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Gorilla Snacks and the gigantic chocolate éclair: A cautionary tale 

click to enlarge A lesson in contradictions, Gorilla Snacks increases and diminishes the joy of a high. - BRANDON SODERBERG
  • Brandon Soderberg
  • A lesson in contradictions, Gorilla Snacks increases and diminishes the joy of a high.

The chocolate éclair weighed a pound. A lumpy, dumpy, delicious, football-shaped treat, sun-faded dough sandwiching way too much cream, smooshing it down so it’s really oozing out, and on top of it a helmet-hard layer of chocolate — and I ate half of the thing rewatching, yes, rewatching, Netflix’s Mindhunter, a scene where hyper-articulate, coed-killer Ed Kemper goes on and on about murder and how difficult it is in exacting and awful ways playing out in front of me and my plate. It was all pretty weird, I thought. I ate a half-a-pound of chocolate éclair. In this sad, absurd scene, the two main takeaways from Gorilla Snacks (sometimes G-Snacks, fallout from the Gorilla Glue lawsuit to keep all Gorilla-related strains on-brand): It makes you hungry like monstrous Mr. Creosote from Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life, and it punishes you with self-awareness.

A somewhat buzz-y, relatively new and ultimately derivative strain, Gorilla Snacks combines G.G. #4 and Scooby Snacks backcross Guinness. I dare most folks to differentiate between the G.G. strains — and really, G.G. #4 tastes, smells and feels a lot like the popular G.G. #1 that most people know all about (from a past review of G.G. #1: “[It] has a quick rush around the eyes and gives a chill like a breeze on your neck, that settles into full-relaxed reflection — not glued to the couch”). As for Guinness (presumably soon to get a name change for copyright infringement reasons like Gorilla Glue), if you know Scooby Snacks, a strain that makes you ornery and ecstatic that was reviewed just a few weeks ago (“You’ll feel sleepy and compromised, like a warm, hard wind’s blowing against you, pushing you back, preventing you from moving too fast,” I wrote), you know Guinness.
And Guinness is an F3 — a third-generation hybrid. This kind of hybrid lingo is not something we’ve dealt with too much in these reviews. Think of it this way: An F1 is a hybrid of two strains with different genotypes; an F2 then, is two F1 hybrids and when you do this again, you get an F3 and again, an F4. Anyways, at its best, Gorilla Snacks’ high suggests it’s a piece of something larger or more complicated, and at its worst it’s like a copy of a copy of a copy.

I have found, FWIW, that if you have a tendency toward a certain kind of hate-eating where you’re eating to not feel anything, eliminating joy and with it, not even tasting what you’re shoving into your mouth (basically, if you abuse food like many abuse drugs or if you abuse food as well as drugs), Gorilla Snacks indulges the diet, caffeine-free version of the death drive and brings back those fleeting blips of ecstasy (chewing feels good man). There are days where that can be revelatory or enough — it’s not just “lmao tha munchies,” you know? The name is fitting, telling smokers the tension inherent in the strain: gorilla (large) and snacks (small). Kind of like a giant-ass éclair. It has a big, little high.

Strength: 8
Nose: Chocolate gummy bears
Euphoria: 9
Existential dread: 6
Freaking out when a crazy person approaches you: 4
Drink pairing: A milkshake, fuck it man
Music pairing: Johanna Knutsson’s Tollarp Transmissions
Rating: 7

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