Gelato 33 by House of Cultivar
Welcome back to toasted n’ posted where the finest flavors are roasted. Today, we will be grabbing our ice cream scoopers to indulge in this production of Gelato 33 from House of Cultivar. Gelato 33 is a modern evolution of the much beloved Gelato strain. The original Gelato cross was birthed by fusing Sunset Sherbet and Girl Scout Cookies and has been long since held in the hearts of the recreational market. I can’t wait to see how time and experience has treated this hometown hero.
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I fling open the jar like a kid to the door of an ice cream parlor. My nose is nearly spun off of my face by the blisteringly sweet gas pouring from the vessel. Trails of rolling sugary boulders barrel through my nose. The gaseous gravity drags through a mist of baked vanilla sour. I waddle through a tingling lattice of chilled caltrops. Strafing through the jagged gaseous veil, I dodge bolts of gas that have become armored by a toe-curling berry sour.
The aroma is outwardly aggressive; I find each armament of the fragrence to unleash itself like a gatling gun. The frequency stuns me into a sensory stutter. I find myself consistently caught off-guard by the chain reaction of shocking sucker punches. I fight through the electric hailstorm to find a juicy caramelized grape bunker. I find refuge within bubbly citrus limbs that tenderly weave around the buoyant heart of Gelato 33.
Beneath the simmering slurry are nettles of honed pine. An ironclad of feathery zest launches me to seize as if mid-sneeze. The culmination of the fragrances is intoxicating; like a vat of rubber cement flooded with grapes and branches of lavender. In hopes of inciting an aromatic awakening, I sunder the largest flower under my nose.
I feel as if I had just crushed a glue stick under my nose. My senses spin in contact with this bewilderingly potent potion. A warm smoky vanilla curdles out from the voracious musk. A soothing backboard to offset a degree of the ferocious plumes of smoldering creamy gasoline. I am occasionally revisited by light burps of grape or floral earth, but they are quickly overrun again by the gluey riptide. The fragrance settles onto citrus razors and fluent earthen damp.
Gelato 33 is comprised of a murder of dark petals. A scheme of saturated color soaks every fiber of this flower. The presence is largely dominated by a storm of menacing purples. Glistening sheets of overcast eggplant crane over plumes of asphyxiated grape. In vivid contrast are willful jets of shadowy fern and drained lime. The unified patches of green are so thoroughly segregated from the purple that I find myself chasing Rorschach blotches of camouflage across the flowers. Pale tangerine stigmas gently reach upward, colors worn and weathered like beached wood. The invisibly thin hairs spawn few in number, tenderly accenting the presentation of Gelato 33 with trails of ghostly veins.
The structure of Gelato 33 is a bouquet of winding scraggly leaf consecrated with immense density. While the spacious structure would seem vulnerable to pressure, a squeeze earns little more than a syrupy film entrapping my fingers. Foaming prisms of gleaming light stack in close-succession, crowding every visible field of Gelato 33. The trichomes twinkle wearing jackets of milky white, almost every of which holds a head bloated like a water balloon. The haphazard spires of this strain offer ceaseless visual appeal.
Leaf to flame, I dislodge an avalanche of sunken berry. Incendiary grapes cascade down from the mountain tops, raining down a soothing blend of spiced herbs and raspberry smog. A menthol cool chases in its wake. The free-falling boulder of molten sweetness hammers into a sylvan basin. A prickling citrus sour oozes up from the earth, reigniting the bubbly grape tar.
The muddy jam is augmented by a piercing chem. A minty glue tranquility hinders the mobs of riotous flavor. A resonant glue cloud renews in the back of my throat, never losing its momentum. Gnawing on Gelato 33 is like taking a bite of a croissant. A croissant born of sugary baked earth and a tacky glue resolve. The bowl subsides into a hashy tide of misted herbs, smoky menthol grit, and juicy green leaf.
A brightness builds in my skull. An exuberant warmth fills my body, raising my skin into a plush armor. My blood coagulates into fluffy cotton swabs, I feel myself being transmuted into a walking teddy bear. I can’t imagine it will be long before I’m left propped up to be forgotten in the corner of a little girl’s playroom.
As concrete continues to crawl through my veins, I feel an engaging static wriggle through my spine. A startling electricity that coaxes along random swings of mood and motion. It will be impossible to tell whether or not Gelato 33 will encourage you to clean your room or silence the existing notion. I teeter on the edge of manic inspiration, relaxing into the pulsing expedition of euphoria consuming my body. I feel a bubble of peaking mental stimulation blossoming in my skull. The walls of my head are pressed outward by the seductive bubble of unwieldy pleasure. Eventually the bubble pops, leaving me a vacant-eyed prisoner to space and time.
I don’t think I’ve ever had Gelato of this quality. This production finally explains this world’s unnatural obsession with the strain. As a new convert, I feel foolish for my former heresy. Join the cult of Gelato 33 by picking up this new strain from House of Cultivar. This flower delivers in virtually every department. I found that I wasn’t left wanting in any aspect of this experience. Boy, am I glad that I took another shot at this famous strain. As always, thanks for reading!
Gelato 33 score: 96/100 points
Stay high and stay blessed,