Having grown up with four older brothers in the heyday of Cypress Hill, I have certainly smoked my share of weed. But, for one reason or another, I had never had the chance to eat it. When I was sixteen, a good friend of mine started dating a Rasta (not one of those suburban poser Rastas who goes to Arby's for lunch - this guy was the real deal. What he was doing in Massachusetts, I'll never know) Anyhoo, this guy ate weed in everything. For my birthday, my friend and her buffalo soldier boyfriend invited me to dinner. I knew they had cooked weed into the food, but I figured that I was more than enough of a pot head to handle it. After all, could eating weed reeeally screw you up? Pshaw! I've never been a big eater, but I wolfed down two plates of vegetarian rice gumbo (with weed), three pieces of homemade bread (with weed) and FOUR pot brownies. I didn't really feel anything but a stomach ache for a while. "Hooray"! I thought "I've conquered the weed. I am invincible." Two hours later I decided to paint a peace sign on my volvo with shoe polish. Four hours later I couldn't remember my name. I was high for five days. Not wanting to miss school, my friends made out a schedule who would escort me to each class. They even did my home work for me. Well, most of it. Anyway, I guess the moral of the story is don't be a moron when it comes to weed. And don't eat anything a Rasta gives you unless you've got a clear schedule.