Samoa Cookies by Bubba

Samoa Cookies by Bubba

Samoa Cookies by Bubba

Welcome back to toasted n’ posted where we delve into the finest cannabis that Washington has to offer. Today, we have another treat from Bubba that goes by the name of Samoa Cookies. I cannot find much data on Samoa Cookies; but Samoa Kush is a cross of Platinum Cookies and Bubba Kush. Hopefully I can use those details as a halfhearted codex to decode this strain’s identity. I expect to discover a bounty of rich Afghan heritage at the depths of this strain. Let’s seek out some pungent punishment at the hands of Samoa Cookies!

I throw myself into the hearth of Samoa Cookies in eager exploration. I uncover soft spoken sugars as the spill across a floral brim. A luscious grove of grape, blueberry, and sour lime. Torrents of overripe fruit launch like geysers from out the jar. The tantalizing hellstorm of gaseous fruit musters strength above a bog of bubbling earth. Aromatic arms crank out a hashy resonance that rings deeply to match the tones of the syrup soaked berry.

The profile is cumulatively vibrant and bright, despite the abrasive embrace of the fruit-driven gas. The skimming spike of juicy tartness is comparable to the exotic prod stemming from a freshly opened Sunny Delight. Samoa Cookies demonstrates sweet and tender lushness; a candied moisture maturing with raw mossy qualities. At the core of the fragrance, I uncover a tomb of nutty rawness. The crypt leaks out a rind of knotted damp bark that carries an awkward smoke across the berry bayou.

As I sever the fibers of the densely decorated flower, I experience a spirited consolidation of its essence. Samoa Cookies seems to discard all of its complexities in order to feed a newfound furnace of citrus glue. The gas has evolved to a stunning magnitude. The vivacious vapor is ruled by a flat pasty mallet that clangs against a zesty citrus plate. The resounding gas gradually overwhelms the citrus qualities, spewing out a wake of anchoring afghan sour.

Rotund spears born of immense density are what we’ve come to call Samoa Cookies. Unflinching at even the most forceful advances, the flesh of this strain seems to be woven of iron. Rolling calyxes build into lumpy cement spires, coiled scrolls of steel. Fitting of the ‘Cookie’ moniker, this strain is jam-packed with psychoactive sugar to the extent that there are virtually no gaps or valleys within the bud structure. Every ridge has been flooded and virtually encased by the neutralizing tides of frozen resin. A sea of golden scales twinkles atop a bounty of lush verdancy. A cheesy lime shifts into withheld crocodile and leathery pear. Tragically thin roasted tangerine stigmas stagger through invisible gaps in the compact crust. The hairs are so thin that they appear to be on the verge of disappearing into thin air.

Leaf to flame, smoked citrus hurls out spicy cinders across my tongue. A carpet of jagged earth forms, trapping a mound of syrupy mud against my tastebuds. Vanilla baked hash gushes out of the fibers of the savory rug, birthing a basin of feathery tang. A tropical gas stirs into lancing clouds that pierce my tongue with its paralyzing potency. A grainy cereal sweetness lingers in the background of each cloud. A strong-willed loaf that hangs onto my breath long after each exhalation.

I feast upon the trough of smoldering oats and baked berries. The cumulative hit feels like taking a shameless bite out of a peppery lemon muffin. The Cookie heritage becomes violently apparent with each passing puff. The citrus gas ferments to entertain a tacky glue quality. The gaseous glue is so rich and raw that one may feel sickened as the potent mist hangs on your breath. If the tincture wasn’t so refreshing, one might gag in response to the sheer magnitude. With time, the powerful branding of Samoa Cookies dissipates from my breath only to be summoned again in full force by another hit.

I feel a veil of disengagement fall over my eyes, a disarming distortion occupies my visual field. My mind takes this as a signal to relax and decompress. I feel my heated engine deflate and release its teasing tensions. A gushing euphoria leaves my muscles moaning in ecstasy from a ceaseless tingling chill. Such palpable pleasure coaxes forth a wishy-washy attitude, a nihilistic disregard for responsibility.

An eerie emptiness fills my head, I watch the pixels of my computer dance feeling no sensory response in the slightest. Not one of boredom, delight, sadness, or any other emotion. My senses seem to be completely occupied and consumed by the crushing physical warmth of Samoa Cookies. This high is immensely physical, almost exclusively so.

Outside of the creeping emptiness taking residence in my head, the high is entirely comprised of disarming confidence. Samoa Cookies reinforces the idea that everything will be alright to a maddening degree. I know that I will be getting absolutely nothing done so long as the embrace of Samoa Cookies has something to say about it. I’m not above wasting away for all of eternity while under this massaging spell.

While the genetics of this production are still a little murky, it is definitely a full-fledged indica. Simple in design, but brilliant in its delivery. Samoa Cookies is a fantastic response to any physical pain. You will trade personal ambition for physical relief, but the condition will be met with full force. This is a strain you must truly experience for yourself, I can hardly move. It is an overwhelming chore to drag my fingers across the keyboard to finish this review. As always, thanks for reading.

Samoa Cookies score: 95/100

Aroma: 18

Physical: 19

Flavor: 20

Consistency: 20

Sensation: 18

Stay high and stay blessed,

Kushman Bonglegs

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