Child Trips Balls on Cartoon Bear Candy While Parents Play the Dumb Card
I’m crouched next to a Sheriff-branded SUV outside a modest suburban home in Albany County, New York, where a four-year-old girl just completed her first full psychedelic vision quest. Her guide? A 60mg THC gummy shaped like a cartoon bear. Her destination? The fucking ER.
Here’s what happened, according to the scene, the parents, and my own goddamn eyes:
Dad left his lunchbox on the floor. Inside: one ham sandwich, one off-brand Capri Sun, and a ziplock bag of unlicensed Super Smacked Bears — gummies so potent they should legally require a seatbelt and a Spotify playlist. The branding is a knockoff Haribo bear with bloodshot eyes, fingerless gloves, and weed leaves for pupils. Each one clocks in at 60mg. There were no locks. No warnings. No goddamn common sense.
I knock on the neighbor’s door. A woman in a Faded Glory fleece tells me, “Yeah, we saw the ambulance. Thought it was a domestic. Didn ’t know it was gummies.”
INSIDE THE HOME OF DUMBASSERY
The living room smells like peanut butter and panic. Dad’s crying. Mom’s pacing. The six-year-old sibling is reenacting the whole thing using Barbie dolls and a dab tool. The four-year-old is reportedly stable now, but at one point bit both parents and tried to climb the refrigerator “like a bear cave.”
I asked Dad if he realized the bears weren’t regular candy.
He looked me dead in the face and said, “The bag was resealed.”
AND NOW…THE SHERIFF.
Sheriff Craig Apple (yes, that’s his real name, and yes, he looks like a Slim Jim with a badge) shows up for a press conference like it’s fucking Dateline.
His theory?
Blame tribal dispensaries. Blame packaging. Maybe even blame the IRS.
“This is what happens when you let kids get access to weed that looks like candy,” he says, holding up the bag like it’s Exhibit A at a PTA lynching. “We’re investigating several shops.”
I asked if the product was bought at a legal dispensary.
“No comment. But we’re focusing on point of sale.”
Translation: Dad bought this at a gas station or from his cousin Brett.
VOICES FROM THE BLOCK
I interview a local mom holding a vape and a toddler.
“Honestly? It could’ve been me. Those bears look delicious.”
A teenager skating by stops and yells: “Y’all tripping about edibles but my school lunch had mold!”
Another guy in camo joggers says, “This is why I keep my shit in a gun safe. Kids don’t need to meet God that young.”
THIS ISN’T AN ACCIDENT. IT’S A SYMPTOM.
Every parent in the neighborhood suddenly has strong opinions about packaging. No one has strong opinions about parenting. Nobody wants to talk about why your weed gummies are in a fanny pack next to the Paw Patrol fruit snacks.
One cop said the child “got lucky.” Another said, “We’re not pressing charges.” Which means we’ve entered the stage of American accountability where kids eat Schedule I substances and it’s considered a learning opportunity.
CLOSING THOUGHTS FROM A STATE IN DENIAL
This isn’t a packaging crisis. It’s a Darwin Award nominee wrapped in a lunchable.
If you’ve got 60mg gummies next to your daughter’s crayons, you don’t need better branding laws. You need a fucking intervention.
And if you think the answer is investigating dispensaries, maybe also investigate why your toddler knows how to open a ziplock, dose like a frat bro, and still has better weed than most licensed stores.
Reporting live from a living room full of snack confusion and moral cowardice,I’m your Boof du Jour correspondent, high out of empathy, and pissed off on principle.