I once traded a small
refrigerator to a dealer friend of mine for a single, gigantic bud of decent
pot (that, for the curious, weighed approximately 1/4
ounce). I know what this sounds like, but it wasn't, really - I think I had just got the refrigerator in some other
shady deal the day before.
Of course, when you are seriously invested in the lifestyle, making pot brownies is just one of those things you end up doing eventually, just like you end up going on the Circle Line if you live in New York City long enough. It's vaguely nostalgic, perhaps harkening back to an earlier time when there were no fights at Woodstock, Gerry Garcia could still remember his lyrics, and potheads had big Leave-it-to-Beaver-style kitchens in which to bake things, or something.
Perhaps because the oven in my friends' student ghetto house apartment had not been properly cleaned since the Nixon administration, or perhaps just because it was all the local Stewarts shop had, the brownie mix acquisition team returned with only a single tiny box of microwave brownie mix.
That would probably have been OK, except that the marijuana management team overzealously de-seeded and broke up the entire gigantic bud. And even that, in itself, was not so bad, except that it left the way open for the brownie preparation team (who to their credit, were trying to improvise, having no recipe for pot brownies that handled the microwave variety) to even more overzealously pour the entire pile of weed into the brownie mix.
This was not the brownie mix that mom used to use. This was the all-in-one student ghetto mini microwave variety. The mix, and the tiny tray in which to pour the mix in order to microwave it, were all included in the same box. It was very thin and square and no more than 8 inches on a side. When functioning normally, was designed to create 9 rather diminutive microwave brownies of the fudge variety. You might not have known that from looking at ours, which came out brilliant green. You could barely taste the chocolate.
I ate two. So did three other people. And we discovered something interesting about pot. It is much less effective to eat pot than to smoke it, so I have been told, and I believe it. But, even given that, it is possible to eat a lot more pot in 30 seconds than you could smoke in an hour. And that, basically, will make you trip out.
I recall waking up, discovering that I was passed out on the bathroom floor of the apartment, looking up and seeing one of the girls of the house on the toilet, peeing. She smiled, waved, offered me a cigarette, and spoke several words of complete gibberish. The rest is hazy.
Now, if pot were legal, the FDA could be called to look into this sort of thing.