My college floormate, who looked like Shaggy from Scooby-Doo, always shared his MJ stash with me (in exchange, he would come by looking for snacks). His stuff never had any effect on me. One Saturday night, a group of us attended a midnight reading of Dante's Inferno at The Cathedral of Saint John the Divine (because that's what freshmen do) and luxuriated in a row of ornate Gothic wooden thrones onstage while the pipe organ thundered around us. I still didn't feel anything.
