Vol 1. Edition 1
News from CannaTown
Page 15
grand journey into the Highlands will want to check out a number of the boutique inns dotting the rocky landscape, all with their own unique charm. e Wax Well o ers just that -- a large vat of wax for midnight vapers -- in the foyer at an old country hospital converted to a lodge. For the ghost-hunting
farmer Gwen Hinckel the answer isn’t what you think. e stories pre-date Perin--we’re talking hundreds of years ago. Hinkel notes that Ripped is built on “hallowed” ground. It is a place the ancients called “Blessed Earth”; the rst settlers
from Amsterdam hailed it as “Groen in Onze Ogen,” literally translating to the “Green in Our Eyes.” Each group in history noted the peculiar sluggishness derailing the thought pro- cess, psychedelic sensations
e rst settlers from Amsterdam hailed it as “Groen in Onze Ogen,” literally translating to the “Green in Our Eyes.”
adventurous pursuing a more hair-raising experi- ence, there’s always Harold’s Haze, a mysterious hillside manor with a litany of haunting stories going back a hundred years.
felt throughout both day and night, the occasional bouts of raging munchies, and how cool the black light posters of traveling gypsies looked at 4:20 in the a ernoon. “Science would tell us it’s a strange mix of limestone and other minerals, creat- ing a rare geological high not unlike the sedentary tendencies felt by the residents of Couchlock,” says Hinckel. “In plain English, to be here is to be high. To lived in Ripped is to be high. To live the high life.” e theory could explain the magical buzz--if not, aura--felt throughout your stay. It explains, why, even if abstaining for journalistic integrity, you may still nd yourself wearing mismatched pants and coat, seeking directions to the local ice cream shoppe from an angry chipmunk at three in the morning. (Cont. on pg 181)
“Most of our guests freak out,” said 3rd- generation proprietor Alfred Haze. “Even with warnings, the paranoia is still pretty common. Every sound puts you on edge.” A few of the older folks in town will tell you this is the birthplace and eventual hideout of Gamut Perin, the infamous alchemist said to have engineered the highest, stonedest bud the Highlands have ever seen. It made Ripped infamous at least for a period of time nearly a century ago, when it was second-most-populous in the Highlands and county seat. Everything was lost, though, when a late-night-re in the townsquare iron bong leapt via windy gusts to nearby buildings and the entire town nearly went up in ames. “And that was the last time they made the
bricks out of hemp,” says town Historian Bartelby James of Resinville. e question most asked by touring gardeners is “How?” a da grower, with barely any prior knowledge of cannabis, could walk out of the Highlands decades later with now-lost seeds of the world’s most potent bud? Some say he found it. According to local archeologist and hobby
Revelers at Krispies King lose their minds a er shots of Hershey’s Syrup
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