I’ve never cared much about my own lineage, but I give cannabis genetics a high priority. While being a mutt in today’s America is fine for me, smoking a mystery strain simply will not do. Unless I’m stuck in Alabama or something. (No offense, ’Bama: Roll Tide…but your weed sucks.)
Even so, King Louis XIII — the earthy indica, not the expensive cognac or the smelly seventeenth-century monarch who hated bathing — has always come off as a little hifalutin’ to me. It’s an OG-heavy mix of pine, wood and spice that slaps you in the face like a grandpa’s musty sock, and it’s almost always one of the higher-priced indicas on the shelf. But now that these 4 p.m. sunsets are putting me in bed before 9, it’s time to add a nighttime strain to the mix.
Thanks to the dozens of times I’ve watched The Ladies Man, I’ve always imagined