Sativa Claus

T’was the night before Christmas and all through extraction,
Not a sound was heard, nope, nada, no action
The oil was tucked into the ovens with care,
In hope of the distillations folks soon will be there,
Production was quiet, all home in bed,
with visions of vape carts dancing in their heads.
As Lab Dad turned off the lights and put on his cap
He was headed home, he was done with this crap
When out from the BR there rose such a clatter,
Oh shit! Glass broke, busted, it shattered!
Away to the BR Lab Dad flew in a flash
He knew that sound, that noise, that crash.
As the LED lights lit a figure, I know
He gave a laugh at the broken glass below.
When, what should take note and give pause,
Why it was that jolly dude, you know Sativa Claus!
That little old dude gave his Bic a click,
He rattled off names of the plant strains pretty darn quick
Sativa! Indica! Hybrids are the strains!
Then he started to smoke a bowl as he called them by name:
Space Bomb Oregon Lemon and 9 Pound Hammer!
You smoke too much it makes you stammer.
“Distillate, RSO maybe some shatter!”,
He pulled out his dab rig to show me the latter.
I asked if I needed a torch to make it fry?
He said “No dude, it’s electric!” with a gleam in his eye.
So the temp started rising, the number they flew!
He said wait till that LED turns blue
Then we’ll do a few dabs, just me and you.
The dab in the bowl made a little cloud,
Then he started coughing, REALLY LOUD!
He handed me the rig as my time came around
“Take a big hit, try not to cough or make a sound.”
His fingers were sticky, he had oil on his boot
I think he had the munchies, he was eating fruit.
He looked like a peddler just opening his pack,
You can only image the smell of that fat sack.
He hit that bowl again, lighting that big fat cherry
Sativa Claus was getting high, and quite merry.
And when that rig was empty, he reached underneath,
And pulled out a big fat cone to clinch in his teeth.
He was a trippy, plump, right jolly old elf,
Who only smoked nothing but top shelf.
With the wink of an eye and a twist of his head
He knew he wasn’t busted he had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, nothing was wrong,
He was just stoned looking for his bong.
He filled stockings with the best buds,
Then stopped he for the last of the milk duds.
With all of that done and now ready to get,
And as he exclaimed as he exhaled the last bong hit
Merry Christmas to all! Now Lab Dad, go get lit!

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Merry fishmass, future4200.

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