THC Seltzer Hype Exposed: Thousands of iPhones Found in Cartel-Run LinkedIn Pharming Operation
By the Boof du Jour Investigative Team
BROOKLYN — In what authorities are calling “the dumbest fucking scandal to ever involve microdosing and professional networking,” Boof du Jour has uncovered a multi-state cartel-run LinkedIn pharming operation used to artificially inflate the social clout of THC seltzer brands — all orchestrated from a warehouse filled with thousands of burner iPhones and a marketing team that thinks “community-building” means reposting the same poorly lit can photo every three hours.
The operation, dubbed “Project FizzBait” by federal investigators and “absolutely genius” by at least one CMBDO (Chief Meme-Based Development Officer), has blown the THC-infused carbonated beverage sector wide open, confirming what most of the cannabis industry already suspected:
Nobody actually drinks this shit — they just post about it.
The Rise of the Canned Scam
THC seltzers have become the spiritual LaCroix of the cannabis industry — bland, overpromised, and consumed mostly by people who won’t shut the fuck up about “functional wellness.” Brands claim the drinks are “fast-acting,” “social,” “hangover-proof,” and “ideal for the canna-curious,” but real-world consumer feedback reads more like Yelp reviews for a failed kombucha truck.
Boof du Jour's investigation began after a suspicious pattern was noticed across LinkedIn:
Hundreds of identical comments on every post by brands like BuzzDrop™, SeltzWell™, and Euphorica™, all reading, “Incredible innovation from a values-driven team. Proud to see this space grow!” — each one posted from a profile with no photo, 9 followers, and job titles like “Cannabis Impact Strategist at WellnessVerse.”
Turns out, these weren’t just your usual dead-eyed brand zombies. They were phantom accounts linked to SIM-swapped iPhones stacked in metal shelves inside a repurposed juice bottling facility in Northern California, operated by a crypto-laundering shell company allegedly affiliated with a Mexican cartel that’s been trying to get into the legal THC game since 2018.
“Honestly? This is less about drugs and more about inflating the valuation of beverage startups so they can dump to a SPAC before anyone realizes there’s no actual demand,” said a federal analyst close to the case. “We expected fentanyl. We found fucking yuzu-hibiscus.”
Bubbles, Bots, and Bullshit
Internal documents from Euphorica™ — one of the biggest offenders, with more LinkedIn posts than dispensary orders — reveal a marketing strategy labeled:
“Fizzfluence Funnel™: Build Hype > Spam Feeds > Fake Comments > Manifest Investment.”
A deck sent to potential investors projected 400% market growth “based on engagement,” a metric later revealed to be measured in emoji reactions, not actual unit sales.
One slide titled “Gen-Z Demand Forecast” featured a photo of Billie Eilish holding a LaCroix and the caption: “They’re thirsty. We’re the answer.”
Despite the hype, retail reports show many THC seltzer brands sit unsold for months, with one anonymous buyer noting, “It’s the only product we’ve had returned because it made someone feel literally nothing and taste like sadness.”
Yet, VC money keeps pouring in, largely because brands pitch themselves as alcohol alternatives for people who still want to get fucked up but with ‘intention.’ Investors love that shit — especially when the founders show up to pitch in fleece Patagonia vests and cite “data from our community of engaged early adopters,” also known as the cartel-run iPhone farm in Vallejo.
An Ocean of Cans and No One Thirsty
Several retailers reported that certain seltzer SKUs were “quietly pulled” from shelves after complaints of cans exploding in fridges, tasting like dryer lint, or getting people way too high due to inconsistent nanoemulsion tech. One facility quietly paid off a lawsuit after a woman “melted into a lawn chair at her niece’s soccer game and screamed about the moon being a narc.”
Boof du Jour reached out to SeltzWell™, who recently claimed to have closed a $6.5M seed round led by “conscious capital.” Their spokesperson responded via voice memo:
“We’re disrupting the space. Our nano-tech delivery system is redefining sessionable intoxication. We’re not just a beverage — we’re a mindset.”
When asked how many units had been sold in the past quarter, they hung up.
A Beverage Built on Bullshit
The deeper we dug, the more brands we found running similar schemes:
BuzzDrop™ was caught reposting the same user review under different names across four platforms.
NüTone Bevs™ listed nonexistent partnerships with wellness influencers who had been dead for years.
CalmUnity™ offered “zero-calorie, terpene-enhanced, adaptogen-infused synergy tonics” that contained no cannabinoids whatsoever — just sparkling water and a vague sense of disappointment.
Meanwhile, one anonymous distributor admitted they were only keeping seltzers on the menu “because the founders keep showing up with free cans, brand decks, and microdoses.”
Fizz to Fizzle
Federal agents have now seized 3,800 iPhones, 17 burner laptops, and a pallet of unshipped cans labeled “microdose margarita punch” in a joint raid with the DEA and LinkedIn Trust & Safety team. The burner accounts have been wiped, the bots are offline, and several brands are now pivoting — reportedly to “THC-enhanced skincare for stressed-out knowledge workers.”
As of press time, the industry’s most popular THC seltzer LinkedIn post had over 4,000 likes — all from accounts registered to the same IP address in Stockton.
Boof du Jour will continue monitoring the fallout as the industry scrambles to figure out what to do with 2 million cans of unsold “recreational hydration.” Until then, remember: If your drink is fast-acting, adaptogenic, zero-calorie, sugar-free, and described as “mood-elevating,” there’s a 90% chance it’s bullshit.
Or worse: it’s branding.
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