Monopoly Melts Promises to Bridge the Legacy Market — By Keeping One Foot Firmly in the Black Market

By the Boof du Jour Investigative Team

LOS ANGELES — In a stunning display of self-awareness wrapped in pure fucking delusion, California cannabis brand Monopoly Melts has publicly pledged to “bridge the gap between legacy and legal markets” — while quietly keeping their crusty sneaker wedged in the same black market trap house they allegedly left behind.

Once a graffiti-tagged rosin hustle run out of a warehouse next to an unlicensed recording studio and a defunct sneaker resale store, Monopoly Melts now postures as a polished “lifestyle brand” — the kind that slaps gold foil on a mylar bag and calls it equity. But behind the soft rebrand, influencer merch drops, and photo ops with rappers who may or may not know they’re being used for marketing, Boof du Jour has uncovered a rosin-soaked rat’s nest of fake legitimacy, fraud-fueled expansion, and the slow death of ethics via solventless extraction.

A Drippy Facade: Behind the Rosin Curtain

According to multiple anonymous sources inside the California cannabis industry — including one who once sold Monopoly Melts jars out of a Tesla parked behind Cookies Maywood — the brand’s entire “entry into the legal space” has been “a performative charade layered over a pyramid of vendor debts, unpaid toll processors, and backdoor deals that would make a Wall Street short seller blush.”

A leaked internal memo obtained by Boof du Jour, marked “CONFIDENTIAL — DELETE AFTER DABBING,” shows Monopoly Melts outlining a strategic plan that includes:

• “Continue to operate in dual markets for ‘brand consistency.’” • “Delay COA testing results to maintain 'OG Funk Profile.’” • “Pay toll processor half now, ghost them later — standard terms.” • “Announce equity initiative. Do not follow up.”

The document ends with the note: “Post on IG: ‘We really from it, we not industry.’”

The brand’s CEO, who legally changed his name to “MeltGod420” last year and currently lives in a short-term rental owned by his ex-girlfriend’s uncle, insists that Monopoly Melts is “a community brand.” When asked which community, he replied, “Mainly the homies who fronted us trim back in 2017.”

Equity Theater with a Backdoor BOGO

The most grotesque part of Monopoly Melts’ rise isn’t even the shady licensing (more on that in a second) — it’s the performative co-opting of “legacy culture” as a Trojan horse to launder their own sketchy past while simultaneously shafting the very people they pretend to uplift.

Monopoly Melts recently announced a “Legacy to Legal” initiative that features partnerships with so-called “legacy operators” — many of whom were just teenagers the brand used to underpay for cold water hash runs before rebranding them as “consultants.” A flyer for the initiative promises: “We walk with the real ones,” overlaid with a grainy JPEG of two dudes with face tattoos standing next to a G-Wagon they definitely don’t own.

Meanwhile, according to public licensing records, Monopoly Melts holds no manufacturing license of its own — instead relying on a revolving cast of underpaid toll processors and shady white-label deals to pump product into dispensaries under a patchwork of shell LLCs, expired agreements, and “it’s complicated” partnerships.

“They owe me three racks and 30 grams of split,” said one former hash maker who asked to remain anonymous, “and the last time I asked about it, they blocked me on IG and reposted some AI-generated graphic about ‘supporting Black ownership.’”

Legal When Convenient, Illegal When Profitable

Despite claiming to be “100% compliant,” Boof du Jour tracked down multiple retailers who confirmed that Monopoly Melts still offers exclusive drops via encrypted group chats and cash-only meetups — a practice the brand calls “direct market brand storytelling.”

In other words: still trapping. Just with a Squarespace.

One Bay Area dispensary manager, who stocks Monopoly Melts out of necessity because “the kids still ask for it,” told us bluntly: “They give us 6 jars at a time, invoice late, and threaten to take the product to the street if we don’t pay within 24 hours. Honestly, it’s like dealing with a plug — except now they call themselves a COO.”

Further investigation into the brand’s “supply chain integrity” turned up at least two unlicensed kitchens, one ex-employee lawsuit over payroll fraud, and a semi-functional POS system that crashed mid-sale during Hall of Flowers, causing a full-scale dab riot.

Influence, Ignorance, and IG Activism

None of this has slowed Monopoly Melts’ clout-chasing strategy. The brand maintains a heavy presence on social media, where every batch drop is accompanied by a slideshow of overexposed iPhone shots, vague allusions to oppression, and at least one graphic featuring MLK, Malcolm X, or Tupac for reasons no one can explain.

“It’s the weed version of white kids quoting Nipsey Hussle in a VC pitch,” said a source familiar with the brand’s marketing strategy. “They’ll post about restorative justice in the morning and brag about offloading packs in Sacramento by sundown.”

Even the brand’s self-proclaimed “Equity Advisor” — a DJ who once opened for Rick Ross at a vape convention — recently stepped down after discovering his name was being used on multiple fake SOPs submitted for licensing support.

“I thought we were building something real,” he told Boof du Jour. “Turns out I was just helping them finesse a compliance consultant who hasn’t been paid since February.”

The Melted Future

As of this writing, Monopoly Melts is still active in both the licensed and unlicensed market — depending on what you ask and who’s watching. A recent promotional email blasted to their “VIP List” offered a limited edition 7-star rosin jar for $140 — cash only, no receipts. The location? “DM for pin.”

In a final irony, the brand just released a limited hoodie that reads “From the Trap to the Top.” Based on our findings, they’re still pretty firmly in both.

And while regulators look the other way, investors get high off inflated Instagram metrics, and influencers chase sponsorships from people still dodging taxes, one thing is clear:

Monopoly Melts didn’t bridge the legacy market. They paved over it, pissed on the bridge, and used it as a backdrop for their next photo shoot.

Boof du Jour will continue to follow this brand's inevitable fall from grace — or at least their next cease-and-desist. Stay tuned.

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