The Plug’s Pages Is Now Accepting Interns — The Ultimate Opportunity for True Cannabis Enthusiasts

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The Plug’s Pages Magazine is opening the doors to something rare — something most cannabis lovers only dream about.

We are officially seeking new interns to join our fast-growing publication and learn the art, craft, science, and culture of cannabis from the inside. This isn’t a boring office internship where you fetch coffee and stare at the wall for hours. This is hands-on, real-deal experience in the cannabis media world.

If you love weed, writing, creativity, strain reviews, events, and being around passionate people… you’re going to want to read every word of this.

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🌿 WHAT WE’RE LOOKING FOR

We’re searching for individuals who are:
    •    ✔ Intelligent, motivated, and curious
    •    ✔ Passionate about cannabis and want to learn more
    •    ✔ Interested in writing, reviewing, and understanding the industry
    •    ✔ Reliable enough to show up on time (well, most of the time — lol)
    •    ✔ Comfortable communicating through text, calls, or messages
    •    ✔ In possession of a driver’s license and a reliable car and owns a phone with internet access and unlimited text & calling
    •    ✔ Fun, easygoing, mature, and capable of working around others
    •    ✔ Available around 1–2 days a week for a few hours

Gender does not matter.
Attitude, passion, and willingness to learn absolutely do.

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🌱 WHAT THE INTERNSHIP ACTUALLY INVOLVES

This internship is flexible and light — nothing strenuous, nothing overwhelming, and definitely nothing corporate.

Your tasks may include:
    •    Assisting with articles
    •    Writing mini strain reviews
    •    Helping with interviews
    •    Organizing photos, notes, and content
    •    Attending cannabis events
    •    Riding along for industry visits
    •    Observing behind-the-scenes magazine work
    •    Helping OG Strain with day-to-day creative tasks
    •    Learning how professional cannabis media really operates

Some days might be chill.
Some days might be busy.
Most days will be fun.

And yes — you may be involved in testing and reviewing strains when appropriate, depending on the day’s tasks and responsibilities. If you aren’t the one driving that day, you may be part of the rotation for sampling new products and strains being reviewed for the magazine.

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🔥 WHY THIS INTERNSHIP IS ONE OF A KIND

This is where things get real:

The education you will receive here is INVALUABLE.

Most people pay tens of thousands — sometimes hundreds of thousands — for higher education, job training, journalism programs, media degrees, or cannabis certifications.

At The Plug’s Pages, you pay nothing.

Instead, you receive:

⭐ Hands-on cannabis industry education

You will learn things you cannot learn in a classroom.

⭐ Free access to elite cannabis

Top-shelf strains, rare genetics, exclusive drops — this is the good stuff.

⭐ Free meals, product samples, and event perks

Your “pay” might come in bud, food, industry gifts, or opportunities most people never get.

⭐ Direct experience with respected names in the game

You will meet growers, dispensary owners, creators, legends, and industry heavyweights.

⭐ Behind-the-scenes access to real cannabis journalism

Not theory. Not homework.
Real experience. Real work. Real learning.

⭐ Career-building connections

If you want a future in cannabis — reviewing, growing, media, branding, dispensary work — this experience will give you a massive advantage.

In other words:

You get what people usually pay huge money for…
without spending a single penny.

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🌈 WHO THIS INTERNSHIP IS PERFECT FOR

This is a dream opportunity if you:
    •    Are a cannabis connoisseur or want to become one
    •    Love writing, reviewing, or creating content
    •    Want to break into the cannabis industry
    •    Enjoy being around good vibes and good flower
    •    Want hands-on learning instead of classroom theory
    •    Want access to the highest-quality strains
    •    Want to be part of a growing magazine with big plans

If you’ve ever said, “I wish I could get a job where I’m surrounded by weed, creative people, and good energy,” this internship was designed for you.

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📣 INTERESTED? HERE’S HOW TO APPLY

All interested interns should reach out directly to:

👉 OG Strain (Strain’s Strain Reviews / The Plug’s Pages Magazine)
Message Timothy Strain on Facebook messenger.

He will handle meetups, interviews, and selecting the right candidates.

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FINAL WORD FROM HERB GREENSTEIN

Opportunities like this — real opportunities, fun opportunities, educational opportunities — don’t come around often.

This internship gives you access, experience, training, and a cannabis lifestyle most people only dream about. You’ll grow, you’ll learn, you’ll meet incredible people, and you’ll enjoy some of the finest flower the state has to offer.

If cannabis is your passion, this internship could be the spark that lights your future.

Think you’re the right fit?
Reach out to OG Strain.
Spots are extremely limited.

By OG Strain – The Plug’s Pages Magazine

If there’s one truth that keeps proving itself in this cannabis game, it’s this:
Real recognize real… and real recognize fake.

I learned that lesson again not long ago after a debate — the same debate I’ve had a dozen times — except this time, it hit different. This time, the person on the other side knew what he was talking about. This time, it was Danni Burns, the CEO and owner of Hudson Valley Green, one of the most respected operations doing it right here in New York.

And the debate?
Whole Melt concentrates.

I’ve defended Whole Melt for years because honestly, I lucked out. The stuff I was getting tasted good, hit hard, and didn’t break the bank. I’m a medical dabber — I go through a gram or two a day for pain relief — so affordability isn’t a luxury, it’s mandatory. When dispensaries want $80–$100 for two grams and I can get a full ounce of Whole Melt for the same price? Man… it felt like a no-brainer.

But here’s what Danni hit me with:
“OG, those empty Whole Melt jars can be bought online by anybody.”

And that one sentence changed everything.

He wasn’t yelling.
He wasn’t disrespectful.
He wasn’t talking from emotion.
He was talking from knowledge — real industry knowledge from someone who actually produces clean, safe, tested concentrates.

Danni explained that the brand became so popular that counterfeiters flooded the streets with fake jars filled with who-knows-what. Real jars, fake product. People getting scammed left and right. And while I might’ve gotten lucky with a reliable plug, a lot of people weren’t getting the same luck. They were smoking mystery wax in a shiny jar.

That was the first time someone made me actually pump the brakes and say,
“Alright… you got a point.”

And that’s the power of talking to a real one.

Because just for contrast?
Let me tell you about the exact same debate I had with an employee at Madame Jane’s in Schenectady.

THE DIFFERENCE IS NIGHT AND DAY

Where Danni had facts, professionalism, and respect…
the Madame Jane’s employee had none of the above.

No logic.
No industry insight.
No professionalism.
Just swear words, attitude, and childish insults like calling Whole Melt “whole poop.”

Nothing he said had substance. Nothing he said addressed my actual point. It was the kind of conversation that pushes customers out the door, not brings them in. Honestly, Madame Jane’s has become known for that. Drama in the back, drama in the front, employees too blasted to function, staff arguing, and resumes full of the kind of paperwork that gets you checked in jail — not hired in a high-traffic dispensary. It’s chaos. And chaos is the enemy of quality.

That’s why I don’t shop there unless the universe gives me no other option.

REAL LEADERS DO REAL THINGS

Meanwhile, Danni wasn’t just debating me — he was educating me.

I told him, “Bro, the only reason I even stick with Whole Melt is the price. I pay like $100–$200 for an ounce. That’s cheaper than dispensaries.”

And without missing a beat, he goes:
“OG, I got you. Say less.”

Then he tells me he makes so much concentrate himself — real concentrate, real flavor, real purity, real testing — that he’s got jars sitting at home with ounces of personal head stash. And he told me straight up he’d hook me up with real dabs, clean and safe, for the same price I’m already paying for questionable jars off the street.

That’s when you know someone is built different.
That’s when you know someone is truly for the people, not for the profit.

THE JAR ISN’T THE BRAND — THE PEOPLE BEHIND IT ARE

This article isn’t about dissing Whole Melt.
It’s not even about the fakes flooding the market.

It’s about who you can trust in an industry where anybody can slap a sticker on a jar and call themselves a brand.

Danni Burns is the kind of guy who can disagree with you and still respect you.
The kind of guy who leads by example.
The kind of guy who cares about the community staying safe, staying informed, and staying aware of the difference between hype and quality.

A real one.
A solid one.
A friend.

And like I said at the top —
real recognize real… and real recognize fake.

Written by OG Strain for The Plug’s Pages Magazine

There are stories from Hamilton Hill… and then there are stories from Hamilton Hill.
If you’re from Schenectady, you know the difference immediately.

This one sits squarely in the “I can’t believe we survived that” category.

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Chasing Five-Dollar Bags on “The Hill”

Me and my boy Geoff were maybe sixteen — two suburban kids from North Glenville/Burnt Hills who had no business driving around Hamilton Hill at night chasing five-dollar bags of weed. We weren’t gangsters. We didn’t carry illegal pistols. We were hunters — rifles and shotguns, sure — but not street life. Not this.

But that night… that world pulled us right in.

We’re sitting at a light on Lincoln Street when two dudes start arguing outside a house. One flashes a tiny pistol. The other laughs:

“Pull that lil’ peashooter out — what you gonna do with that thing?”

Before we even react, the one with the gun walks straight to our van, opens the door, gets in, and says:

“Drive.”

So we did.

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“Yo, pull up — that’s my boy.”

We roll around the corner and another dude jumps in. No hesitation, no explanation.

Just:
“We need you to drive us to Albany.”

We didn’t know if they were asking or telling. The gun made that clear.

Now picture this:
Two white middle-class sixteen-year-olds with awkward teen mustaches suddenly chauffeuring two armed strangers through Hamilton Hill in a minivan. Fear hit us harder than anything we’d smoked in our lives.

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“Y’all cops?”

Dealers always ask customers if they’re cops when they meet someone new — that’s just how the street works. Tonight it hit different because the question came from someone holding a pistol pointed loosely in our direction.

They checked a little bag between the seats.

My buddy Geoff — comedian under pressure — blurts out:

“Oh that bag? That’s all our cop stuff.”

Horrible timing.
Legendary delivery.

The guy snatched the bag and tore through it. Empty. He relaxed — just slightly — but still didn’t fully believe us.

Then he said:

“We gonna find out if y’all cops.”

And without thinking, I stupidly nodded yes.

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The Test

He cracks open a blunt wrap and starts breaking down weed. I think, Cool. I’ll smoke a blunt to prove I’m not a cop.

Then he says the words that froze my spine:

“We ’bout to smoke a laced blunt. You ever smoke dust? You ever smoke that angel?”

Whatever he sprinkled in, it wasn’t weed.
Crack, angel dust, something chemical — the smell was unmistakable. They sparked it and passed it.

I hit it. Immediately felt that cold, cocaine-burning taste. My whole body went loose and wavy. Geoff stayed locked in survival mode. I drifted into some bizarre half-calm while the gun never left our general direction.

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Albany — The Aimless Mission

Hours later, yes — we actually were in Albany.
Not for a drop-off. Not for a plan.
Just circling blocks with no destination, drinking 40s, smoking laced blunts, and living inside a nightmare wearing a party mask.

That’s when they spotted the girl walking.

“Yo yo yo! That’s my girl! That’s my mama! Jump in!”

She gets in the van, looks around, sees me and Geoff in the front, and immediately freaks:

“You want me to do that with TWO WHITE KIDS sitting right there? Are you crazy?!”

One of the dudes snaps back:

“These are my n**s! They been rollin’ with us all night!”

Then he opens his palm — full of what looked like crack — and tells her she just lost out.

She went wide-eyed.
Then he literally kicked her out the van, foot to her backside, and slammed the door.

Gun comes back up.
“Drive.”

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“Watch these dudes. Don’t let ’em leave.”

Every time they ran into a corner store for more 40s and blunts, one stayed behind… with the gun.

That told us everything:
We weren’t their friends.
We weren’t their crew.
We were hostages that could drive.

And through all of this, the thing me and Geoff feared most wasn’t them —
It was getting pulled over.

We were terrified of being caught with felony narcotics, illegal guns, and two strangers telling the cops we were with them.

That fear alone kept us glued to our seats.

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The Drop-Off

Near dawn, they went into a store again. This was our moment. We could’ve driven off. We could’ve escaped.

But for some dumb, teenage, “don’t make it worse” instinct…
we waited.

They came out shocked.

“Yo… y’all cool. Most people woulda dipped.”

And just like that, it was over.

They had us drop them around the block, got out, and disappeared into the early morning air.

I exhaled for the first time all night.
Geoff sat silent — traumatized.

We looked back and saw all the tobacco they dumped out rolling those blunts, so we went straight to the 24-hour car wash and vacuumed that van like our lives depended on it.

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Another Night on The Hill

Two dumb kids from suburbia chasing $5 bags in the wrong place at the wrong time ended up on a full-blown hostage adventure — guns, laced blunts, 40s, chaos, and a girl literally kicked out the van.

Hamilton Hill gave us memories we never asked for… but it gave us stories.

Some people have ghost stories.
We’ve got The Laced Blunt Kidnapping of ’95.

And somehow — by God’s mercy —
we lived to tell it.