Capping THC Levels Is a Cosmic Buzzkill
In states where marijuana is legal, some lawmakers are flirting with the idea of capping THC levels, claiming this is necessary for “public health” or “clarity of mind.” Naturally, this has ruffled dream catchers in the tie-dyed community. Five members of that community, who believe such legislation would threaten not only their mellow, but the entire metaphysical scaffolding of the universe, spoke with us recently.
Crater Dave, 29, is a moon hermit and freelance spoon bender “You don’t cap THC, man. You invite it to dinner. Capping THC is like putting a speed limit on a thought. I smoked a 93 percent concentrate last week and became a weather system over Oregon. I rained empathy. If that’s illegal, then so is kindness.”
Crater Dave lives in a geodesic dome inside a hollowed-out boulder somewhere in Oregon. He claims to “speak lichen.” Dave says that limiting THC would sever his connection to the “emotional frequency of mushrooms, which are people, by the way.” Dave once hosted a séance with Bob Marley’s hat. It reportedly cried.
Lucinda Glow, 42, is a psychic ceramicist and vegan cloudwatcher. “Lower THC means fewer conversations with my lamp. That’s unacceptable. My lamp knows secrets. THC isn’t a drug, it’s a portal lubricant. What lawmakers call ‘paranoia,’ I call truth acquisition.”
Lucinda’s studio in New York City is filled with bowls that scream softly if you listen closely (and inhale deeply). She believes that capping THC would cause “a spiritual bottleneck,” and possibly disrupt the mating habits of neighborhood squirrels, which she insists are “watching us evolve.”
According to professional vaper and amateur philosopherTodd “Galactus” Jenkins, 25, of Austin, Texas, “I once dabbed something so strong I realized I was the reincarnation of an abandoned gas station. Capping THC would rob future gas stations of their chance at redemption.”
Galactus wears a cape, drinks bong water “for the electrolytes,” and refers to himself as “pan-dimensional.” He believes in letting the plant express itself at full volume, and likens THC to a jazz solo: “Sometimes it screeches, sometimes it cries. But always, it shreds.”
A retired librarian and current orb whisperer, Eunice McDrift, 68, of Winesbirg, Ohio, asks, “Why cap THC when you can just grow gills and adapt? I dabbed during a lunar eclipse and heard Bach playing poker with Einstein on a cruise ship. That’s not something you legislate against. That’s culture.”
Eunice hasn’t spoken to a human in months but maintains an active correspondence with an inflatable narwhal named Dennis. She believes capping THC is part of a broader conspiracy involving toothpaste, magnets, and the tragic disappearance of full-size Milky Ways from vending machines.
Elbow, 33, an unemployed prophet and part-time mall santa from L.A., believes, “The government wants to cap THC so we can’t see the time spiders. That’s what it’s really about. But I see them, man. They whisper stock tips and cry glitter. THC lets you understand jazz in French. Why would you cap that?”
Elbow has never paid rent, owns 37 frisbees, and swears his kneecaps are sentient. He once sued a pine tree for “psychic assault.” He believes THC is humanity’s best shot at “unlocking the fourth eyebrow.”
These freedom-fried stoners make one thing clear: capping THC isn’t just bad policy — it’s an affront to their kaleidoscopic existence. In a world already choked by mediocrity and spreadsheets, shouldn’t we let the plant speak at full volume?
As Lucinda Glow said, “You can’t regulate the cosmos. You can only pass it.”
