![Last night a pal of mine and I decided to partake in some [quote] brownies [end quote] and for the 3rd time I witnessed someone get their ass handed to them by we-edibles™. I too experienced a not so enjoyable night about three years ago that left me pacing my hallway in a panic for 3 hrs trying to avoid any rays of sunlight on the floor. So since then I’ve practiced extreme moderation and cautioned everyone else to do the same. But most people insist that because I’m such a lightweight - which I truly am - I simply have no idea what harsh really is, or to quote something a friend said once, “I don’t think you understand the point of weed.”Well last night I may have discovered why those sentiments are sometimes the precursor to that same person holding their head between their knees and asking me if they’re going to die for four hours straight.
Sometimes there’s a prolonged gestation period when one may start out feeling absolutely nothing or only a very light sense of awesome.
The trouble is that at that point hubris kicks in and they demand to eat more. And then in about an hour or more the other shoe drops. Mary Jane’s shoe. And she drops that shoe on that ass for the rest of the night.
I think the hazardous side-effect is similar to a panic attack for people who don’t know what real panic attacks can feel like. For a long time I thought my three hour hallway track meet was awful until a very pot savvy friend got so convinced he was going to die he threw all his pr0n away so his family wouldn’t find it posthumously. Then this girlfriend of mine ate too much and after being certain she was going into the light for three hours she started speaking in the most annoying accent and couldn’t shake it.
I think that was my worst experience of all time because my high died instantly.
In conclusion, I’m going to become the first (high-paid) shaman for talking people down from bad brownie incidents. I’ve gotten good at it. The secret is most people just want to know that the feeling is eventually going to end.
However, other helpful hints include:
• No one in the history of weed has ever died of weed and you aren’t going to claim first.*• No, you’re not going to forget to breathe. • Yes, you exist. • I can see why you might think that but no, you should not call your [out-of-town sleeping family member] at this time.• And in answer to the query am I just acting out what I think it’s like to be high because I’ve started to slip back to reality or away from what I was suppose to follow: Nope.*…particularly in my fucking house.](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_l7l6dyZVtN1qzdttwo1_400.gif)
Last night a pal of mine and I decided to partake in some [quote] brownies [end quote] and for the 3rd time I witnessed someone get their ass handed to them by we-edibles™.
I too experienced a not so enjoyable night about three years ago that left me pacing my hallway in a panic for 3 hrs trying to avoid any rays of sunlight on the floor. So since then I’ve practiced extreme moderation and cautioned everyone else to do the same. But most people insist that because I’m such a lightweight - which I truly am - I simply have no idea what harsh really is, or to quote something a friend said once, “I don’t think you understand the point of weed.”
Well last night I may have discovered why those sentiments are sometimes the precursor to that same person holding their head between their knees and asking me if they’re going to die for four hours straight.
Sometimes there’s a prolonged gestation period when one may start out feeling absolutely nothing or only a very light sense of awesome.
The trouble is that at that point hubris kicks in and they demand to eat more. And then in about an hour or more the other shoe drops. Mary Jane’s shoe. And she drops that shoe on that ass for the rest of the night.
I think the hazardous side-effect is similar to a panic attack for people who don’t know what real panic attacks can feel like. For a long time I thought my three hour hallway track meet was awful until a very pot savvy friend got so convinced he was going to die he threw all his pr0n away so his family wouldn’t find it posthumously. Then this girlfriend of mine ate too much and after being certain she was going into the light for three hours she started speaking in the most annoying accent and couldn’t shake it.
I think that was my worst experience of all time because my high died instantly.
In conclusion, I’m going to become the first (high-paid) shaman for talking people down from bad brownie incidents. I’ve gotten good at it. The secret is most people just want to know that the feeling is eventually going to end.
However, other helpful hints include:
• No one in the history of weed has ever died of weed and you aren’t going to claim first.*
• No, you’re not going to forget to breathe.
• Yes, you exist.
• I can see why you might think that but no, you should not call your [out-of-town sleeping family member] at this time.
• And in answer to the query am I just acting out what I think it’s like to be high because I’ve started to slip back to reality or away from what I was suppose to follow: Nope.
*…particularly in my fucking house.
