Maureen Dowd ate pot and wrote about it in the New York Times. No, Really.

If you haven’t heard about Maureen Dowd’s Op-Ed for the New York Times about her recent pot experience, let me fill you in on the high points: Maureen goes to Colorado, gets a pot candy bar, eats the whole thing, has a bad trip, writes about the dangers of ingesting too much pot.

Now, Ms. Dowd is experiencing what I like to call, I wrote a stupid Op-Ed for the New York Times and am having my self-congratulatory buzz totally harshed by the anticipated internet backlash.

What did she expect? I appreciate that she tried to open herself up to a new experience (Look at me! I’m still fashionable and in the know! I can be hip, too!) and went for it. But Ms. Dowd is a New York Times columnist and dammit, I expect better of her.

But 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.

Note to self: Never get high with Maureen Dowd.

As usual, the best responses to her “column” came from Twitter.

Maureen Dowd did not have a good experience, and there was obviously golden opportunities for mocking humor in those two paragraphs. But hey, that’s cool. It’s not for everyone. But then I read this, which toasted my coconut and has me pounding out this post after months of silence.

The next day, a medical consultant at an edibles plant where I was conducting an interview mentioned that candy bars like that are supposed to be cut into 16 pieces for novices; but that recommendation hadn’t been on the label.

Wait. It wasn’t on the label? Didn’t you practice at least some due diligence before setting out to get high? You’re a New York fucking Times columnist and you couldn’t bestir yourself to do even a smidgeon of research before you “researched” getting high? And that piece of self-indulgent, masturbatory crap was on the Op-Ed page of the New York Times? I mean, c’mon, now. However, if that’s going to be acceptable commentary for the The Grey Lady, then I humbly submit a few ideas for columns that, I promise you, would be way more interesting, informative, and funny, too. And, well, I had fun on Twitter, too.

Hell, I’ll even fly out to Colorado (if you pay for it) and get high JUST FOR A COLUMN. Because, Journalism.

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