With Obama taking steps to assure medical marijuana dispensaries don’t endure so much fed hasslin’, us “buddies” are crossing our resin tinged fingers in hopes of a world where we don’t have to lie about having medical conditions in order to get affordable, lab grown weed (“Uh, I have stress and stuff...”). That green day is a long way off, but when it comes, the marijuana community will sadly wave a collective goodbye to the eclectic mix of independent pot dealers who have thus far supplied us functioning stoners with the goods. No longer able to compete with the convenience and quality of regulated weed, these mom and pop holders will disseminate into the general populace, marking the end of an era. So in the spirit of pre-nostalgia, a salute to those with the baggies, the scales, and the “killer White Rhino, special from my guy up north”: Chill Seeker Perhaps the most accommodating of the bunch, this dealer will always have a DVD running in the background; usually something agreeable, like The Office. Standing up to greet you, he will treat you like an old friend, insisting you stay a while to play Wii with him. Beside a spotless, reasonably sized bong sits a carton of blueberries from Trader Joe’s, letting you know this guy has all his pot ducks in a row.

Frat Brotherman For some reason every frat has a pot dealer who defies commonly held stereotypes about the fraternity lifestyle. A shared room constantly hazed in smoke has relaxed this dude’s natural tendency to circle jerk and gang rape. Instead, he has become a master at hanging out, usually in socks when you arrive, practicing a few chords beneath a huge Bob Marley flag. Sadly, he will either graduate sooner or later, or the frat will get shut down once the meth lab in the basement blows up. Precious Jade Sleek, serious, and Asian, this guy means business. He’ll never answer when you call, but he’ll call back seconds later from a different cell phone. Like a fine smelling ninja, he’ll appear to you in his suped-up Mitsubishi. Invoking the wisdom of the ancients, Precious Jade’s minimalist ways will make you feel clean and respectable. Engaging him in small talk is a fruitless endeavor, as all that needs to be said is written on his taut, emotionless face, and the way his tiny, soft hands manifest your wares like a gift from a small mountain farm in Osaka. Resist the urge to bow.

Shady Shoes You don’t want to go to this guy if you can avoid it. He never makes eye contact, weighs out your 1/8th in a separate room, and calls you three different wrong names in the span of ten minutes. All the windows are blacked out with old movie posters from his days working at the Arclight, and you might catch a glimpse of his speechless drug hoochie listlessly wandering the shadowed halls. If he wants you to go with him to "re-up," don’t go. Who do you buy pot from?