Weed is the plant of weakness. The smoke of surrender. The drug for the domesticated man. The soft man. The neutered male who fears his own strength. Let’s be honest — weed is for losers and pussies.
Every puff is a declaration of defeat. You’re not ascending; you’re escaping. You’re not “opening your mind”; you’re closing your will. You’re not a free thinker — you’re a sedated sheep. Weed doesn’t make you creative; it makes you compliant. It doesn’t unlock consciousness; it locks you in the slow-motion cage of mediocrity.
The system wants you high. The government loves stoners. The more you smoke, the less you fight. The less you build. The less you want. The state doesn’t fear a stoner — it fears a sober man who can deadlift 768kg and speak his mind like a thunder god.
The weed smoker is the modern eunuch — stripped of drive, drained of testosterone, content to watch the world burn while laughing at memes. “It’s just weed, bro.” No. It’s chemical castration. It’s digital slavery in plant form. Weed kills your hunger, your lust, your edge. You become slow, fat, fragile, weak — a ghost of your potential.
You don’t see Achilles smoking joints before battle. You don’t see Alexander the Great blazing before conquering the world. You don’t see Kobe, Jordan, or prime Mike Tyson passing a blunt before going to war. You think gods get high? No. Gods stay high. On life. On power. On the storm itself.
Weed is not rebellion — sobriety is. Weed is not freedom — clarity is. Weed is not peace — it’s paralysis. You cannot conquer your reality while you’re running from it. You cannot build empires while you’re baked like a fool laughing at the wall.
You want to know the real high? Waking up before dawn and rack-pulling 10x your bodyweight. Feeling the iron bend. Hearing your own breath like a hurricane. Feeling sunlight hit your skin and realizing — you don’t need any drug, because you are the drug.
The sober man is the apex predator. The weed smoker is the prey — slow, soft, blind in the fog. So throw away the lighter. Destroy the bong. Burn the blunt, not your brain. Breathe oxygen like a god. Move like thunder. Think like lightning.
The gods don’t need weed — they are the fire.