The Hotbox with Dustin Hoxworth isn’t your polished PR interview. It’s me getting stoned and asking people the questions they probably aren’t ready for. These aren’t cold reads or copy-paste Q&As; I sit with my guests, usually multiple times, and I’ve likely met them in person, which gives me a window to learn who they really are before I ever send the questions. By the time the words hit the page, it’s smoke-thick honesty, not surface-level bullshit. These are cannabis conversations that showcase the voices, stories, and truths that won’t show up in the boardroom.
The Hotbox – Daniel Fountain
This week, we sat down with Daniel Fountain, founder of Titan Botanicals, a Tennessee-based hemp company rooted in resilience, justice, and hustle. Daniel’s story isn’t just about building a business; it’s about surviving a corrupt system, coming back stronger, and refusing to let prohibition define the future of cannabis.
Daniel Fountain knows what it means to pay a price for the plant. After serving nearly a decade in federal prison on marijuana conspiracy charges, Daniel came home determined not to let his passion fade. Seven years later, he’s not only built Titan Botanicals into a respected hemp brand but also sits on the board of a Tennessee lobbying group helping to shape cannabis laws. His logo is Thesis, the Greek god of justice, and it reminds him daily of a hard truth: there is no justice in cannabis. Yet, through grind, hustle, and vision, Daniel continues to push forward, still standing after the “green rush”.
The HotBox: 5 Questions with Daniel Fountain
1. You spent almost a decade behind bars for cannabis. What did those years teach you about yourself, and how do they fuel the way you move in this industry today?
Those years taught me that trust is fragile. Out of 24 codefendants, 19 cooperated. Watching people I considered close fold under government pressure was heartbreaking, but I also knew the risks. I was running interstate commerce, moving weight, and I didn’t understand how federal law worked. Turns out, they don’t even need product to convict you, just testimony.
I’ve always lived by omertà: if you’re in the game and get caught, you do the time and keep your mouth shut. That code carried me through, but it also made me realize I never wanted to go back. When I came home, I saw a lot of old friends still caught in the same loop, harvest to harvest, hustle to hustle. I walked away. None of my closest farm network got touched, and I wasn’t about to drag them down.
Then the 2018 Farm Bill passed, and that gave me a lane. Probation and a federal record kept me out of cannabis, so I pivoted into hemp. That betrayal, that time inside, it all forced me to rethink how I move. Now everything I do is built on trust, discipline, and doing things the right way.
2. The hemp “green rush” left a lot of broken dreams and failed businesses in its wake. What kept Titan Botanicals alive when so many others disappeared?
What kept Titan Botanicals alive when so many others collapsed was simple: relationships, discipline, and staying true to the plant. While a lot of people chased quick money, we built long-term contracts with farmers and labs, and those partnerships carried us through the market crashes. We never touched synthetics or isomers, too many unknowns. We stayed all-natural, compliant, and legal, because with my past, I can’t afford shortcuts.
When the THCA flower wave hit, we leaned into what we do best: growing clean, compliant cannabis with a verified chain of custody. That discipline turned into over $12 million in sales over the last three years. It hasn’t been easy; we saw good farmers wiped out and markets bottom out, but we kept pushing forward.
At the end of the day, Titan is just me and my wife, Lucie Fountain, no investors, no safety net, just hustle, resilience, and the plant itself. We built it from the ground up, and now we’re taking it globally, pivoting it into international medical markets while still holding it down in the States.
3. Now that you’re sitting with lobbyists and legislators in Tennessee, how do you balance staying true to your legacy hustle while navigating the politics of policy?
Balancing my legacy hustle with policy work isn’t about compromise; it’s about evolution. I was on board with the Tennessee Growers Coalition when I was stateside, sitting in meetings, talking with attorneys, doing the work on the Hill. They’re solid people, active, and pushing hard where it counts. Last October, on the advice of my attorney, friend, and mentor Rod Kight, who keeps me on a short leash for good reason, I pivoted out of Tennessee into North Carolina.
At the end of the day, we’re all fighting for the same thing: the end of prohibition, the freedom of the plant, and the release of every cannabis prisoner. Until cannabis is fully descheduled and legalized, we’re still stuck in a rigged game. Right now, the government has carved up one plant into two industries, hemp and marijuana, and turned it into a civil war that only benefits the racket they built. But the truth is simple: it’s the same plant. It’s God’s creation, Mother Earth’s medicine, and no government ever had the right to put chains on it.
So, how do I balance it? By never forgetting where I came from. The hustle taught me resilience. Politics forces me to stay sharp. My job now is to help lobbyists keep pressing forward, to push for medicine, for free thought, for normalization, not just here, but globally. Because the future is now, and if we’re serious about justice, health, and freedom, then legalization must mean freedom for everyone tied to this plant.
4. You’ve said, “There is no justice in cannabis.” What does justice look like to you in this space, and do you think it’s possible?
When I say, “there is no justice in cannabis,” I mean it. My codefendant, Joe Guadagnoli, died chained to a bed in federal prison for a nonviolent cannabis offense. He begged for months to be seen by a doctor. By the time they bothered, cancer had already taken over his body. He couldn’t even stand for count anymore, and still they ignored him until it was too late. Joe was one of the kindest people I knew; he’d give you the shirt off his back, and he was left to die like he didn’t matter. That’s not justice. That’s cruelty, and it’s sanctioned by our government.
Even now, with legalization spreading and rescheduling being tossed around, justice still doesn’t exist. Until cannabis is fully descheduled, people will continue to sit in prison for a plant. They’ll keep dying in cages while the government and big cannabis corporations carve up the market. Rescheduling doesn’t fix it; it just locks the plant tighter into federal control, puts power in the hands of multi-state operators, and shuts out the legacy operators who built this space from the ground up. It’s racketeering in plain sight, but no attorney will take it on, no politician will risk their career, and lobbyists keep writing the playbook to protect their paychecks.
Justice in cannabis would mean every prisoner walks free, records wiped clean, lives restored. It would mean honoring the people who went down fighting for this plant, the ones who grew it, sold it, educated, healed, and served their communities when nobody else would. Instead, what we’re seeing is the opposite: the very people who criminalized cannabis for decades now stand to profit off it, while the pioneers are left to struggle or vanish.
Do I think justice is possible? Maybe. But not under this rigged system. Not until America stops pretending that rescheduling is reform and admits that the only way forward is full descheduling and legalization. Until then, the black market will exist, the underground will thrive, and the true spirit of cannabis, the medicine, the culture, the community will live on outside their racket.
Justice isn’t blind here. Justice has her eyes wide open and looks away. I just hope one day she finally lifts her blindfold for cannabis and breathes the real air of freedom, the way Joe and so many others never got to.
5. Looking back at the kid who went down on a conspiracy case and the man who’s now helping write hemp laws, what would you tell your younger self before he stepped into that storm?
If I could speak to that younger version of myself before I stepped into the storm, I’d tell him: This is going to be the hardest lesson of your life, but it will shape everything that comes after. You’re going to lose time, years you can’t get back. You’re going to lose friends, money, and pieces of yourself along the way. But you’ll also gain something: perspective, strength, and the fire to turn it all into something bigger than you.
Back then, it was impossible to tell me anything; I thought I had it figured out. But deep down, I knew how that path ended: prison or death. That’s the black-market hustle. And when it all comes crashing down, the choice is simple: stay broken or rebuild stronger.
What I’d want that kid to know is that one day, you will do this work legally. You’ll help write the laws that give others a chance you never had. You’ll carry the weight of your time inside and use it as a cornerstone, not just for yourself, but for everyone you’ve stood up for along the way. So, I’d tell him: take the punches, do the time, and come out ready to fight for real justice. Keep your faith that one day the plant will be truly legal and everyone still locked up will be free. That’s the path forward, flying straight, carrying the lesson, and making sure nobody else has to pay the same price.
Daniel Fountain’s story is a reminder that justice in cannabis is still an unfinished fight, but hustle, vision, and resilience can flip the script. From prison time to policy tables, he’s proof that no system, no law, and no setback can kill the fire for this plant.
