THREE SHOPS, ONE DEALER, AND THE GREAT HEMP SHOP DELUSION
- Boof du Jour
- Jul 21
- 4 min read
NEW HAVEN, CT — We landed in Connecticut chasing a simple question: What the fuck is going on with weed retail here?
The state says it’s “cracking down on illegal cannabis shops.” The AG is staging photo ops with armfuls of confiscated hemp flower like he’s on Narcos. Headlines scream about “ghost storefronts” and “public health threats.” But boots-on-the-ground, behind the Domino’s dumpsters and vape clouds, the reality is a surrealist puppet show run by one man: John fucking Paul — who sold us weed in every single goddamn shop we visited.
Welcome to the Connecticut cannabis ouroboros, where legal, illegal, and “hemp” are all just different outfits worn by the same dude in a rotating costume department.
🛑 STOP #1: THE LICENSED DISPENSARY
Location: Fine Fettle, Newington Smells Like: New laminate flooring and pharmaceutical disappointment
We pulled up to the state-sanctioned fortress known as Fine Fettle, where you need ID to blink and there are more security cameras than weed strains. Inside, we found what looked like a Genius Bar for overgrown hall monitors.
And greeting us behind the glass counter?
JOHN PAUL.
Athleisure. Fake locs. Big grin.
“Y’all looking for real legacy gas?” he asked, sliding over a pre-roll with more dust on it than a trapper’s glove box. “Green Crack. Bob Marley smoked this batch personally back in ‘72.”
We asked about lab testing. He gave us a wink so big we thought it might be Morse code.“It’s tested. I looked at it myself.”
We bought it. Because of course we did.
🚬 STOP #2: THE “WELLNESS LOUNGE”
Location: Behind a Domino’s. I wish I was kidding.
Smells Like: Incense, bong water, and a mild threat of violence
There was a velvet rope hanging limp outside the door like a deflated ego. Inside? Faux crystal lamps, an empty “Tips 4 Trap Bud” jar, and posters of Egyptian gods holding dab rigs.
And then—JOHN FUCKING PAUL. AGAIN.
This time in a hoodie that said “Nature’s Medz.” Same teeth. Same weed. Different story.
“Oh damn, y’all back again? That was you I sold the Willie Nelson weed to, right?”
Apparently, this strain had kept Willie alive “through three divorces and a tractor fire.”
No license. No lab tests. Just vibes and a BOGO on “Alaskan Thunderfuck” and a Delta-8 vape “you can smoke mid-flight without pissing off the FAA.”
We asked if it was real weed.“It’s real enough,” he said, lighting one up.
🌸 STOP #3: THE “HEMP BOUTIQUE”
Location: Downtown Milford
Smells Like: Diffused lavender and lies
“Nature’s Doorway” looked like a pastel abortion of Goop and a headshop. There were Himalayan salt lamps, a $400 crystal bong, and a Bluetooth speaker cycling through Sade’s Greatest Hits.
We thought we were safe.
We were wrong.
John. Paul. Again.
Now in a lab coat.
“Welcome to the boutique,” he said, gesturing to a bead-curtain-shrouded back room full of ziplocks. “This is Vermont boutique hemp flower. Technically. But lowkey? It’s that same Green Crack I sold y’all earlier. We just write ‘hemp’ on the receipt.”
He handed us a QR code that linked to an image of a lab test, not an actual COA.
We asked if he was licensed.“I’m spiritually licensed.”
🕷️ THE SPIDER-MAN MEME OF WEED RETAIL
At this point I was sweating through my Carhartt. My cameraman had the thousand-yard stare of a man who’s smoked the same eighth from three realities.
So we tried to put it all together. But instead of a system, we found a Spider-Verse of Narcotic Nonsense:
Legal dispensaries point at hemp shops
Hemp shops point at trap shops
Trap shops point at the regulators
And everyone’s pointing at John Paul, who is apparently omnipresent, omnipotent, and maybe the weed industry’s first sentient clone
🧾 SO WHO’S ACTUALLY ILLEGAL?
Depends on what mood the Attorney General is in and how close your store is to a Starbucks.
Connecticut AG William Tong says these ghost shops are “endangering the public,” but strangely, every “illegal” shop we visited was Black- or Brown-owned, while the corporate dispensaries (struggling with their own compliance violations, btw) are skating by with investor-grade branding and overpriced mids.
We bought three bags of sativa-dusted, improperly labeled “boutique flower” from three different shops — all via the same guy — and not once were we asked if we were medical, 21+, or even fucking real.
One business had their “compliance inspection” while we were still standing inside. John Paul just threw on a polo shirt and said, “We’re closed for lunch,” and the inspector left.
🎤 FINAL THOUGHTS FROM THE FRONTLINE
This isn’t a cannabis market.It’s a Scooby-Doo hallway gag with ZIP codes and QR codes.
Connecticut’s weed economy is a cursed carousel powered by confusion, corporate cowardice, and John Paul’s shapeshifting grindset. We can’t say for sure if he’s a person, a myth, or a decentralized autonomous budtender — but we know one thing:
He’s got better customer service than Trulieve.
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