I spent the day writing and smoking weed - kind of a no brainer; what else was I suppose to do, go to church? I no longer had to worry about where I was going to stay the next day and my flight was a breeze to reschedule so I was moving at a more stonerly pace. I made my way back to Central Station and boarded another purple pot bus and headed back to the Power Zone. As I toked away the bus quickly filled with the sweet smoke of oblivion. I thought more about the Cup and how they could improve the event. It was going to be my last day dealing with everything, I had many plans for the next day to go deeper into the city in search of da kind so I was in a good mood overall.
It was dark out and the crowds had gathered to do their duty as judges and vote. It almost goes without saying but while on my way over on the bus/shuttle/whatever that purple fucker was, I smoked another joint of Super Siler Haze. Arjan had one of his stooges strategically placed at the pick up site when we boarded and he handed each of us another nug of SSH. Fuck, like I was going to turn it away. Arjan was rigging the system but that isn't my fault and as a rule I never turn down good weed.
Honkytonk Homeslice
The line was long, but I had gotten there before the major crush. I lined up, voted--like I said everything was good doesn't matter what I voted for, seriously--and made my way to the bar for a Heineken. I walked through the Power Zone one last time sipping my beer looking at the displays, and I wondered to myself if I would ever come back to that club sometime in the near future. It was a large venue as far as clubs are concerned. I tried to imagine what it would be like if I were there when all those hot (female 
) bodies were popping and the music is pounding from some DJ--let ya feel whatever the fuck you want. I was there ostensibly to cover the Cup, but who is beyond feeling the truth and depth of their experience to the point of total distraction?
The Cup felt like an old banana skin that was of no further use but to throw away. I moved closer to the stage as the lights dimmed. I hadn't got into any of the music up to that point because I didn't come to Amsterdam for the music, I came for the weed. Los Marijuanos were a joke, they came out and had problems remembering lyrics and claimed to have some other sorts of "technical" problems. They disappeared for an hour or so and then came back with decent beats, but I was completely turned off by their lack of professionalism. If you can't handle your fucking weed stay home and sit on a couch like a pillow.
All of my negativity changed when Honkytonk Homeslice took the stage and sliced me up a little bit of feel good. Those "guys" aside from putting out awesome eclectic down home beats were without any doubt some of the coolest peeps at the whole event. They were humble on the stage and weren't just interested in entertaining us but sharing the experience with us. Fans of this little known band approached the stage bearing gifts of spirits and good will. I was a little taken aback by all of the free love, and that's sad to say because one would think that being at an event surrounding weed would also imply that there would be a certain amount of peace and love but there wasn't. To me, the Cannabis Cup was more about commerce than community. Did Honkytonk just dive into their set and jam our blues away? No, they cracked open their drink and started sharing it with everyone. They really went out of their way to make us feel relaxed and comfortable. I was a fan immediately.
They shared their drink and launched into their set which was surprising mellow and feel good. I swayed to their unfamiliar rhythm as if I were born it. And they displayed a way that was of better days. They played and talked and played and talked and I got higher than a kite on the front side of a space shuttle.