Host Leah G reviews Super Boof, a 50/50 hybrid cannabis strain purchased from BlooMN in Northeast Minneapolis. She describes its unique sour cherry and gasoline aroma and praises its giggly, euphoric, yet focused high, perfect for tackling chores with a good mood. Leah also shares a hilarious story about attempting to build a cat tree and rants about the generic farewell "have a good one."

Key Highlights:

• Leah G introduces Super Boof, a 50/50 hybrid strain from BlooMN, a cross between Black Cherry Punch and Tropicana Cookies.

• The Super Boof strain is described as having a unique aroma of sour cherries, gasoline, and nutty sweetness, leading to a giggly, euphoric, and focused high.

• Leah recounts a comical and ultimately failed attempt to assemble a complex cat tree while experiencing the effects of Super Boof.

• The episode features a rant against the vague farewell "have a good one," advocating for more specific and intentional well-wishes.

Topics: Super Boof, BlooMN, Northeast Minneapolis, cannabis review, hybrid strain, Black Cherry Punch, Tropicana Cookies, cannabis effects, cat tree assembly, podcast rant, farewell phrases, MN Cannabis Hub

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TRANSCRIPT

(Upbeat, slightly chaotic synth intro music fades in and then fades to a low background hum)

What is UP, you beautiful people, and welcome back to Highly Recommended. It’s your host, Leah G, coming to you live from… well, from a pile of laundry in my living room that has officially gained sentience. I think I saw it reach for my coffee this morning. Bartholomew, my cat, my furry orange agent of chaos, has been sleeping on top of it, so now all my clean clothes are covered in a fine ginger glitter. He also knocked over my entire collection of novelty salt and pepper shakers this week. There’s a tiny ceramic Bigfoot leg in my heating vent. I’m not getting it. It can stay there. That’s its home now. Anyway, I haven’t eaten a real meal in two days and I had a dream last night that my teeth were dissolving like bath bombs, so it’s been a week. Which is why I am so, so excited to talk to you today about a strain that has single-handedly been holding my brain together. Let’s get into it.

(Slight shift in tone, more focused but still enthusiastic)

Okay, so. This week’s little miracle is called Super Boof. And yes, I picked it because the name sounds like a ghost trying to be scary and failing. Super Boof! Like, what are you gonna do, mildly spook me? But I’m so glad I did. I grabbed this from BlooMN over in Northeast Minneapolis, and whoa. Just… whoa. So, Super Boof is a hybrid, a nice little 50/50 split between indica and sativa, which I love. It’s a cross between Black Cherry Punch and Tropicana Cookies. And it smells… okay, it smells like someone dropped a bag of sour cherries into a bucket of gasoline that a cartoon mouse was also, for some reason, cleaning with a lemon-scented wipe. It’s got this weirdly specific nutty sweetness under a whole lot of citrus. Like, it smells like a fruit salad made by a mechanic. It’s funky, it’s a little weird, and I am obsessed with it. The high is just as interesting. It’s super giggly and euphoric, but also really focused. It’s one of those where you feel your mood just… inflate, you know? Like one of those wacky waving inflatable arm-flailing tube men outside a car dealership. That’s your brain on Super Boof. It’s perfect for when you need to clean your entire apartment but you also want to have a good time doing it. You’ll be organizing your spice rack by alphabetical order and laughing your ass off at the sheer existence of paprika. Highly, highly recommend.

So, speaking of needing to get things done and having it all go completely sideways. The other day I was feeling the full effects of some Super Boof, right? I’m in that focused-but-floaty headspace, and I decide, this is the day. This is the day I finally build the ridiculously complicated cat tree I bought three months ago. It’s been sitting in its box, judging me. Mocking my lack of ambition. So I drag this enormous box into the middle of my living room. I dump out what looks like a thousand pieces of beige carpet-covered wood and a bag of screws that could build a small car. Bartholomew is, of course, immediately trying to eat the instructions, which are written in what I can only describe as IKEA-inspired hieroglyphics. I’m on the floor, I’ve got this tiny Allen wrench, and I’m trying to decipher whether Diagram C is telling me to attach the little crow’s nest platform or summon a demon. The instructions are useless. It’s just pictures of a smiling, genderless cartoon person effortlessly screwing things together. Liar. I’m sweating. I’ve got carpet fuzz in my hair. I put the first two pieces together and they immediately fall apart. I try again. They fall apart again. I realize I’ve been trying to screw a screw into a hole that doesn’t have any threads. It’s just a hole. For aesthetics, I guess? So now I’m just balancing things. I’m using pure hope and gravity to hold this thing together. I get about three feet up, I’ve got a wobbly tower of beige carpet, and Bartholomew decides this is the perfect time to test its structural integrity. He leaps. The whole thing sways like a drunk giraffe. He’s clinging to the top piece, his eyes are huge, and the entire pathetic structure just… folds. It collapses in on itself in this silent, carpeted implosion. Bartholomew rides it down like a cowboy on a bucking bronco and lands softly in the wreckage, completely unharmed, and starts purring. So now the cat tree is just a pile of abstract sculpture on my floor. And you know what? It’s staying there. It’s art now.

Alright, you know what time it is. It’s time for a rant. My hot take this week is that we, as a society, need to stop telling people to "have a good one." A good *what*? A good minute? A good day? A good impending sense of doom? It’s so vague. It’s the verbal equivalent of a shrug. It’s the gray sweatpants of farewells. There’s no commitment. There’s no passion. "Have a good one." It says, "I am legally obligated to wish you well, but my heart’s not in it." What happened to "take care"? Or "see you later"? Or even a good old-fashioned, slightly dramatic "farewell"? "Have a good one" is the participation trophy of pleasantries. It’s what you say when you can’t remember someone’s name and you’re making your escape from a conversation. It’s lazy. It’s uninspired. And I, for one, am taking a stand. From now on, I’m only wishing people specifics. Have a good Tuesday afternoon! I hope your next sandwich is amazing! May you find a twenty-dollar bill in your pocket! Let’s put some effort in, people. Let’s wish each other well with some actual intention. The "one" has had its day. We can do better.

(Upbeat outro music begins to fade in)

Alright, that is my time, my beautiful, highly recommended listeners. Next week… who knows. I might review something that smells like it came from another dimension, or maybe I’ll just talk about the existential dread of folding a fitted sheet. You’ll have to tune in to find out. In the meantime, if you need the real, no-nonsense news about cannabis here in Minnesota, you have to be checking out the MN Cannabis Hub. They’re the grown-ups in the room, and we love them for it. Until next time, stay safe, make good choices, and for the love of god, wish someone a good, specific something. Bye!

(Music swells and fades out)