Because nothing is as lovely as a rock garden.

Because ''Reality is a crutch for people who use drugs.''

I can't speak for everyone, but I'll give you my own reasons: It feels relaxing and pleasant. It also brings a feeling of "novelty" to almost anything, meaning if you watch a movie that you've already seen 10 times, it's as if you're seeing it for the first time if you're high. I notice details in music, movies, and books that I have never noticed before, and bring new meaning to the work. Thoughts and emotions are intensified, and your mind works on a totally different level, sometimes capable of fully addressing multiple trains of thought simultaneously. Of course, there are a lot of reasons not to do it too. It can make you lazy, hungry, tired, occasionally incoherent, goofy, and unmotivated. My biggest problem with being stoned is that I always have dozens of really good and creative ideas, but almost no motivation to put them into action.

It's the secret no "Just say No" advocate ever tells you: getting stoned feels really good! I don't advocate it, but you need to know why people do it.

Don't know... The only two times I managed back in college, I didn't like the feeling of paranoia and not being in control. Almost the same feeling as when I got drunk back then. Not a feeling I like, so not one I actually try for.

The Perfect High - a poem by Shel Silverstein There once was a boy named Gimme-Some-Roy... He was nothin' like me or you, 'cause laying back and getting high was all he cared to do. As a kid, he sat in the cellar...sniffing airplane glue. And then he smoked banana peels, when that was the thing to do. He tried aspirin in Coca-Cola, he breathed helium on the sly, and his life became an endless search to find the perfect high. But grass just made him wanna lay back and eat chocolate-chip pizza all night, and the great things he wrote when he was stoned looked like shit in the morning light. Speed made him wanna rap all day, reds laid him too far back, Cocaine-Rose was sweet to his nose, but the price nearly broke his back. He tried PCP, he tried THC, but they never quite did the trick. Poppers nearly blew his heart, mushrooms made him sick. Acid made him see the light, but he couldn't remember it long. Hash was a little too weak, and smack was a lot too strong. Quaaludes made him stumble, booze just made him cry. Then he heard of a cat named Baba Fats who knew of the perfect high. Now, Baba Fats was a hermit cat...lived high up in Nepal, High on a craggy mountain top, up a sheer and icy wall. "Well, hell!" says Roy, "I'm a healthy boy, and I'll crawl or climb or fly, Till I find that guru who'll give me the clue as to what's the perfect high." So out and off goes Gimme-Some-Roy, to the land that knows no time, Up a trail no man could conquer, to a cliff no man could climb. For fourteen years he climbed that cliff...back down again he'd slide . . . He'd sit and cry, then climb some more, pursuing the perfect high. Grinding his teeth, coughing blood, aching and shaking and weak, Starving and sore, bleeding and tore, he reaches the mountain peak. And his eyes blink red like a snow-blind wolf, and he snarls the snarl of a rat, As there in repose, and wearing no clothes, sits the god-like Baba Fats. "What's happenin', Fats?" says Roy with joy, "I've come to state my biz . . . I hear you're hip to the perfect trip... Please tell me what it is. "For you can see," says Roy to he, "I'm about to die, So for my last ride, tell me, how can I achieve the perfect high?" "Well, dog my cats!" says Baba Fats. "Another burned out soul, Who's lookin' for an alchemist to turn his trip to gold. It isn't in a dealer's stash, or on a druggist's shelf... Son, if you would find the perfect high, find it in yourself." "Why, you jive mother-fucker!" says Roy, "I climbed through rain and sleet, I froze three fingers off my hands, and four toes off my feet! I braved the lair of the polar bear, I've tasted the maggot's kiss. Now, you tell me the high is in myself? What kinda shit is this? My ears, before they froze off," says Roy, "had heard all kinda crap; But I didn't climb for fourteen years to hear your sophomore rap. And I didn't climb up here to hear that the high is on the natch, So you tell me where the real stuff is, or I'll kill your guru ass!" "Okay...okay," says Baba Fats, "You're forcin' it outta me... There is a land beyond the sun that's known as Zabolee. A wretched land of stone and sand, where snakes and buzzards scream, And in this devil's garden blooms the mystic Tzutzu tree. Now, once every ten years it blooms one flower, as white as the Key West sky, And he who eats of the Tzutzu flower shall know the perfect high. For the rush comes on like a tidal wave...hits like the blazin' sun. And the high? It lasts forever, and the down don't never come. But, Zabolee Land is ruled by a giant, who stands twelve cubits high, And with eyes of red in his hundred heads, he awaits the passer-by. And you must slay the red-eyed giant, and swim the river of slime, Where the mucous beasts await to feast on those who journey by. And if you slay the giant and beasts, and swim the slimy sea, There's a blood-drinking witch who sharpens her teeth as she guards the Tzutzu tree." "Well, to hell with your witches and giants," says Roy, "To hell with the beasts of the sea-- Why, as long as the Tzutzu flower still blooms, hope still blooms for me." And with tears of joy in his sun-blind eyes, he slips the guru a five, And crawls back down the mountainside, pursuing the perfect high. "Well, that is that," says Baba Fats, sitting back down on his stone, Facing another thousand years of talking to God, alone. "Yes, Lord, it's always the same...old men or bright-eyed youth... It's always easier to sell 'em some shit than it is to give them the truth."

Because they're in the Middle East and committed adultery and the only way to accept punishment is to step into a pit, fill it up with sand past waist level, put a bag over someone's head and let the villagers have at it. I think it's mostly due to tradition and guilty shame on the stonee's part. How do you feel about such a controversial issue?

For the same reason people drink alcohol - for the high!

cause it makes you laugh your ****ing face off. And cos laughing is something people generally find enjoyable, people will do it again and again cause to be fair i can't think of anything more fun than partaking in a full blown giggle fit with mates, laughing until we cry over the most stupid things (goldfish can make for hours of entertainment this way).

Because the sound of tiny brain cells exploding ...pop...pop...pop...is music to their ears!