solve the world’s problems over a six-pack and bag of weed. Now, my birthday is a quiet affair. No big bashes, just a few texts from family and, of course, the amazing listeners of my podcast. You guys are seriously the real heroes. Please know that I appreciate you so much.

As I inch closer to 45, I’m hit with the existential question: Was it all worth it? Missing out on family events, leaving friends behind, moving from state to state for a career that’s as stable as a Jenga tower in an earthquake? I don’t know. But I do believe that everything happens for a reason, even if that reason is as clear as mud right now.

I miss radio. I miss the thrill of the live broadcast, the creative rush, the connection with listeners. But moving around the country isn’t an option anymore. The kids are in middle and high school, and uprooting them would be selfish. Responsibilities, man. They’re like that one relative who shows up uninvited and never leaves.

But there are bright spots. Watching my daughter grow, seeing my bonus son figure out who he is, building a life with my wife, and having the freedom to run my podcast my way—these are the moments that make the struggle worthwhile. I’m still doing what I love, just not on the scale I envisioned. And maybe that’s okay.

So here I am, on the brink of 45, wondering what the next chapter holds. Maybe I’ll finally find a way to make podcasting and creating events my full-time gig. Maybe I’ll stumble upon a new passion. Or maybe I’ll just keep faking and being miserable with my career until I die. Whatever happens, I know this much: getting older might suck, but it’s also an adventure. And as long as I’m still in the game, I’ll keep playing.

Here’s to 45 years of glorious confusion and the hope that the next 45 will be just as wild.

Stay safe, stay weird and remember… question everything

PS.

Don’t forget you can save 15% in the Pod Shop with promo code DAD at checkout 🤘🏼

10 Conspiracies That Actually Came True

1. Project Sunshine: The Baby Harvest

Conspiracy: The government was snatching dead bodies to perform radioactive tests.


Truth: Well, they weren’t exactly grave robbers. They were more like body part enthusiasts. The U.S. government needed young tissue for their nuclear fallout studies. So, they recruited a global network of agents to discreetly collect samples and limbs from recently deceased babies. Over 1,500 grieving families were blissfully unaware

2. Prohibition Poison Party

Conspiracy: During Prohibition, the government poisoned alcohol to curb drinking.


Truth: Turns out, Uncle Sam was the ultimate party crasher. Booze manufacturers had been spiking their hooch with dangerous chemicals for years. But between 1926 and 1933, the feds upped the ante. They pushed for stronger poisons to discourage bootleggers from turning alcohol into moonshine. Result? Over 10,000 Americans met their demise via tainted cocktails. Cheers!

3. Edith Wilson: The Real Commander-in-Chief

Conspiracy: President Woodrow Wilson’s stroke left him incapacitated, and his wife secretly took charge.


Truth: Edith Wilson wasn’t just a First Lady; she was the First Boss. When Woodrow suffered a debilitating stroke, the government decided to keep it hush-hush. For over a year, Edith was effectively running the show. She claimed to be a mere “steward,” but historians know better. Move over, Woodrow—Edith’s got this!

4. MK-ULTRA: Mind Control, LSD, and You

Conspiracy: The CIA experimented with LSD and mind control on unsuspecting Americans.


Truth: MK-ULTRA wasn’t a sci-fi flick; it was real. The CIA dosed folks with hallucinogens, hoping to unlock their inner spies. Imagine unsuspecting office workers tripping balls during their coffee breaks. The program was so wild that even Hunter S. Thompson would’ve said, “Whoa, man!”

5. Operation Mockingbird: Media Manipulation

Conspiracy: The CIA infiltrated the media to control the narrative.


Truth: Forget “fake news.” Operation Mockingbird was the OG. The CIA cozied up to journalists, editors, and publishers, pulling their strings like puppet masters. They spread propaganda, manipulated stories, and whispered, “Psst, print this.” The Fourth Estate? More like the Fourth Spy Agency

6. Operation Paperclip: Nazi Scientists, American Dreams

Conspiracy: After World War II, the U.S. smuggled Nazi scientists into the country like they were exotic pets.


Truth: Forget Area 51; Operation Paperclip was the real alien landing. The CIA and military scooped up German rocket scientists, mind control experts, and probably a few schnitzel chefs. These former Third Reich brainiacs helped kickstart the space race and the Cold War. Danke schön, Adolf!

7. COINTELPRO: The FBI’s Petty Vendetta

Conspiracy: The FBI infiltrated civil rights groups, anti-war activists, and even Slayer fan clubs.


Truth: J. Edgar Hoover wasn’t just a snappy dresser; he was also a paranoid puppet master. COINTELPRO (Counter Intelligence Program) aimed to disrupt and discredit anyone who dared question authority. They wiretapped Martin Luther King Jr., spread rumors about Slayer’s satanic rituals, and probably stole Mikey’s lunch money

8. Tuskegee Syphilis Experiment: Medical Malpractice, Yeehaw!

Conspiracy: The government infected poor African American men with syphilis just to see what happens.


Truth: The Tuskegee Syphilis Experiment was like a twisted episode of “Dr. Oz.” From 1932 to 1972, the U.S. Public Health Service studied untreated syphilis in unsuspecting black men. They promised free healthcare but delivered deception, suffering, and a side of racism. It’s like they took the Hippocratic Oath and replaced it with “Yeehaw!”

9. PRISM: The NSA’s Peeping Tom

Conspiracy: The NSA was spying on everyone, even your grandma’s cat videos.


Truth: PRISM wasn’t just a rainbow; it was a surveillance kaleidoscope. Edward Snowden blew the whistle on this digital peep show. The NSA tapped into Google, Facebook, and your neighbor’s Wi-Fi. They collected more data than a Slayer mosh pit. So next time you post a selfie, just know—Uncle Sam’s watching

10. The Church Committee: When Senators Got Spicy

Conspiracy: The U.S. government was up to some shady stuff, and Congress wanted answers.


Truth: In the ’70s, the Church Committee (led by Senator Frank Church) exposed the CIA’s dirty laundry. Assassination plots, mind control experiments, and secret coups—it was like a James Bond movie, but with more bureaucracy. They even revealed that Elvis was an undercover agent. Okay, maybe not Elvis, but you get the idea

A Taste of Madness With Banana Runtz

Another Weekly Weed Review thank CaliGoldDelivery.com

Gather ’round, fellow travelers of the twisted and surreal, for we’re embarking on a journey into the heart of madness with Fields Family Farms’ Banana Runts.

Now, before you go dismissing this as just another trip down candy lane, let me assure you, this is a ride you won’t soon forget. Imagine, if you will, a joint infused with the essence of diamonds, rolled in cannabis oil and keif, a concoction so potent it could make even the most seasoned stoner question reality.

This joint, my friends, it looked like it had seen the depths of hell and back, but as they say, looks can be deceiving. Upon lighting up, I was greeted with a taste sensation that was far from bananas or runts, yet somehow transcended the mundane to deliver a flavor profile that danced on the tongue like a psychedelic symphony.

The aroma, oh the aroma, it was like a siren’s call, luring me deeper into the rabbit hole of intoxication. But it wasn’t just the taste and smell that left me reeling; oh no, it was the high itself that truly caught me off guard. At first, it was like a bolt of creative energy coursing through my veins, igniting my senses and setting my mind ablaze with possibilities.

I felt like I could conquer the world, one wild idea at a time. Yet, just when I thought I had it all figured out, about 20 minutes later, it hit me like a freight train barreling through the night. Suddenly, the world around me took on a surreal hue, and before I knew it, I was careening headfirst into the abyss of unconsciousness, passed out cold on the couch.

But fear not, dear readers, for even in the depths of my weed-induced slumber, I could still feel the faint whisper of Banana Runts lingering on my lips, a reminder of the wild ride I had just experienced. So, on the scale of 0 to 5 nugs, this twisted masterpiece gets a solid 4 from yours truly.

But heed my warning, my fellow adventurers, for Banana Runts is not for the faint of heart.

Order some now from CaliGoldDelivery.com but approach with caution, embrace the madness, and remember, stay safe, stay weird, and question everything.

Fluorescent Fumes: A Psychedelic Odyssey

I stumbled into my dimly lit living room, the acrid smoke of Cali’s finest clinging to my clothes like a desperate lover. The aftertaste lingered, a bitter reminder of the forbidden pleasures I’d just indulged in. But then, an unexpected twist… the room shifted, and an eerie smell enveloped me. It was familiar, like a half-remembered nightmare from my youth.

Huffing paint. The garage. My cousin Chuck.

We were reckless, teetering on the edge of oblivion. Death was our constant companion, lurking in the shadows, grinning like a deranged carnival barker. Parma, Ohio… a place where dreams went to die, and the mundane was a psychedelic trip in itself.

Chuck, that mad bastard, moved in with me at my mom’s house. Our grand plan? To work together, side by side, conquering the world. Or maybe just the local pizza joint. But fate had other ideas.

The garage became our sanctuary… a sweltering cocoon in a hot Ohio summer where time warped and reality unraveled. Chuck and I, like deranged alchemists, brewed our elixir of madness: fluorescent green spray paint, stolen from my dad’s garage or my grandpa’s toolshed, I can’t recall which. The details blur, like the edges of reality when you’re high on fumes.

We’d light our cigarettes, the glowing tips like beacons in the dimness. The garage door shut, sealing us off from the world. The canister of neon intoxication sat on the workbench, its label worn and cryptic. We’d shake it, listen to the rattle of forbidden knowledge, and then plunge into the abyss.

We sprayed it into bags, inhaled deeply, and ascended. The world dissolved, replaced by a kaleidoscope of neon hues.

The first huff was a revelation. The garage walls wavered, and Chuck’s face contorted into a grotesque grin. We’d giggle like lunatics, our laughter echoing off the rusty tools and forgotten memories. We entered a realm I can only describe as “spy vs. spy inside Fortnite.” Imagine pixelated chaos, a psychedelic battleground where secret agents battled for supremacy, fueled by our chemical concoction.

The fluorescent demons danced, their pixelated forms mocking our mortal existence. Spy vs. spy, reality vs. delusion—we straddled the fault line.

Hours melted away. The garage became a fever dream… a fever dream within a fever dream. We’d chase each other, our footsteps echoing like distant gunshots. Chuck would morph into a giant spy, his trench coat flapping in the toxic breeze. I’d wield a pixelated sword, slashing at imaginary foes. The paint fumes fueled our madness, our minds spiraling into oblivion.

And then, the terror set in. The walls moved closer and closer, and the fluorescent demons taunted us. Spy vs. spy took a dark turn. Were we the heroes or the villains? It didn’t matter. We were trapped, our minds unraveling like cheap sweaters. Reality splintered, and I glimpsed the void—the abyss that had swallowed countless souls before us.

And then, the crash. Reality reasserted itself—the sticky floor, the flickering fluorescent bulb, the taste of metal on our tongues.

Chuck collapsed on the garage floor, gasping for air. I clung to the edge of sanity, my heart pounding like a jackhammer. We’d glimpsed the abyss, danced with death, and emerged—changed.

“We have to stop,” I said. “It’s eating us alive.”

As abruptly as it began, it ended.

Chuck moved out soon after. The fluorescent green can vanished, but its memory haunted me. I never huffed paint again, but that pixelated utopia lingered, a warning etched into my synapses. Life in Parma remained mundane, but I knew the truth: We’d touched something beyond the veil. Spy vs. spy, neon and nightmare—it was all there, waiting for the next fool to inhale the fumes and ascend.

So here I am, recounting our reckless escapade. Chuck, if you’re out there, remember: We danced with madness, and for a brief, terrifying moment, we were gods. And the fluorescent green? It still whispers my name in the dead of night, promising secrets and oblivion.

The Great Sake Bomb Massacre

So there I was, dragged into the neon abyss of Sin City, not out of desire but necessity. The exorbitant cost of California living had me shackled to a job I neither loathed nor excelled at, just enough to keep the family fed and the podcast rolling. But hey, it came with perks—like mandatory treks to San Diego, the cesspool of LA, and the glittering mirage of Las Vegas.

What’s my gig, you ask? Irrelevant. What matters is Vegas, baby.

Nestled in the bowels of The Mirage, an ancient relic oozing with the stench of bygone eras and stale tobacco, I pondered my existence amidst kitschy decor straight out of Grandma’s basement.

But this wasn’t your typical Vegas romp; it was a corporate circus. Rubbing elbows with suits I’d never otherwise acknowledge, I paraded through conferences, spewing jargon like a malfunctioning buzzword generator.

One evening, we found ourselves at Benihana—a tourist trap masquerading as a culinary experience. Three hours of onion volcanoes and airborne shrimp left me smelling like a hibachi grill’s illicit affair with MSG. Sake bombs ensued, accompanied by raucous chants, almost resembling a racial slur in an accent I dare not replicate.

The following day brought more charades of competence, culminating in an excursion to the newly christened Las Vegas Sphere. Amidst AI greeters and digital scans promising entry into some Orwellian metaverse, I opted out—FBI, take note.

The show inside was a psychedelic sermon on humanity’s folly, a woke manifesto accompanied by sensory overload. For a moment, I teetered on the brink of existential revelation, tripping balls in a spherical cathedral of enlightenment.

But alas, reality beckoned. Back in my room, amidst the haze of intoxication, I reflected on the casino floor—a tableau of despair and depleted fortunes. Disheartened, I retreated, pondering the irony of an old woman seeking directions to Planet 13, the cannabis superstore.

That brings us to the end of this uninspiring trip to land of greed, Next time, Vegas, it’ll be on my terms—sans corporate shackles and with chosen companions. No more pretense, just pure, unadulterated debauchery.

San Fran’s ‘Glow-Up! Because Avocado Toast Won’t Fix Everything

Guess what? I’ve got the 411 on San Francisco’s surprise makeover, brought to you by a communist leader and a certain forgetful friend. Because, let’s face it, nothing says “fixing the city” like planting trees and pretending homelessness vanished into thin air.

In this week’s episode, I’m pulling back the curtain on the city’s Cinderella moment – or as we like to call it, the avant-garde approach to urban problem-solving. We’ve got cleaner streets, spruced-up buildings, and art that magically appears. Abracadabra, San Fran style!

But hold on to your avocado toast There’s more.

I’m decoding Assembly Bill 873 – Gavin’s latest masterpiece. Spoiler alert: It involves teaching media literacy to kids because, you know, the internet is the new wild west, and apparently, our kids are the sheriff.

And since I love to keep it real, I’m diving into the world of media literacy – because who needs parents guiding their kids through the internet when you have government-approved lessons?

Now, here’s the kicker – you can feast your ears on all this absurdity FOR FREE! Yep, no hidden fees, just unfiltered, sarcastic commentary. Click that play button and let the eye-rolls commence.

But hey, if you’re feeling extra fancy and want a visual ad-free experience (because who needs interruptions when you’re decoding life’s mysteries?), join the Sub-Club. It’s like a VIP section for your eyes.

🎙️ [Tap Here] – Free Ear Candy

🚀 [Tap Here for Sub-Club signup] – Exclusive Access (because exclusivity is still a thing, apparently)

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Bizarre Encounters with Gavin, Candy Heists, and A Mikey Podcast Christmas!

First things first, let’s talk about the upcoming extravaganza we’re all waiting for – A Mikey Podcast Christmas! Sponsored by Hanford Sand and Gravel (you know, those rock-solid folks), this event will be the holiday celebration of the year.

Think of it as a combination of Christmas, New Year’s Eve, and a wild house party all rolled into one. Mark your calendars for December 8th and don’t even think about missing it! 🎄🎉

We’ve got a handful of incredible sponsors on board too – Karricker Customs fretted instrument maintenance expert (for when your banjo gets all moody), Middlescapes landscaping (because your garden deserves love, too), The Wrecking Crew bakery and café in Colfax, and Better Together Entertainment (who are genuinely better when they’re together).

These sponsors are the real MVPs, and we salute their awesomeness. 🙌

Gavin Newsom Beat up a Chinese Kid …

Now, let’s dive into the world of Gavin Newsom. Our hotheaded governor attempted to prove his basketball skills, or lack there of, with a group of Chinese children.

But, instead of slam-dunking, things took an unexpected turn. Gavin tried to spin the ball on his finger, but honestly, it looked like he was trying to summon an alien invasion. Then, things got even stranger as he ended up…well, I’ll let you watch or listen to the episode for the full scoop. All we can say is, it’s truly a moment you’ll want to witness. We should probably call CPS on him.

Halloween Candy Theives

Have you seen the video? Picture this: an entire family swiping a bowl of candy left out for trick-or-treaters. I have some strong opinions on this candy heist. We’re left wondering important questions, like, “What are they teaching their kids?”

WW3 & GenZ

Also, is GenZ ready for WW3? If I’m being honest, which I am, I’m a little worried about those people defending freedom and protecting America.

We might be screwed.

If you haven’t already, it’s time to plug in your headphones or crank up the speakers and dive headfirst into this episode. Prepare for a rollercoaster of topics and emotions, all served with a side of humor and comments from the audience because this is a Freeloader Friday Live episode.

And, if you enjoy what you hear or see (which I’m almost sure you will), be a superhero and hit that subscribe button on your favorite podcast platform.

Plus while you’re here, join the Sub-Club it’s like donating to an independent media revolution, and we promise, you’ll sleep better at night knowing you’re supporting the good guys. 💪

So, don’t wait – get listening, get laughing, and get involved in the wild world of The Mikey Podcast. You won’t regret it!

The Vampire Of Sacramento

Alright, folks, you ready to get down to business? Cause this is gonna get crazy. Richard Trenton Chase, the vampire of Sacramento, is our haunting subject. Born on May 23rd, 1950, Chase had a taste for something… unusual, to say the least.

Join me as we uncover the eerie signs of his troubled childhood, his bizarre obsessions, and his shocking descent into madness. From animal cruelty to bizarre delusions, this guy was a real piece of work.

But that’s not all; we’ll venture deep into his twisted mind, exploring his bizarre blood rituals and a thirst for something far more sinister. This is the stuff nightmares are made of.

So, are you ready to unravel the darkness? Tune in to Episode 201 of The Mikey Podcast and brace yourself for the twisted tale of the Vampire of Sacramento. You won’t believe how one man’s obsessions led to a reign of terror that shocked a community. Listen now, if you dare!

WWR: Fruit Tart

YO! Welcome to another weekly weed review!

Today, we’re diving into the world of Fruit Tart!

A strain that’s more delicious than your grandma’s homemade pie. And guess what? You can save 20% on this bad boy with the promo code “Mikey” at HigherElevation.com! With an expanded delivery zone there’s a really good chance they deliver to you if you live in or around the Sacramento, CA area. Now, let’s get down to business!

First things first, let’s talk about the smell and taste of this bud. Picture yourself walking through a fruity wonderland, surrounded by the intoxicating scent of fresh fruit mixed with a hint of sourness. It’s like sticking your nose in a bouquet of flowers while eating a bag of sour gummy worms. Trust me, it’s nice.

But enough about the aromas, let’s talk about the buzz. Fruit Tart hits you like a sativa freight train, giving you an energetic boost that’ll have you feeling like you could conquer the world. A few hits of this and you’ll be ready to take on the day.

Now, here’s a pro tip – Fruit Tart pairs amazingly well with a cup of coffee from your Mikey Podcast coffee Mug

It’s like the perfect morning duo, getting you all hyped up and ready to tackle your to-do list. Just make sure you don’t go overboard because you might find yourself with a tinge of anxiety.

One thing I love about Fruit Tart is that the munchies are surprisingly manageable. You won’t find yourself raiding the pantry like a deranged raccoon on a mission. So, feel free to enjoy this strain without worrying about eating your body weight in snacks. Your waistline will thank you.

In terms of effects, this strain is a real winner. It’s like the perfect balance between calm and creative. You’ll feel relaxed, yet inspired to tackle your arts and crafts projects, or maybe even knit a sweater for your pet goldfish. And if you’re more of a couch potato, don’t worry – Fruit Tart is great for binge-watching your favorite TV shows or movies.

On the Gonja grading scale, I give Fruit Tart 4 nugs out of 5. It’s definitely a strain worth trying, especially if you’re looking for a burst of energy and creativity without the couch-lock.

But, like any good thing, it does have its downsides. The high tends to wear off a bit faster than you’d hope, so keep that in mind if you’re planning an all-day smoke-a-thon. Towards the end of the day, you might also get hit with some indica vibes, so be prepared for a cozy evening of relaxation.

Overall, Fruit Tart is a strain that’ll tickle your taste buds and boost your creative juices. Checkout the Ganja Grading Scale and don’t forget to use promo code “Mikey” at higher elevation to save some green while you’re at it. Happy toking, my friends!

15 Minute Cities and C*VID Lessons

Yo! future urbanites and rural rebels! Episode 189 is here and before you dive into that next scoop of conspiracy theory ice cream, how about a little appetizer of what’s to come?

I’m diving into the wild world of “15-minute cities and, of course, dusting off some golden nuggets from the old COVID vault. Because covid 2.0 is here!

There have been whispers about Los Angeles, San Francisco, or even that hidden gem Folsom planning to shrink into “15-minute cites”

Cities that promise to be self-contained utopias where everything is just a breezy stroll away. I mean, who wouldn’t want that?

But, turns out, these utopian bubbles might just be a disguise for giant, government-controlled, dystopian prisons. Ready to lock down at the drop of a hat… or virus.

And what about the country folk? How will they get them inside this 15 minute prison?

Those people living their best rural life might need a bit of nudging, or let’s be real, some good old-fashioned coercing to jump on the city bandwagon.

It’s all about the appeal, you see. And if making it seem like the greatest place to be doesn’t work, they’ll tighten the grip with policies, incentives, and maybe even a dash of taxation.

Slowly but surely, the rural resistance becomes a pocket of independence, and let’s be honest, a place for some seriously epic showdowns.

I’ll be digging into the that and what a war could look like

Remember covid? I know, I know, some of you out there have built your conspiracy bunkers and are living your best anti-vaxxer life. But, while you’re sipping on your herbal tea and perfecting your tinfoil hat, there’s a few nuggets of wisdom from that wild ride that might just tickle your intellect. Lesson #1: Complying with tyranny is like giving your lunch money to a bully – it only encourages more bullying. And masks? Well, they’re about as useful as using a slingshot against a meteor shower. Buckle up, because I’m diving headfirst into the twisted rabbit hole of pandemic 2.0

So, there you have it, just a little taste of what’s cooking in the Mikey Podcast oven for Episode 189.

From the promises and pitfalls of 15-minute cities to the absurdity of COVID lessons we all “should have learned,” I’m here to dissect, entertain, and maybe even toss a sprinkle of sarcasm your way.

So, grab your tinfoil hat, your bicycle, and your sense of humor and check episode 189: 15 Minute Cities and the Web of Global Control

WWR: Lemmon Drop

First of all, you might be wondering why I’m doing this in good ol’ blog style instead of my usual podcast shenanigans. Well, here’s the deal: I’m just one person, and let’s face it, writing is a hell of a lot easier than recording, editing, and sharing a whole podcast.

I would like to bring the Weekly Weed Review podcast series back but there’s a catch…

I can’t bring the podcast series back as a standalone show unless The Mikey Podcast becomes my full-time gig. And that’s where you come in.

Subscribe now and join the subclub to support independent media and help me grow this show into something extraordinary.

Together, we can conquer the world of podcasts, cannabis and take down corporate media!

Now, let’s dive right into this week’s review, shall we? We’re about to embark on a wild journey with Lemmon Drop from busdownz.

And let me tell you, this is not your average lemony experience. Oh no, this one’s a rollercoaster of harshness and confusion.

Let’s start with the visuals, shall we? I found a picture online that made it look all fluffy and enticing.

But when I finally got my hands on it, reality hit me like a lemon to the face.

This stuff was rough, my friends. It was harsh with every hit, leaving me gasping for air and questioning my life choices. I had to take itty-bitty puffs just to survive.

Now, taste-wise, it had a faint citrus flavor, but I’ve had other brands that nailed the sweet, lemony goodness much better. Plus, there was this weird chemical undertone that made me wonder if I was inhaling cleaning supplies instead of cannabis. Not the most pleasant experience.

But hey, it’s not all bad news. The buds themselves were decent. They broke up nicely, not too dry, and burned well. And boy, were they covered in crystals! It was like staring at a field of sparkly lemons. And the smell? Lemon pledge all the way. Seriously, it was like my weed was moonlighting as a cleaning product. Strange, but oddly intriguing.

As for the stoney feeling? It was actually pretty good. Lemon Drop is known for its mellow, giggly vibes, and this particular brand didn’t disappoint in that department. However, it veered off the usual path of euphoria and focus and took a detour towards relaxation and body sensations. I found myself zoning out and mindlessly scrolling through social media, which, let’s be honest, isn’t exactly a productive use of time.

Now, here’s a fun fact for you: Lemon Drop is a sativa-dominant strain with a 40:60 indica/sativa ratio. And even with its sativa heritage, it still packs a punch with a whopping 18% THC content.

So, if you’re a beginner or someone who values their productivity in society, I’d steer clear of this particular brand’s version of Lemmon Drop. But if you just want to chill or maybe tackle some yard work, this could provide the motivation you need. Just be prepared for the initial struggle of getting started.

But here’s the real bummer: the munchies. HOLY FUCK! The munchies were out of control. I ate everything in sight, and I mean everything. I gained 48 pounds in a single day. Don’t believe me? Well, try it for yourself and witness the transformation into a human vacuum cleaner.

According to the internet, this strain is said to help with a variety of ailments like asthma, depression, headaches, insomnia, loss of appetite, migraines, muscle spasms, PTSD, and stress. But hey, don’t let my opinion stop you from trying it out. We all know that weed affects people differently, so maybe this Lemmon Drop will be your saving grace.

If you’re curious and want to give it a shot, head on over to HigherElevation.com. They’ve got your back and will deliver the good stuff right to your door. And guess what? They’ve expanded their reach, now serving Citrus Heights, Antelope, Fair Oaks, Orangevale, and Folsom! They’ve even got Rocklin, Roseville, and Placer County up to New Castle covered. And just for being a loyal listener, use promo code MIKEY at checkout and save a sweet 20%.

So, my fellow lemon enthusiasts, go forth and conquer that Lemmon Drop from busdownz. Just be prepared for the harshness, the weird chemical undertones, and the insatiable munchies. But who knows, it might just be the ride you’ve been waiting for. Stay lifted, my friends!