Super(b) Bowl Picks: Concentrate Edition

The fine folks at The Bright Spot Dispensary in Fairfield provided the Dope As Fuck jars for this twisted odyssey, ensuring that my descent into terpene-soaked madness would be nothing short of legendary.

Zoap – Dope As Fuck Extracts

This is not a concentrate. This is an interdimensional lightning bolt encased in terpene-drenched chaos. Zoap rips into the bloodstream like a psychedelic linebacker, exploding through your consciousness with an unfathomable combination of citrus, cream, and brain-melting euphoria. One hit and you are no longer watching the game—you are in the game, a screaming vortex of energy and primal instinct, vibrating through the astral plane with no regard for mortal concerns.

Pairing: Buffalo wings, extra sauce. Your taste buds are electrified, and the spice sends you hurtling deeper into the madness. Each bite is a sensory overload, a flavor explosion that keeps pace with the intergalactic blitz in your skull.

Lemonizer – Dope As Fuck Extracts

This is a hit of pure sunlight injected straight into your skull. Lemonizer doesn’t simply wake you up; it tears you from the depths of mediocrity and shoves you into the driver’s seat of a cosmic racecar barreling toward enlightenment at speeds that would make Einstein weep. The sour zest hits first, electrifying every synapse like a halftime Hail Mary with the fate of the universe on the line. You’re alert, you’re focused, you’re convinced that every moment is the prelude to something magnificent—because it is.

Pairing: Nachos loaded to obscene levels. Guac, queso, jalapeños—every layer becomes a vibrant revelation as the citrusy burst of Lemonizer sharpens your taste buds to predatory efficiency. Each bite is a universe unto itself.

Strawberry Blush – Dope As Fuck Extracts

Strawberry Blush is a lie. A beautiful, honey-laced, seductively deceptive lie. It lures you in with its saccharine embrace, whispering promises of calm and comfort, before yanking you sideways into a kaleidoscope of existential absurdity. Your body becomes a distant memory. The concept of time becomes a joke told by a deranged god. The TV screen is morphing, the players are melting, and you realize the game was never real in the first place—it’s all just another layer of simulation designed to distract us from the real game happening behind the curtain. And yet, you don’t care. This is bliss.

Pairing: Chocolate-dipped strawberries. The flavors fuse into one absurdly perfect moment of indulgence, and suddenly, the game is no longer about football—it is a grand, Dionysian feast, and you are its reigning deity.

Entourage Bubble Hash- – Quantum_Melts

An absolute wrecking ball of cannabinoids. Entourage Bubble Hash is not here for your amusement; it is here to annihilate your perception of responsibility. This is what Gandalf was smoking before he stepped into the Balrog’s lair. The euphoria rushes in like a tidal wave, lifting you to the heavens before gently depositing you on a cloud constructed from pure, undiluted indifference. The fourth quarter means nothing now. The concept of competition seems barbaric and outdated. You have become one with the couch, an immovable object basking in the warm glow of the universe’s indifference.

Pairing: Pulled pork sliders. The richness and smokiness hit in slow-motion waves, perfectly mirroring the creeping, full-body sedation washing over you like an incoming tide.

Earth Candy (aka Gary Payton) – Quantum_Melts

Gary Payton, the player, was relentless, an unstoppable force of defense and precision. His namesake strain is no different. Earth Candy is a beautiful, funky-smelling enigma that launches you into a tactical analysis of everything. You suddenly understand the intricacies of offensive line formations, the psychological warfare between quarterback and cornerback, the deep-seated flaws in the American financial system. Your brain is moving at speeds the human body was never meant to sustain, and yet, you have never felt more in control.

Pairing: Jalapeño poppers. The heat, the crunch, the gooey insides—they all become part of the master plan, fueling your football-addled intellect as you devise offensive schemes that would leave even Belichick in stunned silence.

Gusher Pie 8 – Quantum_Melts

Gusher Pie 8 does not hit you. It consumes you. A swirling maelstrom of creamy gas and syrupy fruit, this extract swallows you whole and digests your consciousness into a primordial ooze of bliss and surrender. Everything is moving in slow motion. The players on the screen are giants wading through molasses, their every move imbued with divine purpose. You have transcended the need for commentary or analysis. You are simply experiencing.

Pairing: Mac and cheese. The ultimate comfort food, spooned into your gaping maw with the slow, deliberate pace of a man who has ascended beyond the trivial constraints of time. Each creamy bite is a warm embrace from the cosmos.

Final Thoughts: A Blitzkrieg of the Mind

There are no losers here. There are no winners. There is only the game and the cosmic whirlwind of terpenes, cannabinoids, and sensory overload that fuel its madness. Each of these concentrates is a touchdown in its own right, a wild-card play designed to shatter reality and rebuild it in its own twisted image.

So load the rigs, roll the hash into joints worthy of kings, and let go of whatever pretense of control you thought you had. Pair your dabs with the greasiest, most unhinged game-day snacks you can find. The Super(b) Bowl is not an event. It is a state of mind.

May your lungs be strong, your tolerance high, and your grip on reality forever tenuous. Cheers.