Deleted Scene

The Lore (a.k.a. We Made Phone Calls)

Officially, Deleted Scene has no parents, no breeder, and no birth certificate—basically the Banksy of bud. Unofficially, it slid out of some post-2018 clandestine pheno hunt, traded on Discord servers like Pokémon cards for stoners. The name hints at greatness that got left on the cutting-room floor; growers treat it like a spoiler you have to swear not to leak.

What It Actually Does to You

Expect a 50/50 head-to-body ticket: cerebral lift that makes your playlist sound better, paired with a body melt that won’t glue you to the couch unless the couch is already your final form. At 22% THC it’s potent enough to impress your snobby friend, but not so strong you’ll be texting your ex existential haikus.

Flavor & Aroma: The Popcorn Notes

Open the jar and you’re hit with sweet vanilla-frosting gas, like someone hotboxed a bakery. Break it up and citrus-fuel terps crash the party, leaving a lingering creamy-chem finish that’ll have you sniffing your fingers like a weirdo. Translation: dessert with a side of diesel—exactly what the algorithm ordered.

Growing the Unicorn

Clone-only, so unless your cousin’s roommate knows a guy, good luck. If you score a cut, she’s medium height, stacks golf-ball calyxes like Jenga, and finishes in 56-70 days. Keep nights at 60-65 °F for potential purple flex worthy of Instagram. Reward: rock-hard colas so frosty they look like they’ve been rolled in table sugar and shame.

Medical-ish Benefits

Great for turning Monday into a montage sequence—stress, mild aches, and creative blocks fade faster than a studio’s tax write-off. Not officially lab-certified for anything, but anecdotal reports swear it turns existential dread into mild amusement and back pain into ‘eh, whatever.’

Who Should Toke This

Film nerds, terp snobs, and anyone who brags about having "a guy." Skip it if you need a strain with a Wikipedia page; embrace it if your idea of fun is telling friends, "You probably haven’t heard of it." Perfect for secret sessions, creative binges, or pretending you’re in an exclusive club that meets in someone’s garage.