But, scout, was it good pot?
There is no good way in current practice to standardize quantities of pot. Some might be about as potent as wilted kale. Some might knock you off your feet at the first puff. Moisture content, which is most of a fresh plant, can vary widely. Some zealous prosecutors try to count mud, dirt, etc. clinging to a pot plant’s roots. On top of these absurdities is the legal assumption, seldom challenged, that if you have a certain amount of pot you had it for the purpose of sharing or selling rather than for your own use. This is obviously not universally appropriate. A legal standard based upon an assessment of overall THC content would be the closest thing to “fair.”
Willie is probably going to insist on a jury trial and THAT will be a circus because who has NOT heard of him? Will likely result in a “slap him on the wrist” verdict at worst.
You couldn't have made a worse choice of persons to ask that question.
I've never smoked it. I've never even touched it.
Heck, I've never tasted beer, wine, or any alcoholic beverage.
I don't have a religious problem with it and I don't have a problem with other people drinking (except (a) those who drink and drive while impaired; (b) those who drink and get violent; and (c) well, similar cases).
I didn't mix with the right people in high school to be invited to the right parties and my parents didn't drink. When I got to college, I had an interesting first eight days. A high school classmate was killed by a drunk driver while he was returning from the lake. A guy in one of my classes died from alcohol poisoning after chugging hard liquor at a fraternity rush party. A girl who sat almost directly behind me in one of those mega-history classes had her pelvis shattered (and her date was killed) when a drunk driver hopped a curb and hit them as they were walking back to her dorm from the 'free movie.'
And, on the eighth day, my first cousin was driving drunk and broadsided a station wagon with a husband, wife, and three kids inside. I don't even want to go into those details, except to say that happened in 1974 and he's the lucky one. He only has permanent brain damage. You can go and visit him, but the only thing he wants to talk about is the concert he was on his way to attend the day he destroyed a family.
So . . . I decided drinking was not for me. I guess pot and everything else followed as out of the question.
The above story? True. Scouts' Honor.