“As has been well documented, I smoked pot as a kid…” — Barack Obama
“You smoke that shit, everything kind of gets weird, you know what I mean?” — Bunny in Platoon
Despite having spent a good many years in the Sixties (ten, to be exact, although I only remember about half of ‘em), I was never much of a pot head. Any substance which led me to believe that Gilligan’s Island was a masterpiece of the performing arts was not to be trusted. Grass gave most people the giggles; for a tiny minority of us, it provided the certainty we were on the verge of a massive heart attack. Body paranoia was the doper’s term for such unease. It was an affliction which led chronic sufferers back to the conviviality of the closest taproom where they could inebriate themselves legally until they keeled over into a puddle of their own effluvia and were dragged home by their designated drivers. Continue reading “Don’t Bogart That Joint, Barack …”

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