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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.

Rummaging Region