“Then I felt a scary shudder go through my body and brain. I barely made it from the desk to the bed, where I lay curled up in a hallucinatory state for the next eight hours. I was thirsty but couldn’t move to get water. Or even turn off the lights. I was panting and paranoid, sure that when the room-service waiter knocked and I didn’t answer, he’d call the police and have me arrested for being unable to handle my candy. I strained to remember where I was or even what I was wearing, touching my green corduroy jeans and staring at the exposed-brick wall. As my paranoia deepened, I became convinced that I had died and no one was telling me. And then I wrote a column on Hillary,” – Maureen Dowd, almost.
On a more serious note, it has long since seemed to me to be reckless to have edible candy pot so readily available. It can entice children unless it’s kept in a very secure place; dosage can be much harder to gauge; and strength impossible to predict, especially for newbies like MoDo who are dumb enough to scarf a bunch without thinking too much. I have absolutely no objections to tightening up regulation of edibles considerably.