There’s a certain kind of Friday night that doesn’t just hit different—it redefines what “different” even means.

I wasn’t planning on making any kind of major move. Just a quick stop. In and out. Grab a little rosin from Buddah Brothers and head back home like a responsible adult… or at least whatever version of that I occasionally pretend to be.

Crisxotics was about 20 minutes from my house, but let’s be real—time works differently when you’re headed somewhere you know good energy lives. By the time I pulled up, I already knew I wasn’t just “running an errand.” I was stepping into a room where everybody knows your face, your vibe, and probably your last questionable edible decision.

Handshakes flying. “What’s up OG?” shouted like I’m some kind of local myth instead of a man with a dream. It’s not a store—it’s a reunion.

First thing I noticed? JMO from The Gas Station wasn’t at his usual post. That hit me harder than expected. He told me last time he had something for me, and now I’m walking around like a kid checking every table like, “Did I miss my present or my purpose?” Still, the night had other plans.

I made my way to Buddah Brothers—Bernie and Amy—my destination, my mission, my reason for leaving the house in the first place. I hit them with the obvious question:

“What’s up with the rosin?”

They looked at me like a man about to receive news he wasn’t emotionally prepared for.

Sold out.

Just like that. Gone.

Now I’m standing there doing mental math like: I drove here. I parked. I committed. And the universe just said, “Yeah… no rosin for you.”

I almost mourned it on the spot.

But Bernie? Bernie didn’t let the sadness sit too long. Before I could even fully spiral into disappointment, he was already moving like a man who refuses to let someone leave empty-handed. He starts digging into his own head stash like it’s not even a question.

“Don’t worry, man.”

And just like that… I was blessed.

A little over a half gram of cold cure—no charge, no hesitation, no corporate energy. Just pure community care. The kind of move you don’t forget, even when your memory is slightly compromised by the next edible.

Then he hits me with:
“Come meet somebody.”

That’s how I met Choice from Herb and Soul.

But before we even make it ten steps, we get intercepted like I’m in some kind of edible Avengers crossover episode.

Enter: Key Key.

If you know, you know.

She stops me like she’s been waiting all week for this exact moment.

“OG, I made you a gift bag.”

Now I’ve been in this game long enough to know surprises usually come with fine print. But not this time.

This was not a bag.

This was a portable festival of generosity.

Doritos. Milky Way bars. gummies, Sweet Tarts, brownies, drinks, candies, High C style juices, Fritos, infused everything—but somehow still feeling like a hug instead of a product display. And then she pulls out these peach cobbler cinnamon pie creations that should be illegal purely based on how fast they disappear.

She asked me what flavor I like. Peach? Apple? Like I had a real choice in the presence of greatness.

I said peach.

I chose correctly.

Because that pie didn’t taste like dessert—it tasted like somebody’s grandmother decided to get into culinary wizardry and bless the streets.

At that point, I’m holding more free kindness than I’ve ever seen in one place in my life.

And I still haven’t spent a dollar.

Bernie’s cold cure in one hand energy. Key Key’s infused universe in the other. And I’m thinking, this is either the best night ever or I’m already too high to understand reality.

Then comes Choice.

Herb and Soul.

And let me tell you something—this man doesn’t just cook food. He negotiates peace treaties between hunger and happiness.

Rasta pasta chicken dinner. Infused. Homemade. Soulful enough to make you reconsider every microwave meal you’ve ever trusted.

He tells me it normally goes for $11.

Then hands me one anyway.

Just… because.

At this point I’m not even sure if I’m in a vendor market or a generosity glitch in the matrix.

Now here’s the part that sticks with me the most.

I’ve got one good hand and one bad hand, and I’m trying to carry what feels like a Thanksgiving dinner, a dispensary blessing, and a dessert festival all at once back to the car without dropping anything like a rookie.

And I realize something in that moment:

I didn’t spend a single dollar.

Not one.

But I left with more than I could carry.

More than just products. More than just edibles and rosin and food.

I left with proof that community still exists in places people don’t always expect it.

Now let me be clear—I support these vendors. Always have. Always will. I’ve spent real money at Crisxotics more times than I can count. But this night? This night wasn’t about transactions.

It was about people showing love to somebody they’ve come to know as more than just a customer.

It was about Bernie and Amy making sure I didn’t leave empty-handed.
It was about Key Key showing generosity like it’s second nature.
It was about Choice feeding people like he’s been doing it his whole life for the right reasons.

And me?

I went home, ate everything (because let’s be honest—“saving edibles for later” is a myth I tell myself when I want to feel responsible), and slept so good I didn’t wake up until 4 PM the next day.

Which, for the record, is not medical advice. It’s just what happened.

So this is a thank you.

To Crisxotics—for being the hub where this kind of energy even exists.
To Buddah Brothers—Bernie and Amy—for the kindness that doesn’t come with a price tag.
To Key Key—for feeding people like love is the main ingredient.
And to Choice of Herb and Soul—for proving that a plate of food can carry as much soul as any conversation.

This isn’t just a plug scene.

It’s a family scene.

And if you’ve never been to Crisxotics on a Friday… you might think you understand what community looks like.

But trust me.

You don’t.

Not until you’ve left with both hands full, your heart fuller, and your wallet still exactly where it started.

• OG Strain

Why Millions of Users Feel Facebook Has Lost Its Neutral Ground — and Why I’m Calling for a One-Day Shutdown on August 15

Facebook was once the digital town square.

A place where voices could be heard, communities could grow, and information could spread instantly across the world. It was built on the idea of connection.

But today, many users—including myself—feel that something fundamental has changed.

And whether people agree on the reasons or not, the feeling is becoming more common: Facebook no longer feels neutral.

As a cannabis advocate, journalist, and contributor to The Plug’s Pages Magazine, I’ve experienced repeated content restrictions tied to cannabis-related posts—even when those posts contain no sales, no offers, and no transactions of any kind.

No “buy now.”

No “DM for purchase.”

No exchange of goods or services.

Just journalism. Just reporting. Just culture.

Yet posts can still be flagged or restricted simply because they contain cannabis-related language or references.

And I want to be clear about what that means from my perspective:

It creates the feeling that even discussing a legal or emerging industry can put your voice at risk.

Many users across different communities share similar concerns—not just in cannabis, but in politics, health discussions, and controversial topics in general. Whether through automated systems, keyword triggers, or moderation policies, people often report experiencing sudden restrictions, removals, or account limitations that feel unclear and difficult to appeal.

And one of the most frustrating parts, according to many users, is what happens next.

In some cases, restrictions are lifted later without explanation. Content is restored. Accounts are reactivated. But the question remains:

Why was it removed in the first place?

This lack of transparency leaves creators, journalists, and everyday users trying to guess where the invisible lines are drawn.

For some, it feels like walking through a system where the rules are not always visible until they are suddenly enforced.

For others, it raises a deeper concern: who decides what information is allowed to circulate in the first place?

I’m not saying Facebook is the only platform with moderation policies. Every major platform has them. But what I am saying—based on my experience and what many users express—is that the scale of influence Facebook holds makes these decisions feel especially impactful.

Because when a platform that large restricts content, it doesn’t just affect one post.

It affects reach.

It affects income.

It affects conversations.

It affects visibility.

And it affects whether certain topics are even seen at all.

That’s why this is not just about frustration. It’s about choice.

On August 15, I am calling for a peaceful, voluntary 24-hour break from Facebook.

Not a deletion.

Not a permanent exit.

Just one day.

A pause.

A moment for users to step back and explore other platforms like X, independent media, direct communities, and alternative spaces where conversation continues without interruption.

The goal is simple: awareness.

To show what happens when users choose where their attention goes.

To remind people that no single platform is the only option.

And to demonstrate that collective action—no matter how small it seems individually—can create a message when done together.

If you rely on Facebook for communication, you can return the next day.

If you use it for business, your work continues.

If you use it for community, your community will still be there.

But for one day, we step outside the system and observe it from the outside.

Because sometimes, the most powerful statement users can make is simply this:

We can log off.

Whether you agree with every concern raised here or not, the larger question remains worth asking:

How much control should any single platform have over global conversation?

And what happens when users decide to explore what else exists beyond it?

On August 15, we find out.

— OG Strain
The Plug’s Pages Magazine

By OG Strain

There is a dangerous illusion that has taken hold in America.

Millions of people believe they need Facebook.

The truth is the exact opposite.

Facebook needs us.

Every post.

Every comment.

Every photograph.

Every business page.

Every creator.

Every advertiser.

Every minute we spend scrolling.

That is the fuel that powers one of the largest corporations on Earth.

And yet somehow, many of us have accepted the idea that we should simply sit quietly whenever that corporation decides what is acceptable, what is unacceptable, who gets heard, and who gets ignored.

I reject that idea.

I reject it completely.

This article isn’t about one account.

It isn’t about one creator.

It isn’t about one disagreement.

It’s about a growing frustration shared by countless people who feel that massive technology companies have become too comfortable, too powerful, and too disconnected from the very people who made them successful in the first place.

For years, users have watched pages disappear.

Businesses lose reach.

Creators lose audiences.

Communities vanish.

Meanwhile, the people affected are often left with little explanation and even fewer answers.

At some point, every American has to ask a simple question:

How much power are we willing to hand over before we decide enough is enough?

Our ancestors did not build this country on the belief that powerful institutions should never be questioned.

They built it on the exact opposite principle.

Question authority.

Challenge power.

Speak your mind.

Stand up when you believe something is wrong.

Whether that power comes from a government, a corporation, or any other institution makes no difference.

Power without accountability eventually becomes arrogance.

And arrogance grows when nobody pushes back.

That is why I am calling for a peaceful, nationwide Facebook walkout on August 15.

Not forever.

Not for a month.

Not even for a week.

One day.

Twenty-four hours.

One simple message.

We are not powerless.

On August 15, log out.

Step away.

Create an X account if you don’t already have one.

Explore other platforms.

Spend one day proving to yourself that Facebook is not the center of your digital world.

Then on August 16, come back and tell people why you participated.

Tell your friends.

Tell your family.

Tell your followers.

Tell Facebook.

Because silence changes nothing.

Action changes everything.

Some people will say one day doesn’t matter.

History disagrees.

Every movement starts with a first step.