Adam Bierman Launches ‘Weed Empire: The Game Show’ – Where Social Equity Applicants Battle to the Death for a Dispensary License He Doesn’t Even Own
By the Boof du Jour Investigative Team
LOS ANGELES — In the kind of plot twist that makes late-stage capitalism feel like a snuff film, disgraced MedMen founder and walking ego vacuum Adam Bierman has reemerged from the scorched ruins of his reputation with a new project: a reality game show called “Weed Empire™”, in which social equity applicants fight to the death — metaphorically, for now — for a single dispensary license that Bierman doesn't legally control and may not even exist.
Billed as “Shark Tank meets The Hunger Games but for equity applicants,” Weed Empire: The Game Show will feature ten formerly incarcerated entrepreneurs, legacy market veterans, and underfunded POC operators forced to compete in humiliating brand-building challenges, investor speed-dating, and weed-themed obstacle courses for a chance to win… absolutely fucking nothing.
According to leaked pitch decks sent to streaming platforms (and also to several Vegas strip clubs for reasons unknown), the show’s slogan is:
“One dream. No dignity. Zero paperwork.”
From MedMen to Menace
Let’s get this out of the way: Adam Bierman is the man who turned MedMen into a discount Apple Store for weed, then torched billions in venture capital while yelling at his assistant for buying the wrong shade of red tissue paper. His return to the industry isn’t a comeback — it’s a goddamn war crime.
Now, instead of stealing money from investors, he’s repackaging equity applicants as entertainment for a bored VC class that still thinks DEI is a crypto token.
An anonymous production source told Boof du Jour, “The goal is to showcase the grit and passion of equity operators by filming them crying in front of Shark Tank judges who own half of Trulieve. It's powerful stuff.”
Asked if the show will feature actual licensing support, the source responded, “We’re still finalizing that. Right now, it’s more of a ‘brand exposure opportunity’—you know, the kind you can’t pay rent with.”
The Format: Misery for Clicks
Each episode of Weed Empire™ puts contestants through “challenges” that feel more like corporate hazing rituals wrapped in DEI buzzwords. Sample episodes include:
Pitch or Die – Contestants must pitch their dispensary concept to a panel of investors while standing barefoot on hot dab rigs.
Compliance Wars – Navigate a mock city council meeting featuring real politicians and AI-generated zoning laws.
Brand You! – Design a logo using only Canva, six unpaid interns, and a panel of white influencers who vape indoors.
At the end of each episode, a contestant is eliminated by spinning the “Wheel of L’s,” which includes options like “Arbitrary Denial,” “Technicality,” “Run Out of Money,” and “Some White Woman Already Got It.”
The show’s executive producers include a vape tycoon who once said “legacy market” meant “old branding,” a social media strategist with a degree in “Experiential Marketing,” and Adam Bierman’s reflection.
Fake Equity, Real Exploitation
An internal memo obtained by Boof du Jour lays bare the real intent of the show:
“Equity is a vibe. If we make the show emotional enough, nobody will notice we didn’t actually help anyone.”
It continues:
“This is how we turn trauma into traction. Just make sure someone cries in episode three.”
Bierman himself released a tone-deaf video announcement while standing in front of a rented Bentley. “This is about giving people a platform,” he said. “Equity operators are the real heroes. And heroes need good lighting and product placement.”
The irony is choking: A man whose empire imploded under the weight of unpaid vendors, employee lawsuits, and spectacular hubris is now positioning himself as the arbiter of who “deserves” a shot in cannabis.
One former contestant (filming was paused after three people quit mid-challenge citing “severe spiritual distress”) told Boof du Jour, “I went in thinking this was my chance. Then I realized I was being judged by a dude who once spent $4,000 a month on branded socks.”
Another contestant was eliminated after asking for a written contract. “That’s not the spirit of the show,” producers reportedly said. “Real hustlers don’t need lawyers — just vision.”
The Prize? A Dream Deferred
Let’s talk about the prize: A dispensary license “secured through strategic partnerships,” according to the show’s official documentation — which Boof du Jour has confirmed is a verbal promise from a guy in Santa Ana who “knows someone at the city.”
There is no confirmed license.
There is no transfer plan.
There is no real pathway to ownership.
The show is simply a lottery of suffering, designed to generate media buzz, investor interest, and one last desperate grab at relevance from a man whose LinkedIn reads like a digital crime scene.
When asked if he personally profits from the show, Bierman grinned and said, “Look, I’ve been humbled. I’ve learned. And I deserve a second yacht.”
Final Puff
If cannabis has a devil, Adam Bierman is him in an overpriced blazer with a Bluetooth headset and a script full of buzzwords. Weed Empire is not a show. It’s a pyramid scheme dressed in equity cosplay, a rolling mockery of the very people it claims to uplift, built by the same motherfucker who tanked the most overhyped brand in weed history.
So no, Weed Empire isn’t a revolution. It’s the same exploitation with better lighting and a boom mic.
And if you still think this show might help someone, ask yourself:
When was the last time you watched someone get a license on TV — and it actually meant something in real life?
Boof du Jour will continue tracking this disaster-in-progress, assuming the pilot doesn't air exclusively on LinkedIn Live with a crypto wallet address for “donations.” Stay alert. Stay loud. And for fuck’s sake, don’t audition.
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