Have A Laugh About It

📣 🔥 Deployment Example: Carlin Mode x Gonzo Mode on Corporate Cannabis
“Now We’re Cookin’ with Butane” Edition

You know what really fries my cerebral cortex?

They didn’t legalize cannabis because they care about you. No, no—don’t flatter yourself. They legalized it because they ran the numbers and realized your anxiety was taxable. Your nightmares? Monetizable. Your trauma? That’s a growth sector, baby.

You're not a veteran. You’re a line item.
A demographic with a diagnosis.
A walking, talking 30% markup in cargo shorts.

And that sleek dispensary with reclaimed wood walls and a terpene bar? That’s not a clinic—it’s a spa for capitalism’s conscience.
A strip mall sanctuary where the high priests wear branded polos and whisper sweet nothings about "wellness" while upcharging you for the same eighth your buddy used to float you for a handshake and a thank-you.

And oh, the irony!
They turned a sacred plant—a medicine, a teacher, a sacrament—into a corporate SKU.
Wrapped it in child-proof plastic, slapped on a QR code, and sold it back to you with a straight face and a $60 price tag.
It’s not healing—it’s a hostile takeover with a kush-scented candle burning in the lobby.

And then—oh, then—they have the gall to act like they did you a favor.
Like you’re supposed to drop to your knees and thank the Cannabis Czar for allowing you to pay retail plus tax for something the government used to kick down your door for.

They tell you, “You won, soldier!”
No you didn’t.

You didn’t win the war on drugs.
You just got reclassified.

From criminal to consumer.
From outlaw to inbox target.
From threat to therapeutic user #647A92—now with bonus points for every purchase!

They even gave you a loyalty card.
Yeah, a f***ing loyalty card.

Spend enough, and maybe you’ll earn a free pre-roll.
Spend too much, and your VA doc gets flagged for “cannabis use disorder.”

Meanwhile, the same hedge fund that bought your apartment complex, your water supply, and the rehab center down the street now owns the dispensary and the lab that tests your piss.

That’s not freedom. That’s vertically integrated gaslighting.

So don’t get it twisted.

You didn’t get your rights back.
You got a receipt.
And you’re still not allowed to grow your own.

🔥 RICHARD PRYOR MODE: INTO THE SMOKY FIRE WE GO

👀 [Enters stage left, cigarette dangling, eyes wide]

"Man… lemme tell you somethin’... this whole ‘legal weed’ thing? This sh*t is funnier than me tryin’ to run down the street butt-naked on fire! WHICH ACTUALLY HAPPENED, OKAY?!

But THIS? This corporate weed sh*t? This is a whole different kinda burn.

See, back in the day, if you got caught with a joint—they’d throw your Black ass in jail and call your mama. Now? Now they give some Wall Street white boy a license to sell it back to you with a smile and a f***in’ punch card!

“Buy five eighths, get a sixth one free!”
—Motherfer, I was tryna give it away back in ’78 and got chased by three cops and a fin’ German Shepherd! Ain’t nobody gave me a t-shirt, let alone a f***in’ tote bag.

And these dispensaries?
They got glass walls, velvet ropes, and a fella with a man bun callin’ himself a budtender—
A budtender?! What the hell is that?
You ain’t tendin’ to sh*t but capitalism’s colon, man! You ain't no healer—you a high-priced waiter for pain!

You ever try to buy weed now?
They got apps. Menus. Brand names like “Space Dandy #9” and “Crypto OG.”
What the hell happened to “you got that good-good”?
I just wanna get high and stop thinkin’ ‘bout all the sht I’ve seen—not fill out a f**in’ medical intake form that feels like I’m checkin’ into rehab just to get a damn joint!

And they be actin’ like they doin’ you a favor.
Like “we’re creating access.”
Access? You mean for you—to my f***in’ wallet!

They turned God’s green miracle into a licensed hustle with an LLC and lobbyist on retainer.

And the veterans?
Man… you fought for the country, and now you gotta fight for your medicine.
You got PTSD, and they got a discount code.
"20% off on Veteran's Day!"—
Bitch, I got trauma 365 days a year!

Ain’t nobody handin’ out discounts when them flashbacks hit at 3am!

And lemme ask you this:

If it’s legal now...
Why the hell is my cousin still locked up for the same damn plant?
Huh?
Somebody explain that to me while I roll up this taxed joint with my untaxed rage.

See, this whole thing ain’t about justice—it’s about profit.
You didn’t win nothin’.
You just got upgraded from inmate to customer—with a subscription plan.

So light one up if you can.
But don’t forget who they’re still lockin’ up…
…while they smilin’ in a suit, holdin’ a joint like it’s a damn stock certificate.

Sh*t, I miss the dope man. At least he had a soul."

🎤 [flicks ash, looks offstage]
“Is this the part where they gentrify the munchies too? You know—‘Organic gluten-free Cheez Whiz’—man get the hell outta here…”

🎭 RODNEY DANGERFIELD MODE: "I Tell Ya, I Get No Respect!"

“Corporate cannabis? I tell ya—I got PTSD just tryin’ to read the menu!”

I walk into one of these new dispensaries, right? Real classy joint—smells like lemongrass and back taxes. They got more glass than a mobster’s wake. I go up to the counter and ask for something to help me sleep. The guy says,
“Would you like that in sativa, indica, hybrid, nano-emulsified, or full-spectrum terpene-enhanced gummy form?”
I said, “Buddy, I just wanna stop cryin’ during car commercials!”

No respect, I tell ya.

They used to throw me in the back of a squad car for smokin’ a joint behind the bowling alley.
Now they offer me a rewards program.
“Buy five, get one free!”
I said, “I’ve been traumatized enough, do I get a bulk discount??”

And these prices!
I asked the guy what flower he recommends, he tells me $65 an eighth.
I said, “What is this, weed or alimony?!”

Then he starts braggin’—“All our cannabis is organic, pesticide-free, locally grown.”
I said, “So was the sh*t my cousin sold in ‘88, but nobody gave him a business loan!”

I tell ya, the dispensary's got more cameras than Fort Knox and more branding than NASCAR.
There’s a weed called “Capital Kush.”
Capital Kush?!
That’s not a strain, that’s a warning label!

And the packaging—don’t get me started. I bought a joint the other day, it came in a child-proof box with a microchip and a tamper seal.
By the time I got it open, my anxiety came back—
I had to smoke it just to recover from buyin’ it!

And these corporations? They say they care.
Yeah, right. They care so much they bought your dispensary, your doctor, your landlord—and probably your grandma’s recipe for banana bread too!

And they act like you should be grateful.
“Hey, we legalized weed for you!”
Yeah?
Well I’m still gettin’ drug tested for a job I don’t even want!
How’s that for liberation?!

I tell ya, I get no respect…
I light up to heal my trauma, and the only thing I get is a lecture on dosage from a guy who looks like he DJs at a vape convention!

🪑 [loosens tie]
Whew. Now that’s corporate cannabis, folks—
The only place where the weed gets high, and your dignity stays low.

You want me to keep rollin’ with this into a full skit, monologue, or Instagram reel script? Or should we bring in Lenny Bruce Mode next to really break the fourth wall?

🌧️ EEYORE MODE: CORPORATE CANNABIS, WITH A SIGH
“Well... here we go again.”

Sigh.
They said legalization would be a good thing.
Said it would bring healing.
Said it would fix the damage.

But now it’s just another store.
Another place with branding and buzzwords.
Another place where they smile too much when they sell you sadness in a bag.

I walked in. They called me a “guest.”
Offered me a “journey.”
All I wanted was something to help the nightmares.
But I guess that’s not part of the package.

They said, “Welcome to wellness.”
I said, “I’m tired.”
They offered me a strain called Sunshine Sherbet 9000.
Didn’t help.

It’s not about medicine anymore.
It’s about margins.
They put the plant in a jar, put the jar in a store, and put the store in a franchise catalog.

Same pain.
Different price tag.

Used to be I was a criminal.
Now I’m a “valued customer.”
But only if I scan my loyalty card.

They say it’s progress.
Feels more like a sale.

And they act like they’re heroes.
Like they freed the plant.
But the people who fought for it?
Still forgotten.
Still hurting.

Guess healing doesn’t test well in focus groups.

Sigh.
I suppose it’s better than jail.
But it’s a long way from justice.

And the joint still burns the same.

So whether you’re laughing, sighing, or lighting up in protest—just remember: they didn’t free the plant for you…
They just found a better way to sell it back.

🔥 LENNY BRUCE MODE: FOURTH WALL IS KINDLING, BABY
🧨 “In Defense of Eeyore”
—As delivered from the stage, chain-smoking truth and drowning in receipts—

🎤 [Lenny steps up, microphone cord like a noose, eyes darting between the house lights and his own moral outrage.]

You ever see a donkey cry in a dispensary?

No? Then you don’t know oppression.
You just know “compliance.”

See, Eeyore ain’t sad ‘cause he’s depressed. He’s sad ‘cause he remembers.
He remembers when healing was a whisper in the woods, not a SKU number in a Salesforce dashboard.

You walk into these places now—glass cases, smiling faces, and some guy named Brayden handing you a curated terpene profile.
Meanwhile, the real shaman got laid off, and the real medicine got asset-tagged and reverse-engineered into a "consumer journey."

💊 [leans into the mic]

Wellness ain’t wellness if it’s priced by the milligram, dig?

You didn’t liberate cannabis—you audited it.
Turned it into an Excel sheet with vibes.

Eeyore knows. That’s why he don’t say much.
'Cause when you’ve seen friends go to prison for seeds—
and now those same seeds got patents and lawyers—
you don’t cheer.
You grieve.

⚖️ [pacing now, voice rising]
You wanna talk about trauma-informed care?

Try telling a combat vet with night terrors that his medicine now comes with an 18% tax and a wellness app that tracks your usage “for your benefit.”
That’s not treatment.
That’s digital parole with a smiley face.

📉 [gestures at imaginary screen]
“Progress,” they say.

Yeah? Then why is the jail cell still full?
Why is Eeyore’s cousin doing 15-to-life in Alabama while some ex-hedge fund guy just IPO’d on NASDAQ with “artisanal PTSD blends”?
You gentrified grief, baby.
Put a barcode on pain and called it boutique.

🥀 [slows down now, quiet]
Eeyore’s not broken.
He’s the only one still telling the truth.
No sponsorships. No social equity grant. No dispensary ribbon-cutting photo-op.

Just the quiet realization that “legal” doesn’t mean “just.”

And you wanna know what burns?

They won’t let him speak at the conference—
But they’ll let a guy in a $700 blazer quote Eeyore on a slide about “empathy marketing.”

🔥 [closes with a drag, eyes burning through the room]
You wanna honor the movement?

Then stop asking us to be grateful for rebranded oppression.

Eeyore doesn’t want your pity.
He wants his friends out of prison.
He wants to grow his own.

And maybe—just maybe—he wants to smoke a joint
that doesn’t come with a loyalty program.

🪧 [Mic drop. Spotlight fades. The fourth wall collapses like a bad IPO.]

“In Defense of Eeyore.”
Brought to you by No One.
Because the truth doesn’t get sponsored.