As a young guzzler, I was really turned on by fancy barrel-aged beers and sours — the weirder, the better. My stomach has become weaker with age, though, and so has my tolerance for weird. Don't pineapple milkshake IPAs make you want to kick dust in the air and shake one fist angrily at the sky while the other holds a good, hearty Coors? For a second there, I was becoming my dad in my own version of a Progressive commercial. Luckily, that irritability hasn't yet extended to my enjoyment of cannabis. In fact, as long as my grass doesn't taste like actual grass, all is good in my pipe — whi...